[85] Screed City

[85]

01/24/2022 Monday. Kitchen Microwave. Beaver Haus. Lower Granville, Vermont.

Jay G'Baur's birthday today. Happy Birthday, you damn dirty dog!

And the second great news, Screed City Radio is a go! I am kind of beside myself about this news. I mean, it doesn't mean that much, but it is very good for me. A ballast. An anchor of sorts. I mean, more so than the Farmers Market. More so than this newsletter. Even more than the Donkey serial. It just means a lot. I will have an hour to do whatever the hell I want. I mean, within FCC guidelines and stuff. I can't start riots or whatever. I can't sell vitamins. I can't cuss or send nudes. But it will be a platform to focus my energies and thoughts into. I mean, nobody really listens to Mad River Radio, I mean, I do when I can get it. And sometimes when I think about it I live stream it. But still. I mean, it is something that I will have to take seriously. Something that I will have to plan out. Something with structure. And as much as I love a wild and rambling off the walls half-drunken screed, being forced to get my shit together for one hour a week is something I look forward to. I mean, I have a bunch of shit to read tomorrow. To get caught up on things. Then I have to train. But something tells me that is about a thirty minute crash course on how to hit the "Live" button and how to take calls and how to play songs. I mean, I already designed a t-shirt. I will start making play lists. I guess I will need to buy some songs and stuff. Get Jay G-Baur to send me some Jimmy Flame stuff. Go Sell Drugs. UM. Chris Brokaw. Dishwashers. Bronko Dilater. The Stags. I mean, lists. Lists and lists.

Which brings me to the third good news. I am going to start using some of that discipline that everyone is always talking about. The bridesmaids or whatever. Self-discipline. With regards to these screeds. I mean, if I am going to read one of them on air per week, I will need to not just go off on some political rant or whatever. Avoid talking for ten minutes about some jerk that UNSCRUBSCRIBED me. I mean, codify. I will need to codify. Which will be good. I mean, it will undoubtedly cause me to start an entirely new screed system for the overflow. But, I mean, I guess if I really need to keep screeding after my screed is finished, I have quite a few more projects that I don't put out into the ether. You know? The Secret Screeds.

Which brings me to the fourth good news. I am going to put a Content Warning on Postal Teen. I am not sure if people are reading it, but it is very violent and deals with racism and child abuse. Among other things. And I realize that most of you haven't read Postal Child or Parlay, so you don't have context for what is happening to poor Whitey. Which is your fault. The books are readily available at www.whiskeytit.com. But I won't purchase-shame you. Just yet, I mean.

Which brings me to the fifth good news. I am going to get the first eight chapters of Donkey serial book on tape in the next few days. I haven't really figured out how to package that yet. But time is on our side. I mean, I think we will just offer it up to be bought on the website. Maybe there is other marketing things to do with it. You know, Amazon is always something. Which, I think I am the only one these days that understands that there is no reason to fight them anymore. They have won. We just need to accept that. And having a book on tape on Amazon is not a bad thing. Jeff Bezos can't eat an entire turd sandwich and drop dead, but what he has done to the world is not going to change. Ever. The same way that asshole Steve Jobs fucked us all with the iPhone. But, so what. I accept it. All of it. I will buy the END OF THE WORLD KIT from Amazon the same as everyone else. I mean, Bezos will bring on the end of Society and then he will sell us a kit to help us survive what he has done at bargain basement prices. Complete with a Donkey Serial MP3. Something to listen to while the bombs go off.

Which brings me to the sixth good news. The heater/boiler is fixed. It got so hot in here today that I had to reset the programming. I mean, I did watch the gas guy come and fill the tank today. Which hurt my wallets feelings pretty bad, but I mean, I am going to pay that bill by working in the Spring fixing the insulation issues on the house. I mean, no skin off my nards. As the bridesmaids say. Fill'er up!

Which brings me to the seventh good news. My Tickler juice is really bubbling now. I think the first one will be done by Friday. I have plans to clean it up with gelatin. Then transfer it to these gallon jugs I bought at TJ Maxx yesterday. I bought some special sugars today to help in the carbonation. Which won't add too many cals to the thing.

Which brings me to the eighth good news. I did a doubler on the snowshoe trail today. It is half a mile to the river. Half a mile back. I did it twice. I could have done it a few more times, but I didn't. I mean, I wanted to, but I thought it was getting late. I was wrong, but I stopped anyway. I think I will go do this other field tomorrow or the next day. Where I can get away from the highway. That is what kind of stinks about doing the corn field out back. Too many cars. Someone honked at me today. A small red truck. Which, I mean, I held up my pole as like a hello, but I don't know. It might have been like when I was burning all that brush last Spring. Maybe the dude was honking in anger. I really don't know. He wasn't waiting for me when I got back, but still. I mean, I was going to tell him that I rent the house and therefore whatever agreement he has with Kid Millionaire he has with me. Meaning, I know that he lets them use like an acre of whoever’s land to raise corn, so I should feel absolutely entitled to walk on the field in the Winter. But, I mean, I don't know. I am probably just being paranoid. But who knows? People around here honk when they really mean it. I mean, I honk for fun and out of excitement. But I am just a White guy. Not a grouchy White guy, just yet.

