[182] Screed City

[182]

08/16/2022 Tuesday. Milk Crate. Stabbin' Cabin. Worlando Beach, Wyoming.

Well, I mean, I didn't meet Cheney. I still don't know if she went to the Brewery or not. It seemed like she wasn't going to be there, so I scrapped the idea. And Brother Buck had EMT training, so he doesn't know if she went there either. I mean, he probably knows now, but I don't really care anymore. The polls close in the next 30 minutes. There is no information as I am writing this missive. I mean, PegLeg went and voted this morning. She said it was a madhouse. Some dude was standing there yelling: "Thanks for coming to vote evil out of office!" I mean, if I could understand the mindset of the goons around here I wouldn't have had all the trouble I did growing up, but who knows? Maybe they all aren't the big morons they seem to be? I mean, a bunch of Dems switched parties to vote for Cheney, but Wyoming is maybe 18% Dem. And of the 82% of Racist MAGA Douchers maybe 30% have an understanding of how democracy actually works and will vote for Cheney, but it is not looking good. I mean, I think it is about 50/50 at this point. I mean it is a primary election and there are 10 candidates. I mean, I assume 50% of the idiots will vote for the election denier goon, and of the other 50% I assume 30% will vote for Cheney. Plus the maybe 9% of Dems that switched to Pube to vote for Cheney, I mean, that looks okay. 42% total for the election denier and 39% for Cheney. Which leaves about 17% of unknown votes. I mean, if there is a spoiler it will spoil against the racist election denier. I mean, I wouldn't be surprised if the thing is a runoff. Which, I mean, that would be a disaster for Cheney because the other idiots would just plug their nose and vote for the racist denier. But, I mean, Cheney does stand a chance still. In my estimation, which is bogus at most. I mean, I will know a lot more when I am finished writing this. We all will.

I mean, yesterday, I think I slept in. As far as I can remember. Like 9a. I got up and drank some coffee and looked at things. And then I just kind of hung around. Waiting for G to get up. PegLeg wanted to meet at Subway Eat Fresh for lunch. Around 11:30a. I mean, I called G at some point. Turns out they didn't hear me because around 11a I went to their room and they were sitting there like some knitting grandma in bed. Neither getting up, nor even pretending to get up. I mean, it was very cute, sitting up in bed, blanket over their legs, looking at their computer like it was giving them great pleasure. I mean, I yelled: "Why aren't you getting ready?!" They looked surprised. Said: "I couldn't hear you on the phone! Where are we going?" I said: "Subway sandwiches. In like twenty minutes!" They said: "I don't like Subway!" I said: "Yes you do, I have seen you eat it just fine." I considered, briefly, asking PegLeg to go somewhere else to keep G from complaining, but I reconsidered. I have seen her eat Subway Eat Fresh quite a few times. And just eating tacos was kind of getting old. Even if they were very delicious.

I mean, I got ready. G got ready. Then we left. When we got to the Subway Eat Fresh there was a line to the door already. Already at 11:30a. I mean, as someone that has worked in fast food before, I still don't understand the ebb and flow of when people decide to eat lunch. I mean, you would think 11:30a would be too early to have a long line, but you would be wrong. Some days, yes, other days, no way in hell. I mean, I guess it all depends. What it depends on is a mystery to me, but it does depend. I mean, the line kept getting bigger. And the Sandwich Artists kept bringing out large orders of sandwiches for online customers. Which was gumming up the works and, frankly, annoyed the hell out of me. I mean, that is kind of a bad business practice if you ask me. I mean, it works for pizza because nobody really just goes out to get pizza, or if they do, they are sitting down anyway, so a slow kitchen is a slow kitchen. But with Subway Eat Fresh, I mean, the online orders supersede the inline orders. Which is bullshit. I mean, we are standing there in line and some other asshole, who can't be bothered to come get their sandwiches just like everyone else, their orders take precedent? Like ordering online gives you VIP status? I mean, huh-uh. No thank you! I thought this was America? I mean, when we got to the ordering bay or whatever you want to call it, the ordering wall, the ordering window, or whatever, we had to watch the Sandwich Artist make two entire orders while we just stood there. A line of at least 15 people behind us. Waiting. I mean, it was brutal. And then, the Sandwich Artist apologized to us, sadly, like it was her fault. It wasn't her fault, it was a dumb business idea that her bosses made her follow. And it was stupid and made her life miserable. I mean, the simple solution would be to have a secondary sandwich making conveyor belt in the back for these orders, but they didn't have that. They only had what they had. And you don't artistically make sandwiches with the system you want, you make them with the system you have ATBMS.

