Michael Kindt's Blog, page 443

(Regarding your post on Hoarders:) Wait until you see the episode about the man with the rats.

I don't know. That show's kinda depressing. Tough to watch. I like when they "win", though…get better, that is.

This Hoarding show is nuts.

There's a woman who has garbage stacked to her ceiling and she can't even throw away a plastic cup. They took her kids away and she needs to clean her house to get them back, but, yeah, she can't even throw away a plastic cup.

Not looking good.

They have 'mental health' people there trying to help and laying down the case for us watching at home that this is yet another form of sickness, but this woman chose a plastic cup over her children.

"It's a perfectly good cup," the woman reasoned. "Why throw it away?"

So at first I'm thinking Yeah, this is a form of mental illness and these people need sympathy and understanding.

Then this woman climbed into a dumpster and dug out the plastic cup and I'm like Fuck this bitch. Keep her children far, far away.

Tattoo artist Ryan Fitzgerald from Dayton, OH was hit with a...

Tattoo artist Ryan Fitzgerald from Dayton, OH was hit with a $100,000 lawsuit last week by his ex-girlfriend Rossie Brovent.  She claims that her boyfriend was supposed to tattoo a scene from Narnia on her back but instead tattooed an image of a pile of excrement with flies buzzing around it.

Apparently, Ryan found out that Rossie had cheated with a long-time friend of his, but instead of confronting her about it he acted like everything was normal and hatched a plan for revenge. Originally, Rossie tried to have Ryan charged with assault, but the ingenious tattoo artist had covered his bases by plying Rossie with wine and tequila shots and getting her to sign a consent form that stated the design was "at the artist's discretion."

No word from Rossie on whether the illicit night of passion with Ryan's friend was worth it. Moral of the story? Never cheat on a tattoo artist.

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"Conservative, noun: A statesman who is enamored with existing evils, as distinguished from the..."

"Conservative, noun: A statesman who is enamored with existing evils, as distinguished from the Liberal who wishes to replace them with others."

- Ambrose Bierce

"Corporation, noun: An ingenious device for obtaining individual profit without individual..."

"Corporation, noun: An ingenious device for obtaining individual profit without individual responsibility."

- Ambrose Bierce

Excerpt from "Four Twenty", the 19th story in EOoN,...

Excerpt from "Four Twenty", the 19th story in EOoN, Volume One:

    "It was 11:05 when I brought everything down. I had one of the longest lines of the day, 19 people. None of them appeared to be using a phone at the moment, which, of course, was key. I had planned to do it at about 10:30, but also wanted as many people involved as possible, so had waited.
        The line wound around the store like a snake. Every person was in it to buy lottery tickets. People stopping only to grab a pop or a coffee would never wait this long.
        Throughout the morning people had come in to get lottery tickets, but by the time they got to the counter their arms were full of other crap. All along the slow, winding journey to the counter they had snatched things up: pop, gum, chips, crackers, cook­ies, candy bars. They were all good Americans, buy­ing on impulse like they had been conditioned to do since birth. Some got to the counter with so much junk food they had to pay for it using a card. In South Dakota, lottery tickets could only be pur­chased with cash and, god knows, they wouldn't want to cut into that.
        They were no longer peasants in my eyes. They were cattle.
        "Excuse me for one second," I said to the lady in front of me. I went around the counter and locked the door. I walked matter-of-factly and the long line politely parted to allow me through. No one looked at me like anything special or unusual was going on. It's amazing what a name tag will do for you. With a name tag situated squarely above your tit, you be­come Official. Whatever you do is supposed to be done. It's just part of the policy, you see. Policy is one of mankind's most underrated inventions. It allows you to do dick things to other people without being accountable for it. You simply shrug your shoulders and say, "I'm sorry. That's the policy." It worked swimmingly for the Nazis: "I'm sorry, Mr. Goldstein. I have to poison you with gas and burn your corpse in an oven. That's the policy."
        Shrug.
        A key was now required, whether inside or out, to open the door. All these people were trapped and they didn't even know it. They were at my mercy. Back behind the counter, I grabbed a blank piece of paper from the printer and wrote quickly in Sharpie: FAMILY EMERGENCY. WILL REOPEN SOON. SORRY. Then I reached into the cigarettes and pulled out the shotgun."

Get a copy at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or direct from the publisher. I get the biggest percentage when purchased directly from the publisher :) Autographed copies also available on Ebay (free shipping).

So I hope everyone had a good Thanksgiving!

The Americans, that is :)

Ours was small and I didn't eat any meat, even though my sister and brother-in-law made a turkey and a ham, which smelled delicious. That ham was calling out to me, I tell ya.

Didn't eat any though.

Here I thought I was going to have a completely lazy Thanksgiving for the first time in years, but when I walked in the door everyone demanded I make the mashed potatoes.

My taters are famous in my family.

So I had to do some work. Didn't really mind, though. I also had to carve the turkey since apparently I'm the only one who knows how to do it correctly.

Saw my mom and kissed her bald head a few times (she's fighting cancer). Drank some beers. Watched some football (which is weird for me).

Good times all around.

Did you guys know that the last Pharaoh of Egypt is closer to us in time than he to the first Pharaoh of Egypt?

Cool, huh?

From the Latin: Hoc Die

I am up before the dawn as usual, standing in my kitchen, feeling happy and healthy. It is warm out and for a time I stood in the yard and listened to the wind in the trees stark against a black sky. It is the deep breath before the exhale and also happens to be Thanksgiving, an American holiday I chose not to politicize because I'm not that bored.

Last week's snow has melted, compressed, melted, and compressed again, and everything is slick. I never shovel my walk. I have never shoveled any walk that was mine. I am a wearer of boots and simply trudge through. Because of this my walk is now an icy death trap. I wish some Jehovah's Witnesses or Mormons would come.

***

It is a few hours later. I went through the gray dawn light and now the sun shines bright from the side of the sky that says morning. It's the newborn sun and I live yet another day. The amazingness of my very life holds me and I cultivate it, not wanting it to let go. It courses through me, does life, a secret electricity invisible to all probes. Both science and religion are helpless in the face of it, though both would never admit it.

For no reason at all and for but a little while, here I am.

Illuminated Feminine

Watershed tear
and broken fingers
and smiles. Hearing
comes natural to her.
When she says she's all
ears she means it and cries
in the night, gripping your empty
hand in her empty hand like clinging
like grim death. She ages in time, growing
old and wise, becoming taller, stronger, brighter
like stars like sun. She gleams porcelain
white, sprouts the wings of an angel
and flies away, wanting everything
like lacking like nothing.