Bethany’s Break Room Rant

All writing kept intact and original to preserve the downright ignorance of the piece.

Bill and my sister Irene were French kissing and touching all up on each other in the God Damn company break room, it was disgusting. I mean between the sights, and the sounds (a lot of heavy breathing, both are fat and got deviated septums) and the smell the break room has anyway (it’s like the rotting vapors of 40 different frozen entrees in there.) I mean they’re both obeast and ugly as sin, so that’s like a double violation too, like a bad day at Hometown Buffett for all your 6th senses. I’m trying to just sit down and eat my Panda Express and maybe smoke a Pall Mall and these two are sitting there rubbing each other’s crotches and chests and licking out each other’s mouth holes, like a child licks Duncan Hines’s chocolate frosting out of a God Damn mixing bowl!

I was like ‘HEY! Excuse me!” They slowly stop and then Irene was like, “Bethany they ain’t no excuse for you, you sorry assed schoolmarm!” And she went back to liking on Bill’s neck and chin area like it’s a God Damn whore house or a speakeasy. She was always the strumpet of the bloodline, she got her titties done and like Daddy says she got no business putting a second story on an unsteady foundation, so anyways this cow ain’t got no shame, she was the town whore since she first started bleedin’ and the bitch still using abortion as a form of birth control, and says stupid shit like “ya’ll shouldn’t hate,” whenever the family tryin’ question her on it.

So but anyways, I was like, “Irene I’ll take your sorry fat rear end to human resources and this time they’ll fire your elephantine ass on account of being caught a public display of affection when Steve was fingering out that sorry, syphilitic, sloppy, slit in the stairwell!” They both stopped and stared at me, Bill’s jaw-dropping. Now my sister Is older and way bigger and fatter than me, bitch weighs 290 but I’ll kick that whore’s ass 5 ways til Tuesday and back again. And plus I’ll do it right here in this God Damn break room.

Because just two weeks ago that skank tried to throw hot Nescafé on me and I picked up a Walmart plastic folding break room chair and hit that cow right on her flabby back. Then they both got up. I said “that’s right slut lemme’ see that walk of shame, and Bill you a hot mess too, a real piece of hideous horny hillbilly trash! You sound like a God Damn Choctaw hog with that breathing issue, You married with 3 kids, and you’re in here doing this with this swine? I’m a call your wife Beth-Anne and tell her about your scuzzy ass if I ever see you doing this shit again.

I mean Beth-Anne is butt ugly but Irene here ain’t no Connie Sellecca either and this skanky trollop got crabs too, don’t ya’ Irene? And who knows what else. Cuz the bitch has banged everyone in here from the custodians to the CEO! Then she’s all, “Bethany I’m warning you, SHUT UP! Or…” I was like, “…or what? You gonna send a swarm crabs after me?” she turned and walked toward the snack cabinet, she had a mini skirt on and her backside looked like two ice cream cones supporting a russet potato. She opened up the cabinet while saying, “poor Bethany, still can’t get a man, pussy been on lockdown since uncle Willy violated it at the family reunion in ’98.

Get over it already girl we all got our crosses to bare and yours ain’t no big deal.” Now you would think this little TMI moment would truly send me into a tizzy. But it don’t, she’s the only one got her little puddy diddled by Silly Willy, and that bitch thinks that he did that shit to me too. So but then I’m like, “Bitch Silly Willy was only up in your claptrap with them ham-hock hands, he ain’t done shit on my real estate. Now you want me to really start outing your bizness? Like, let’s have a mother fucking intervention on them winter skid marks on those god damn Victoria’s or I should say Irene’s Secret shit and blood stained drawers?”

