[219] Screed City

[219]

01/09/2023 Monday. Upturned Trash Can In Front Of The Television. Room 804. Hilton Garden Inn, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.

WANGS. I mean, we drove eight hours from Queensbury, NY to Pittsburgh, PA for the best wangs in all of America. Just joking. But they were quite good. The usual. Fried and crispy and dranched in Buffalo sauce. Served with a side of ranch and four hanks of celery. Totally worth it. We are staying the night and then heading back to Vermont tomorrow. Double just joking. We are here to work, not fuck you, Marty.

[Insert WANGS Photo]

I mean, we are here to do some rigging. Or so it seems. And then tomorrow we move on to another parlay. Modern day pirates, we are. We arghhhh. I mean, I can't believe I get lured into these adventures, but every time it is truly insane, and right now Vermont is a first class stinker of a place, so it is nice to get out an do something, even if it is unbelievable. I mean, the way I see it, I can use the money I make this week to fund my trip to Berlin to hang out when Professor Curly has her movie premiere at the Berlin Film Festival! How crazy is that? I mean, maybe things are quite alright.

I mean, I just got commissioned to make five gallons of Ticklers for the PS/NY Octopus series. Which, I mean, I told Andy I was already making the things, so it wouldn't be a problem, but I have stickers now and everything. I mean, I left Beaver Haus with 20 gallons of the good stuff sitting around like time bombs waiting to go off. I mean, I don't think I told you that I had a few explosions in the last couple weeks. One explosion blew the cabinet door open and spewed half a gallon of yeasty sugar water onto the kitchen floor, then it dripped down into the basement and made a mess down there. I mean, I learned a lesson. When I left this morning I had put all the bottles in containers, and yes, some of them will explode, but how many is the question? And the great part about it is, the stuff that leaks out will continue to ferment, so I can just pour it right back into the bottles when I get back. Win/win.

I mean, my system is faulty. The caps are the problem. I need a torque wrench. If you over tighten them they weaken, if you don't tighten them enough, they leak. And as much as I was led to believe the bottles could handle 200 psi, I feel like that is a special case. I think they can handle like 50 psi, max, and were never meant to handle more than 25 psi in the first place, so, I mean, I guess I am playing with fire. Delicious fire, with satisfactory results.

Still no word on the fake Joey Truman. The Publisher reached out to the publisher and they said they had no idea about the isbn...so the mystery deepens. And it's crazy to buy a $60 dollar book that is mostly likely a big scam, but I don't know, I need to start a Save Me From Plagiarism gofundme. $60 bucks isn't too much money to ask, right? $1 dollar at a time, we just need 60 people to give a fuck. Won't you, give a fuck, for me, about plagiarism? I mean, what kind of scam can it possibly be? Are fake books the new bit coin? The new NFT? Invest now so we can find out. Because otherwise it is just throwing money right down into an abysmal hole.

I mean, this hotel is hilarious. We had to put all of our luggage on a cart and take it to the wheel chair elevator, take it down a few feet, push it to the elevators and take it up to the first floor lobby to check in. I mean, it was easy enough, it is just the lobby must have been designed by Rube Goldberg or whatever. The woman at the front desk handed me a banana I had to peel to get my room key and then when I dropped the peel on the floor a bellhop took my luggage and slid into the elevator with it, or something, and then I tipped him with a hand shake that was actually an eel instead of a hand or something.

But really though, my room's door slams so hard that it hurts my eardrums. And all of downtown Pittsburgh is under construction, getting to the hotel was like playing Mouse Trap, and the room is old enough that it smells like cigarettes. The carpet. I mean, I worry I may find striations on the sheets. Not because the place is dirty, it's just that bed bugs last forever.

I mean, I am just talking shit. Things are fine. It's going to be a weird week. Every night a different hotel room, a different town. Like rock and roll stars, rock and roll modern day pirates, going town to town, parlaying our riggings, Captain Scott and his trusty sidekick, Ol' Rusty Joe.

Fucking Junior Mint spouted a rust hole the other day. Out of nowhere, all the sudden, a great big rust hole. And the muffler, I mean, I pulled one of the pipes out on accident, in the Walgreens parking lot, shopping for calendars, I mean, it wasn't an accident that I pulled it out, it was an accident that it came out, I looked around and crammed it back in, and who knows how long before some asshole cop pulls me over to state the obvious, I mean, poor Junior Mint, the last days are here, it is time to consider the unthinkable, I mean, fucking Vermont, the inertia and the rust and the mud, you can just feel it eating you up inside, and yet you fight, you fight like the wind! And no matter what you do, you always end up right back where you started, in JD's fucking garage, with his smug anti-woke Fox news mentality, blaming Biden for everything, and you bite your tongue, because, frankly, Vermont used to be redder than Wyoming, but that means nothing when you have to put your car into palliative care, hoping it lasts another Winter, but knowing you should start shopping for a new car now, and it hurts, it hurts so bad, because you know it was Vermont that did it, yet you can't quit that awful bitch.

Anyway, I got to hit the sack. 5a is early tomo.