I mean, whatever. The process was long and arduous. And there were only three employees. And 20 people in line. All during some bizarre lunch rush that didn't make any sense. I mean, I got the Cold Cut Combo. Which was called the Cold Cut Combo for years and years, then they changed it to the Cold Cut Trio for some reason. And then they changed it back for some other equally confusing reason. I mean, I got it with American cheese on a "White" footlong bread. I got onions and black olives and banana peppers and pickled jalapeños and iceberg lettuce and mayo and oil and vinegar and salt and pepper. G got the ham and cheese on a "White" six inch. With lettuce and mayo. Toasted. PegLeg got the steak and pepper jack cheese "MultiGrain" footlong. Double toasted. I don't know what kind of fixin's she got. We also got drinks and chocolate chip cookies. Plus chips. Then we took everything to the courthouse across the street. And ate at a picnic table under some trees.

I mean, it was too much food. A footlong is too much. A six inch is too little. The size queen Professor Curly could testify to this. I mean, I always end up with about three extra inches of sandwich that I don't know what to do with. Too little to save, yet too much to throw away. So I end up eating it, regretting the decision every single time. I mean, I don't remember the last time I ate at Subway Eat Fresh, but I know that this same thing happened. And in an irritating turn of events, the chips are always too few. I mean, I don't know how many chips anyone needs, but they sell you the tiny bags that look big but only have the fun size amount of chips. Which is like the opposite of getting fries. I mean, I never order fries, but PC does, and they are always too many fries. And much like the last three inches of a footlong, you end up having too many to throw away, but too few to save. Not that you would save fries, I mean, they get gross the second they are cold, but you can catch my drift, yeah?

I mean, it was a nice lunch. If not too much. PegLeg went back to work. She gave me some cucumbers that someone gave her, to put in the fridge when we got back to her place. I mean, we drove back to her place. Went inside. I forgot about the cucumbers. About an hour later I remembered and went and got them. The whole point was to get them in the fridge as soon as possible, a thing I failed at, but they did eventually get there. I mean, I think we just kind of hung around the house for a while. I did dishes and stuff. I mean, I finally uploaded the video of the interview to Dropbox. It took some doing. I mean, it went from Charley's iPad to my iPhone to my PC to Dropbox. Every time taking at least an hour to do. So, I mean, four hours in the making. And now what? I can hardly even watch the thing. I am too intense, all the time. Especially during stuff like this. I mean, I can talk about my "Craft" and my "Feelings" all day long, if you actually want to hear it, but I don't think it is very entertaining. I mean, I am both extremely vague and extremely specific at the same time. I mean, I have no practice doing these things. And I don't know what people want to hear. So it is like:

"Yeah, I guess I write for three hours every night, usually getting myself into a, I mean, this is going to sound pretentious as shit, but a fugue state, I mean, I just write whatever comes to mind, I never think about beforehand, I mean, I used to, but I don't know, I don't do that anymore, and I mean, you asked me what it was like growing up in Worland, yeah, it sucked, I mean, my family, like, I love them and all, they weren't the problem it was my teachers and stuff, Society, man, but then I mean, if you think about it, the Ramones, they were a great band, and the way they did it was like this..."

I mean, I am both rambling and specific and shot out of a cannon and also you can tell I don't really want to be there, but I do, but I am wishing I had better answers because I hate talking about myself, but I do really want to talk about the writing, but not everyone gets that and I need to be asked very simple questions with simple answers, but those questions are hard to come by. I mean, I don't know how I write, but I do know how I specifically write. I stand here writing shit. Are you asking if my thoughts are profound? No, they are not. But I do think about things. Do I know where I am going with this? I mean, sometimes. Sometimes not. I mean, it is like playing music. You just wing it, but it is different than playing music too. Because your sour notes don't seem so sour when you are writing, but sometimes if you go too far off on a tangent, you can lose the entire audience in a single paragraph. I mean, music can be like that, but the thing with writing is...

