Saturday, September 06, 2008

F YEah Flix, continued

Jonny from Crystal Antlers shows us a toy in St.Louis.
Amie from Monotonix, bus wildman.
Totally Michael hangs out while Hannibal Buress surfs a porno website while listening to a motivational tape.

Tuesday, September 02, 2008

F Tha KKKops

Working at a warehouse in a lower-income part of town for two days last week made me feel lower-class. Not because of the nature of the work, as filing things away and pretending to do stuff while in a dull, semi-supervised environment is something that happens in all range of classes, but because I was treated like a criminal. This did not happen at work. No, at work everybody liked me and gave a lot of leeway and let me work a couple of shifts when there was really no call for an extra guy. The work gang delighted in my lunchtime trips for three dollar barbecue pork, my subtle pooh-poohing of their musical tastes, and my pathetic tales of poor bicycling skills. I was treated like a criminal by none other than the police. Not the band.
It all began when I decided to sneak off and get some juice at the corner store. I clumsily hopped on my bicycle, arriving at my destination within forty seconds. While spending roughtly attempting to affix my miniature bike lock (designed for children) to a nearby fence, I heard a commanding “Hey, you!”. I turned around to see that two police officers, a man and a woman, were beckoning me towards the squad car they sat within. Feeling guiltless and inquisitive, I approached the car. They asked me some dumb questions. “Do you know why we’re talking to you?” and “What are you doing?” being the two I remember. I half expected them to ask “Are we the cops?” I looked at them, and they looked at me.
“We had report of a ‘B&E’ up the street, and the suspect matches your description,” said the male. I told him I had literally just left work and hadn’t done any breaking and entering. Apparently my word wasn’t good enough, and they asked me for my ID. Dumbly, like a robot, a peon, a serf, an automaton, a servant, a humble subject of the land, I handed them my ID, which I explained was expired. They ran it through some kind of system, and then I was told “OK thanks pal” as they went on their way, for sure not solving the crime. But if I ever wind up in Guantanamo Bay, I’ll know how they found me.