Which brings me to the ninth good news. I mean, I guess I don't have anymore good news. I don't have any bad news either. So maybe that is good news. I had this plan tonight to start sending this newsletter to bunch more people. But I didn't do it. I made a list of electronic mails to add, but then my AOL account didn't save it for some reason, and by the time I started writing it was too late to do again. I mean, I am shooting the gap here. I mean, the trick is to send it to people that won't mind getting a fresh mail every single day. Especially when it is thousands of words of a rant. Sometimes a very poorly written rant with shit tons of spelling and grammatical errors. I mean, it's electronic mail. Nobody actually cares. It is meaningless. But the question is this: Would I care myself if somebody did that to me? And the answer is a very loud and very vibrant: HELL NO. I wouldn't mind. If one day I just started getting someone's petty screed in my inbox, I would be elated. However, I know that I am the one sending them, so my position on this may be a little skewed. But so what? Fortune favors the bold. Good Will Hunting told me this.

The new date for the Tom Reading is February 17th. STD. I think I will go down to the City early. Maybe on Monday or Tuesday. I think I can stay at Jonny's. Shit! I forgot to get in touch with him today. Tomorrow. Always tomorrow. I need to make sure the timing is good. Otherwise I will be sleeping on Tom's studio floor. Which is concrete. And filled with metal shavings and welding dust. I mean, I write that. And then I think about who I was going to add to the mailing list for this thing. I mean, I shouldn't even worry about things the way I do. Half the people I know in this world would sleep on Tom's studio floor with all the metal filings and welding dust. They would care very little if I sent them a fresh mail every day. Sometimes I overthink things too much. I mean, maybe being alone in a farm house for 23.5 hours every day is starting to get to me. I am all up in my own head. PYSCHE! That was me Psyching myself out. You know? Because I am the only one here.

I was going to tell you guys a story about someone I know that got a hickey and then tried to pretend it was from getting hit in the neck with a snowball. But I won't. Because it is too hilarious. And then I was going to tell you a story about the first time I touched a boob as a teenager. But that seems wrong. Or maybe not. I will see if I can do it without causing anyone any grief.

I couldn't do it. I just tried. I didn't get very far. The story is too dark and very sad. I mean, if you have children, be nice to them. Especially when they are in their early teens. They need you way more than they let on. Things are changing at an alarming pace and they don't know how to communicate yet. Just pay attention and be nice. They don't mean to be assholes. They just are. Because of Society. I mean, the story about the boob was only a very small part of the story. If anything it would be a very long short story. Maybe I will write it one day. For now, screed and screed alike.

As far as the snowball story. That is just for me. Maybe Brother Luke if I can remember the next time I call him. I mean, I told you the story basically. It is really stupid. But it involves someone I don't have permission to talk about. So, I will keep it to myself. But it is very funny. Just think of a very funny story and insert it right here.

I mean, I don't know. The goats are still idiots. I think a few of them are living their last days. Scott gets back tomorrow. From Italy. I am not sure if that means that they will bite the dust this weekend or not. The racist Albany job is still up in the air. The work in Portland is still up in the air. I need to buy some more ink. I need to do the Dishwasher cover. Which, I need it to be night time to do that. That, or I do it in the basement. Which would be easier, except the walls are concrete. So, I mean, I guess I could lug a chunk of sheet rock down there, or maybe a chunk of plywood. But it is kind of cold down there. And dusty. I don't know. Sometimes you get a really simple idea, but it gets hard because of all the ins and outs of normal life. I mean, the smart thing to do would be to use the wall by the door to the basement. But then it needs to be dark outside. And once the sun goes down, the screeds go up. So I just need to manage my time better. And since I have nothing but time, I mean, I need to be more busy to make this thing happen. That is all I am saying. I mean, I also need to make more merch t-shirts, but I am feeling broke. But so what? I am always broke. I should get a job is what I should do. But once you have a job then everything changes. And now that I got this radio gig. I mean, I have to drop everything. Just joking. It is not that much work. It is only focus. I do have plenty of that. What I need to do is get Professor Curly the MacArthur grant. Then we can slide on down Easy Street. Finally get married. I mean, she did make it to Broadway. Which is nice enough. The first step, as far as I am concerned. But if she wants to pull in any sweet tail like me, she is going to need to push it a little further. I mean, I need someone with t-shirt money. Someone that won't bat an eye at a $300 dollar bill for fine threads. That is the girl for me. I mean, check this out:

[insert Screed City Radio shirt idea]

I even used the Broadway text. How can she deny me this? I mean, if she want a trophy husband she is going to have to play the game. That is all I am saying. I mean, I am doing all the body work. The two mile snowshoe regimen. Every other Monday that falls on a even day. I mean, I can't get any stronger. Right? Just sayin'. The ball is in your court, Professor Curly, the ball is in your court.