See what I mean? I mean, I know what I am talking about, but I don't know what you want to hear. And when, if and when, I do know what you want to hear, that doesn't mean I am willing to give it to you. I mean, writing is kind of a Fuck You for me. I make all the rules, and you can either come with me on my ride or you can get the fuck off the train. And because I don't have nobody to edit me, I can do whatever the fuck I want. Like if right now I wanted to write: He slid his huge member up her tight gilded baby sleigh and instead of moaning she farted, I mean, there is nobody in the entire universe that could stop me doing something like that. I mean, I can do that in music too, but I have to ask permission from the other people playing first, or even the guitar or whatever. I mean, the freedom in writing is absolute. Which is why it really gets a person's rocks off in a way that music just kind of lets you, in the parlance of Shane: "Get the ghosts out." I mean, I am not saying writing is better than playing music, I am just saying it is different. In a very specific way. And as much as I like writing, I also like playing music too. Now, what was your question again?

Oh, what I did later that day. I mean, PegLeg came home at some point. We took her truck over to the neighbors to get some hoses and stuff. I mean, they had moved away and had told her that anything left behind was up for grabs. There were rubber trash cans and hoses and sprinklers and other stuff. I mean, a wheelbarrow. A gardening wagon. I mean, we loaded the truck up. Took it back to PegLegs compound. I mean, there was more stuff to get, but at this point I needed to get down to the town to meet up with Jacob and Kevy Wevy and Brother Chuck. Nick was coming back from Billings and would be around at some point. G decided to just take it easy. Oh! I forgot, I fried up some pork chops on the grill and some steaks. PegLeg baked some potatoes. I ended up eating tacos. I am not sure what PegLeg ate. G had eaten a bagel at some point so they weren't hungry. I mean, I texted Kevy Wevy to come pick me up. He did, and that was nice of him.

We got to Nick's. There was music playing inside. Kevy said: "Probably Humphries." I mean, I knocked as I walked inside. Humphries was indeed who it was. He was sitting in the dark. Drinking a beer. Listening to the Velvet Underground. He had a black eye. I mean, had it not been Humphries it would have been a nice way to spend time. As it was, though, it was depressing. The black eye. The dark room. The music. I mean, Kevy Wevy had a 30 rack of Busch. Ice cold. He gave me one. I sat down on a stool. Humphries made some inappropriate comments about things. Then claimed he beat up the guy that smashed a coffee mug in his face. Who, I mean, Humphries, was supposedly wearing a towel only. And after the mug got smashed in his face, he stood up and his towel fell down and he beat the guy up while naked. I mean, I am not calling Humphries a liar, but his stories are always suspect. And I mostly give him the benefit of the doubt, but strangely there are never any witnesses to these things. And the dude loves drugs and never has any money and just gets weirder and weirder every time I see him. And I have known him my entire life. If that means anything. And he really didn't like me insinuating that the person who clocked him with a coffee mug must have: "Been drinking coffee, because nobody drinks anything out of a coffee mug aside from coffee, so this must have happened in the morning." I mean, he was like: "Uh, no! It was late at night and he was drinking whiskey, there was whiskey in the mug!" I mean, I was just fucking with him, but he didn't appreciate my logic. I mean, a cup is a cup, and of course you can drink other stuff out of a cup. At any time of the day or night. I mean, right? And maybe it was true that I was calling him a liar. I just didn't care. Because only Humphries, who I saw the other day mowing Nick's lawn, and the day before, going into the Blair's, I mean, only he would show up two days later with a shiner. For uncorroborated reasons. I mean, I am sure, no, certain, that somebody smacked his face with a coffee cup, or mug, but whether or not he deserved it, or whether or not he beat the guy up naked was what was up for debate. And since it was only his side of the story, I mean, whatever. I mean, like I said before, he has always been like this. Riding the edge between truth and fiction. I mean, he is a character in Donkey [Italics] for a reason. Both nebulous and specific. Full of drugs, lies and bad news. The kind of guy that you are taking your own life in your hands by hanging out with, because he will always be okay in the end, it is up to you to decide if you want to go down the road with him. And, I mean, he isn't a manipulator. He just does what he does. I mean, I do feel kind of sorry for him. He seems lonely. And has always seemed lonely. But he has ideas. And he won't hold it against you if you don't want to do his brand of fucked-up with him. I mean, he would love the companionship, but that doesn't mean he requires it. Which sets him apart from White and the Duke of Oils for that reason. Those two would just watch television if they didn't have a Huckleberry. Or even Hank. And, I mean, frankly, I can respect Humphries for that.

