Looking at the same moon?

Leo, an armchair astrologer, made the bright observation that we are all looking at the same moon and sun. It doesn't matter where we are in the universe. We may be sipping lemonade on a porch in Arkansas or playing checkers in a field in Budapest. The reality is that our gaze upwards focuses on the same object more or less. Leo believed that his observation was sheer brilliance and that his statement had no platitudinous weight. Human beings look upwards to see the same sun and moon. Case closed as far as Leo was concerned. He then resumed drinking his tap water to assure that the fluoride got a hold of his pearly whites.

I agreed with Leo that we are all subject to the same big sun and moon. These objects have been existence long before we were alive and will continue to shine long after our deaths. However, I posed a simple question to Leo: Are we all looking at the same asshole? Leo's answer was shocking and not the shocker that I was expecting. He said resoundingly that we are all looking at different assholes although their form may have the shape of a retarded star. The asshole that my brother views may be in direct contrast to the asshole that Leo sees on a typical Saturday night after a night out at a favorite watering hole. Let's just hope that they have something in common, namely, that cleanliness is part of their asshole game. A dirty asshole is the true shocker as far as Leo was concerned on that starless night.

The unveiling of something small...

Brent is no longer communicating with me because he is getting his period more often these days. Marriage did him in, and he is hiding from me in a little bunker in a lovely section of San Francisco.

Leo has decided to take over Brent's position in this time-consuming blog. Leo most recently purchased a lovely cockatoo that talks and flutters around its cage like a lunatic. The little bird is a few months old and loves to watch movies on the computer; Little Shop of Horrors is the bird's first choice for a cinematic delight. The cockatoo loves to chew on the bars of its cage with tremendous enthusiasm and often times flaps its wings furiously in an attempt to escape to the moon.

I have been learning more about this animal as I watch its behavior and listen to it make bizarre sounds just for the fuck of it. It is a fascinating creature, and there was one instant where the bird blurted my name in mock sincerity. Leo then picked up the bird and set it atop his computer desk. The bird walked nibbled at the nail clippers that Leo had set on the table to provide euphoria for this creature. Leo then cradled the cockatoo and spread its feathers. I thought perhaps there was something on this bird's feet that might be unique to the species. This was not the case and my hope for aviary expertise diminished. Leo quipped: "Ever seen a cockatoo's asshole?" He spread the feathers and there it was...a little twinkling star that was smiling at me as if I were the only person left in the universe.

Fast food menus out of control...

America has become fixated on the development of healthy conscious citizens. There is a plethora of organic foods on shelves in the local grocery stores. People want to trim the fat; they want to live to one hundred. Who would want to do that? I think eighty years in this great country is sufficient. Case closed. Bury my ass.

I continue to support my fast food neighbors. Their hamburgers remain tasty and greasy as ever. Their tacos are fat as hell and spicy to boot. I chow them down at least a couple of times a week. I like to keep things real. I often drench them in mustard and catsup. I let the juices run down my chin while I am watching a football game. I like to cheer like an animal in between bites of my tasty treat.

My problems with fast food are not related to calorie intake. The pickle I find myself in happens at the drive through. The menus are so fucking large, and I have no idea what to order. I take my time and read through all the options to make sure I really get the best selection. My indecision baffles the cars behind me, and the honking then commences. They want me to move my ass as fast as possible. I linger. I talk sweet pleasantries to the voice on the speaker. I ask about calorific intake, and then change my mind. I change it again. I stutter. I mumble. I fuck it all up and then drop the change when she opens the window to take my coins. I take my burrito smothered in cheese and sit in traffic. I can't wait to get it home and devour it. The next time I check out the menu online to write down my selections. My mouth waters while I look at the internet menu. I am the organic mother fucker.

A cold shower mini-burst...

The bathroom is a sacred place. A person's shower is the last place where he or she might be interrupted. The gentle needles of rain soothe a body after a rough day of work. There are different levels of massage that allow for various levels of comfort. Relaxation. Peace. Tranquility. Take me away to another place, mother fucker. Close your eyes to forget the misery of a bad day, a routine disturbed by a flat tire or a deadline unmet.

Sharing a hotel room with a family member or friend is always fun. It is great to play catch or catch up. Listen to the person's experiences. Laugh. Cry. Share a hug. Then wait while that person heads to the bathroom for a relaxing shower. Fill up a cup of water and tip toe carefully towards the edge of the shower. Dump the cold water onto the person and then laugh like a hyena. Your victim most likely will emit a response like: "What the fuck?" and then learn to lock the door in the future. You can never be too careful these days. The mother fucker might have ice cubes next time for a new victim. Those suckers can do some damage.

Encrypted words now impossible to read...

Setting up new accounts these days has become a miserable experience. Resetting passwords is equally horrendous. What I mean is that certain websites are asking people to type in bizarre words for security reasons. These ridiculous words are very long and unreadable at best. I try my hardest to make sense of the disfigured L or the outrages G, but it is to no avail. It seems like the mother fuckers in administration have concocted a way to rob person of a few minutes of his or her life.

I recently asked a website administrator about this dilemma. He answered my question very succinctly: "We are in the face of the worst recessions ever to grip this country. Why not give people a little more grief when they try to reset a password or create a new account?" The same administrator went on to say--"We try to pick a word that is hardly ever used in the English language and then we ask the person at the computer to spell it correctly. We do a good job ruffling the person's feathers so that he or she might have to second guess the right word to enter into the little box."

Someone who works here...

It is pretty clear that employers are doing this all over stores throughout America. It does not matter the type of establishment nor the time of day. With the recession gaining steam, stores are cutting back on their hired help.

When I went into the department the other day, I could not see anyone who might be able to help me. Minutes later I saw an elderly person hunched over in the aisle. I asked the man if he could help me find a particular size of dress shirt. The elderly person turned out to be a woman, and she barked back at me. I was not sure exactly what she had said, but I know that she let out a small fart when she got to her feet. Her words were familiar: "I don't work here."

Many customers across this great country have experienced similar embarrassment when confronting a potential employee. We just don't know anymore who is an employee of a store. Perhaps employees should wear a button that simply says in small letters: "Ask me. I am a mother fucker who works here and probably won't be able to answer your question anyways."

Walking into a marriage proposal...

Last weekend I ran into a marriage proposal and it was not very fun. The man had gotten down on his knees, and he was staring intently into her eyes. The gentle waterfall in the community pool was making a nice rippling sound and the stars were glittering in the sky. And then I jumped into the pool and ruined the moment. I don't even though if she had said yes to the big question, but I surmised that she had answered affirmatively because they were kissing passionately when I rose from the deep end of the pool.

Marriage proposals are exciting. It was the first marriage proposal I had ever encountered in my life. I didn't intentionally try to ruin their private moment, but I had just played tennis and had wanted to jump into my pool. I know that my splash was louder than normal because I had eaten pizza three days in a row and the crust had gone right to my rear end. I toweled off at the edge of the pool and congratulated the elated couple. They will always remember my whale-like splash as they look back to that special day when they decided to take the plunge into their new life. I was glad to be a part of it, and can't wait until I bump into another tender moment.