Thursday, July 24, 2003

the two times i got really out of control at sant ambroeus both had to do with credit cards. the first time this german guy with perfectly good english gregarious through the evening with his learning and travels sticks like six dollars on a four hundred dollar check. i'm already pretty disgusted with the fat motherfucker because he has "herr doktor" printed preceding his name on his credit card. i hate titles on credit cards. it's a pool house. i have responsibilities. "I'm sorry, sir, but," grimace embarrasedly "but it's not really an appropriate tip in america..." i con a little more money from the fuck. walking out he complains to me: "i do not know the custom" he maintains " but i am not accustomed to being asked for gratuities," he turns dismissively from me. "then stay out of my country," i call after him. he turns, shocked and spluttering: "but i do not think of this as your country.." he begins... i cock my head at him.. yeah motherfucker? ... he leaves. the next morning i'm still mad. i take baby down to the east village to the internet cafe. it takes me forty five minutes to find the herr doktor's home address. that's about what i figured. this is the first time i go on the web. ever. i think about sending the herr doktor a communication indicating what a reprehensible cultureless piece of shit i think he is. but i don't. i got his name somewhere. i can fuck with him later. the second time this tweedy english gentleman type has picked a fight with one of my albanians. i already know about this and while i realize albanians can be a little brusque i think it incumbent on englishmen abroad to watch their fucking manners given their fucking horrible history of messing with the rest of the world. so the english boy is stiffing us but he's doing it by leaving the damn box blank and the thing untotaled which obviously invites the kind of fraud allegation stink that can cause no end of grief. i make him fill the damn thing out and then i tell him: "you're gonna be alright here, but i would not stiff an american waiter and leave my credit card number." the little john bull with his contrasting prints and neckerchief snot rag hits the roof. screams at paoli for like half an hour. afterwards i hasten to beg forgiveness. "i'm sorry. the english get on my nerves sometimes." paoli looks over his gasses a long dark moment. then he shrugs. 2:08:40 PM    comment []

mrs. montoya first hears koo playing from behind the barb wire and chain link of the yard of the dos passos city jail. sherriff haney scott has vagged koo and intends to send him to die out working on the proposed highway. when the sherriff first sees koo he puts his hand to his gun and he tries to take it out and shoot koo because he is a deeply religious man and koo plainly wears the mark of the beast . but somehow he can't. so he vags koo and puts his faith in the murderous potentiality of the proposed highway. mrs. montoya walks into the sherriff's office and announces: "i want that ukulele player. i'll go his fine." "beth, you can't do that," says sherriff scott. "fuck you, haney, i'm gonna," mrs. montoya says. 12:52:48 PM    comment []