I mean, we all hung out for a while. Me and Kevy Wevy and Humphries. Drinking beer. Getting conflicting information from Humphries' story. Eventually Jacob showed up. I mean, it was good-times/old-times all over again. Like not a second had passed since the last time I saw him. I mean, we share a very long history together. Like college buddies that went separate ways at some point. He went West, I stayed East. I mean, college was a bust and we played in bands and lived in Laramie and Denver and NYC together. I tried to live in Seattle, but I don't smoke pot, so that is not an option. I mean, we caught up pretty fast. I mean, this was quite the luxury, in a tragic way, to meeting up in Worland. I mean, normally when I come out, he has either just been here, or was coming to town later in the Summer. I mean, I do get out to Seattle some times. But not as much as I would like. I mean, it is always on the table. But it is also a three thousand mile trip. Which, I mean, that is not such a thing, it's just you kind of need to have an impetus to go to Seattle sometimes. And as much as I would love to be the kind of person that just flies to Seattle whenever, I don't have the money to do that. And then, I mean, whatever, I don't feel like I need to explain travelling in America to anyone right now, or ever, I mean, it's not because I don't want to do it. It is just a thing. A great big thing. With multiple ins and outs.

I mean, Nick showed up. To his house. And then Brother Charley showed up. Humphries was trying to get us to go outside and play horseshoes, but nobody was having it. We talked about things. Certain politics. About Kevy Wevy being Mexican in racist Wyoming. Back when he thought it was a good idea to have a Taliban beard while being bald and Mexican. I mean, he might have just as well declared fatwah on Worland. I mean, I am not victim-shaming anyone here, but he wasn't not asking for it. I mean, at least he has a sense of humor about how things shake out. But, my god! The dude is like fourth generation American. Yet it means nothing. There is no way to placate these monsters. I mean, we got stuck coming into town today, because a train was going by, and all I could think about was in the future those train cars would be filled with Dems and Mexicans. Heading to camps in Wind River. Because, naturally, these Fascists are going to use the Reservations as Concentration Camps. I mean, they are already used that way. And then when they need to make a point about how Natives are bad news and need to be eradicated, they point to all the efforts they have made making life intolerable and insufferable thereby creating a ghetto in the High Desert where crime and drug use is rampant, and then they can just point to the living conditions and say: "You see how these monsters live?" I mean, it is a thing that defines this political way of thinking. And it is bullshit, and it needs to stop.