Bill looked like he was holding a dry heave and then to really push it I say “oh you ain’t heard Bill? It looks like a cherry chocolate festival in there.” Bill gagged and walked to the sink and Just then Irene quickly turned came at me with a 2 Liter bottle of Dr. Pepper. She was like “NyAAAHHHHH.” And I sidestepped her and Dr. Pepper like exploded on that bitch and Bill went running over there screaming, “I’LL HELP! I’LL HELP!” and then Irene just stood there screamin’ sound like that bitch caught the Holy ghost! I just sat down and started eating my food and I lit a cigarette and ate and smoked cuz all this bullshit ate into my lunch time so I had to do both. I leisurely got up and walked by with my middle finger in her grill ‘cuz she a bitch and a whore. But deep down I love her, she my kin.

Vinnie The Guinea’s Rant

Fucking Joey exploded man! He flew into a rage after the Jets lost to New England. He fucking backhanded Maria, split her fucking lip! Supposedly Maria told him, ‘get a life, and your fucking emotional state of being when your teams lose is like a twelve-year-old girl.’

That was it, “BLAM!” Maria’s dad Sal, You know Sal, built like a brick shithouse, he was a wheelman for Fat Tommy, Sal Man! Ex-Marine fought in ‘Nam – killin’ zips in the wire. Had like a necklace of gook ears! Fucking Sal beat up 14 Puerto Ricans in the parking lot of Fucking Yankee stadium they tried to rob him. He found out about the back-hand Joey served up to Maria and like went over there after the game while Joey was watching 60 minutes, like some segment about that asshole who started Facebook that Zuckerjew fuck.

Anyway I mean he fucking rolled Joey out like cheap carpet! Maria had to beg, “Daddy Daddy, please!” He says, “Shut the fuck up, Maria! I’ll beat this Mother-less fuck within an inch of his shitty fucking life!” He laid into him, screaming things at him like at the same time “you wanna hit my baby you fucking bag of shit, HUH?! HIT ME, C’MON! You sorry fuck I’ll make you wish you was never fuckin’ borned!” Then threw him against a wall and fucked up all the wedding pics and family photos, and, to like make it even more fucked up and worser Joey went face first into Angela’s picture (you know Sal’s dead wife and Maria’s saint of a fucking mother, helped retarded kids and disabled old fuckers, you know dead by cancer.

But hey not for nuthin’ years ago they lived by the Fresh Kills Landfill dump on Staten Island, so…. But then like Sal was really like super pissed! “MY ANGELA!” He was like crying and screaming, “YOU FUCKING COCK SUCKER! LOOK WHAT YOU DID TO MY ANGELA!” He picked up that heavy leather footrest thing, ottomans, whatever the fuck, you know the one they bought from Roma D’Italia in Brooklyn and started like BLAM BLAM like beating him wit it! Like the bottom part of it, it has like these black marble legs, and those lil’ legs were kicking the shit outta Joey with every fucking hit.

The neighbors called the cops but they never come there on account of Joey’s dad was the like the desk commander of the 69th precinct and they know Joey’s a loser or some shit and why trouble Joey Sr. with Joey Jr’s. fucking bullshit he’s got hypertension and gout and had to pay off loan sharks and junk dealers on account of Joey Jr.’s degenerate gambling or his dope habit and not for nuthin’ but Joe sr was probably at one time or anotha’ taking payoffs and gifts from Sal as well as Fat Tommy at the Tommy T’s social club where Joey sr. had a espresso and a t-bone steak like clockwork every fuckin Tuesday at like noon.

I can tell you this it looked like The Shining in there, like blood all over the walls, shit all tore up, broken glass and frameless black n’ white photos on the floor and what not, I saw and heard the whole thing from my place next door and like they got like no fucking shame they got the drapes and windows wide open on a Sunday night and screaming and yelling like Sicilian banshees like it sounds like fucking Raging Bull in there with these motherfuckers.

I ain’t gonna say shit cause these scum bags like either one of ‘em will beat me senseless, plus when Joey was in AC Gambling me and Maria fooled around like, let’s just say my sausage fell between her buns and we fucked til the cows came home and she called it a mercy fuck on account of I got like one leg smaller then the other and I gotta wear these orthopedic shoes but I told her not for nuthin’ I don’t need no charity, fuck you Maria I can get laid, just last week Josephine who’s temping in the office of 18th avenue plumbing supply gave me a hand job behind a dumpster and plus I got other prospects, and she said “yeah but a handjob and getting laid are in like in to different galaxies so what the fuck Vinnie?”

