Sunday, August 26, 2012

Tim's House (Part 1)

Being a habitual fuck up is not as easy as it looks, it takes time, patience and dedication.  It also requires an avaricious sense of  reckless adventure, a disregard for other people’s safety, and blatant disrespect and loathing toward authority and due process.  But above all else, the spirit of chance must be your best friend.

Being a habitual fuck up is
 not as easy as it looks......
I spent 3 years vacillating on the great tight rope of stability and the open void of a modern vagabond.  The phrase “one day at a time” was all too applicable to me, and despite my lack of financial resources, and material ornaments, through my seemingly random adventures I had acquired, no, appropriated, a cosmic, karmic, spiritual wealth beyond human understanding similar to that of “Dead  Head” on tour.

A combination of my 8b VW Vanagon Bus, and a few different “borrowed” sailboats in the Dana Point Harbor, was as good a place as any to rest my head in my early to mid 20’s (not to mention the various female beds < or female couch’s, hey if they weren’t fuckable, I’d still be cute), but upon my 3rd DUI (which come to think of it originated out of D.P. Harbor) I had to sell my bus.  Why not? I was had a large restitution to pay, and responsible behavior is like speaking a dead ancient language to me, so, for a period of time, sober living seemed like my best option.

No credit check, no deposit, shit half the time you could talk ‘em into a 3 to 4 week advance under a “solemn oath” that you’re trying to get you'r shit together while you sleep all day long, them play pool in the garage with smack heads at night (was the 8 ball darker than the black tan?).
So, I’ve stayed at a myriad (well maybe a dozen) of these houses on the fly, but Tim’s house topped ‘em all off.

A quintessential flop house, Tim’s House (at ### Jo-Ann St, in the illustrious and nostalgic city of Costa Mesa) was actually called some backward Jesus Junkie hybrid transitional living/sober living all inclusive non-denominational Christian fellowship place like “New Direction” or “Able to Change” or some such shit. Who fucking knows? It was advertised on Craig’s list for “ $100 move-in special” and $135 per week. A cookie cutter house at the end of a cul-de-sac, it’s sky blue image projects a state of tranquility that is diametric in nature.

You are greeted by a foreigner whom you assume is middle eastern (based on appearance and esoteric accent) but turns out, and much later too, that he’s an Italian plumber (spun-na-na-na-na).  You pay him $100, he shakes your hand, and says “Ok, just wait for Time” and leaves you feeling awkward and anxious in a fully furnished two-story middle American house, which you are about to discover is like being on an episode of Jersey Shore meets Dr. Drew’s Rehab.

A few stragglers waver in an out of to eye-fuck the shit out of you, but none of the typical “Hi my name is Who-Gives-A-Fuck, and I’ve been clean for 3 Easters, 2 football seasons, 7 months 6 days and 26.7 hours now and I am so grateful to bring coffee to Charley in St Detox and lick the bunions off of all the fellaz detoxing there.”

No this offers no such thing. The first who greets you looks and sounds like a burnt out caricature  of Roger the Alien from American Dad.

“Welcome home.  I’m Ben.” The Alien says as you take note that both eyes are wandering in different directions, making it hard to focus on his conversation now.
"So what'cha want?"

“I’ve got Methadone, Percocet, Flexoril and Fentanyl patches, so watch ya want?” It is now very clear what kind of house this is.

Continue Reading Tim's House Part 2

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Guest Post: Mike Triforce of Debtor's Prison

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Mike Triforce here. I'm  a friend of Wylie's here to drop some knowledge on you about life and other random shit. My blog is linked to this mofo, but I'll post it here anyway.

So first let me start out by saying I sold out. My goal from junior high on was to cynically manipulate the system in order to get paid for doing next to nothing to support a life of hedonism.  I do not contribute to society, I do not care about a cause, I am not about independence or fairness and most of all I am not an artist.

Of course I say I am an artist, I have a band and I act.  These endeavors are about two things: 1) winning the life lottery (see getting paid for doing next to nothing to support a life of hedonism) and 2) getting laid.  Money gets laid and art get's laid.  I like getting laid so I cover my bases.  I can't combine the two so I need a day job.

So what do I do for money? I am a lawyer. I hopped on the bandwagon before the bubble burst and I lied and cheated my way the bloodbath and remained one of the six-figure associates left standing. 

I take a lot of drugs. I take drugs because I enjoy being high, but mostly because women enjoy being high. I have been caught with drugs by police and nothing has come of it. The reason of course is that I have money and drug laws are for people that society has deemed undesirable. For people like me there is no prison, there is something called rehab.

My job consists of thinking of plausible tasks to bill large corporations for, corporations foolish enough to retain my firm as counsel when they get caught breaking laws they deem have a greater potential to inhibit profit than they do to incur monetary consequences in the form of fines and civil liability.  Sometimes I have to actually complete these tasks but usually they are fictions that rarely find themselves the subject of audit.

Thursday, August 9, 2012

The Truth and Lies of Telemarketers Act 4: The Hipster Cool Center

Call Center Legends

                A call center is by far, THE WORST environment on the face of this rotten earth.   Everything down to the core of it is a total perversion of anything that God created.  Its make up is so unnatural, and perhaps it’s the only place in the world where you are honored for telling a more outlandish lie than your neighbor.  There are 3 basic types of call centers, lets have a look.

The Hipster Cool center (The party call center)

Description: Perhaps the evilest of them all, the looks here are deceiving.  Its not even fair.  When you walk in, the first thing you see is an air hockey table.  You pause, and for a second, you ask your self if you accidentally walked into one of the local marijuana dispensaries.  After noticing that the air doesn’t reek of baked pot, your greeted by an incredibly young, bubbly, curvy and personable hot chick who’s name you never catch cause your to busy starting at her tits.  You notice that the employs are walking around freely, and acting and expressing themselves as if they were at school or home.  The computers are all brand new, the head sets are wireless, the secretary is hot, the schedule is flexible, your co workers are friendly and intact, and you could even call them “peers” for once since they are within 10 years of your age.  The products sold in these centers only marginally suck to talk about, and can  range from A) Dish network, local cable, or direct T.V. B)  You could be marketing  business to business  customized web sites or C) Such technology driven industry’s like customized push button applications for cell phones

Victims: This kind of call center seems to attract “normal” people.  An eclectic variety of college students, semi professional business people, divorcees, pot heads, etc.  The women that work here are relativelyattractive, and the guys don’t look like freaks.  If anything, the real victims are all the customers you call day in day out.  Since you work for a 3rd party marketing service, neither Jason cares what you say to the customers, which can be really fun at times.