I mean, we drank beer for quite a while. Then Brother Charley gave me a ride home. And I went to bed really fast. G was up, they went to bed too. I got up in the morning and felt okay. I probably should have been hungover, but I wasn't. I made some coffee and looked at things. Listened to things. There was a note from PegLeg about the things I needed to get from the neighbor's house. And where to put it. I also got a text from Shane about doing a horse ride with Little O and G. As well as a text from Brother Charley about lunch at Taco John's. Also a text from PegLeg about the same thing. I called PegLeg and had her talk me through her note. I couldn't read it good. It kind of circled the paper. I mean, I understood about things after the phone call. I woke G up and told them that we were leaving in an hour or so. I went outside and drove PegLeg's truck to the neighbors. I took a screwdriver with me. I was going to get the manifold hose things. Which seemed like a good thing to get. I mean, there was two of them. Plus three long hoses. And some electrical cords. And some snips. And some other things. I mean, it was hot already. I put the stuff in the back of the truck and drove back. I went inside and took a shower. Then I got G and we went to town to eat lunch at Taco John's. I mean, 11:30a. The witching hour, as it were. I mean, the place was crowded. Also! It was taco Tuesday. I got a taco burger and some ole's with nacho cheese. Also, a Taco Tuesday. Which, I mean, $.99 cents for two tacos. Hard shell. I mean, they raised the price two years ago, but now they brought it back. I mean, they changed the taco shell is the reason. But, so what? It is still a good deal. Little O was there. She got two Taco Tuesday's. Brother Charley got a Super Nacho. G got three soft shells. PegLeg got one Taco Tuesday and changed my small ole' order to a large one with an extra nacho cheese. I mean, we also all got drinks. I got a large unsweetened iced tea, so too, PegLeg. G got a cold brew coffee, vanilla flavored. Brother Charley and Little O got fountain drinks. I mean, the iced teas came with crushed ice. Which is one thing Taco John's is famous for. I mean, around these parts. And you can only get it if you got through the drive-through. Or, if you get the iced tea. I guess.

I mean, my taco burger was chewy. Which was nice. My sinuses are bad news since sleeping in the wood shop. I keep getting headaches. But at least I have some Zyrtek. I mean, my back right tooth is giving me issues. But it is directly connected to my nasal cavity and my ear hole. So I am not worried that I have a cavity or something, but it does kind of suck. I have been taking pain killers too. Twice a day. I mean, I keep hoping I will sneeze and a snake will come out or something. A big blast of water. I mean, my right eye is also not un-pressurized. I mean, I am glad that I don't have a sinus infection, I mean, for a minute I thought that I had one, but I don't. I just have a chunk of wood somewhere in there that needs to come out. I mean, I am sure it will work it's way out, eventually.

I mean, lunch was good for me. I got rehydrated. The taco stuff was good on my body. PegLeg went back to work. The rest of us needed to kill some time before horses so we went to the neighbor's house to pilfer anything good left behind. I mean, as much as I wanted to just grab anything that was working, there was no way to tell what was worth anything. I mean, the hoses, yes, and some of the tools, sure. But the electric lawn mower? I don't know anyone with a lawn. Even Nick's place, where I saw Humphries mowing the other day, he didn't really need to do that. Nick's lawn is not a grass lawn. It's more of a wilderness lawn. PegLeg doesn't have a lawn. Kevy Wevy does, but he already has a lawnmower. And not the crappy electric kind. I mean, whatever. There was stuff to take. And we took it. Then we got on the road to go to horses.

I mean, G LOVES horses. Like, I mean, I haven't seen them this excited in years. Literally, years. I mean, they normally are so reserved about anything and everything, but they were absolutely giddy about the horses. Like motor-mouthed about just the idea of riding horses. About the style of riding and the saddle and the types of horses. I mean, I teared up a little because of it. They were that excited. I mean, G doesn't allow themselves the opportunity to let their guard down very often, and I just wanted to hug them. I mean, the last couple years have been brutal, I mean, wow, it was something else. I mean, I was so very afraid that they would be let down, but no! It was everything they wanted it to be and more. I mean, G knew all the terms and names of things, and knew how to brush the horse and how to behave around it, I mean, by the end of the lesson they were beet red and exhausted. After cantering and this and that. Riding in the sun. I mean, I don't remember them ever being this happy. I mean, it was really something else. I mean, I am thinking now that they will hopefully get involved more with horses out East. I mean, I can see a serious focus on their part. To what degree, I don't know. But there are options. I mean, it is a strange thing, a strange thing that would be easier out here, but I think we can make it work out East too. Horse things are popular where they live. So, I mean, it is not off the tables.

[Insert Horse Photos]

I mean, I should go. I got to get up early for my eye appointment. Let me check to see if some election things have come in:

Cheney lost. 63% to 32%. Whoops. Welcome to the Neo Fascist Right. May god have mercy on our American souls.