She was right and it was amazing to having had fucked her and I’m thinking about her a lot and plus I called her dad about the back-hand thing because fuck Joey Jr anyway! He called me a “lame” and “wobble walk” and “Vinnie Stutter step” in school so fucking his wife was like revenge you only read about in books, or see on television. And plus even my Father who is kind of soft, and quiet compared to other tuff motherfuckers in the neighborhood was like “Jesus Stevie, you gotta get laid, I mean Christ you must be walking around sexually frustrated with a heavy sack or like you must beat off like your going to the electric chair.”

Which both things are true but like I don’t want my father saying that to me I’m thirty-seven and plus I still live at home, but a lot a guys live at home, even into there like 50’s and fuck it’s expensive to move and not for nothing I chip in for food and clean up but my mother insists on doing my underwears and shit ‘cuz I bleached out the a bunch of colors and turned the whites blue cuz I don’t pay attention to what colors go with what cleaning chemicals so anyway, I was having this idea that maybe Sal will beat Little Joey like into a comatose type deal, so like I can be with Maria or console her through her trials and tribulations and however you say that.

Like I think about how much I enjoyed bangin’ her out I actually can’t stop thinking about her and sometimes I mean like once in a while I peak in on her through da window when she’s taking a dump or showering or pissing. Like a coma type deal or even like I mean if he died to, that wouldn’t be the worse thing that ever happened on this block either, like not for nothing you know father Mc Murphy diddled little cocks and fiddled with boys and girlses assholes and he like got off free as a fucking bird and moved out west, the church is like the mafia they take care of there own, but one of those kids was Fat Tommy’s godson and he was fucking like super pissed and word has it he put 25k on the street to have Mc Murphys cook and balls put in a mason jar, and I guess he put a couple of his soldiers on the street and even one went out west supposedly allegedly.

“Fuck You Huero!” A rant from Marisella Morales (aKa) sHyGrRl

*Excuse the vernacular, spelling errors and outright butchering of the English language. Trying to keep it hood.

Thass right you pinche fuck head. It’s Friday nite aye and we jus burly started to party cuz liL SpOoKy brought over a kegger and mi abolita made menudo and carne asada and my cousin RaScAl jus burly got out of Wayside cuz he was in there for some bullshit violations of probation like he was hangin’ out with another homeboy and some bullshit about not supposed to disasscociate with known gang members so like anyways we were getting’ down listening to narcos corridos music and like Sylvia (aKa LoNeLy) my homegirl from v13 came over and like she’s cool but that chica’s always judges me like how I’m a mother, how I keep house and there’s roaches and everything is greasy and filthy and especially when she says like, ‘don’t give meha flaming hot cheetos and diet coke, cuz meha looks like she’s sweating and red and her belly looks all distended out and shit and every time she sips at that cola she like makes a face like it’s fukin lickwid plummer aye least just give her regular like seven up or mounten dew’s and I’m like ‘LoNeLy mind your own bizzness bich’ and sometimes we argue and that’s when fukin pinche huero was all ‘um hello uh can you keep it down pleas?’ like all smart assy And I was like ‘mind your own bizness, this got nothing to do with your huero ass’ and then he’s like ‘it’s 12:30 and it’s got everything to do with me because your outside my window, I’ll call the cops’ and this huero had balls aye, cuz like we got homies all over the block, I was like ‘shit whatever, call the huda then liL SpOoKy was all ‘I’ll blast that foo aye fuck that lil’ blanco bitch’ and I was like ‘you ain’t blasting no one’ and my abolita came in from the back room and was like what are you locas doing? why is the huero yelling? what is happening? And I’m like ‘gramma go back to your little room, we got this go watch your programs’ we converted a walk in closet to a bedroom for her she has a little tv and we cut into the cable cuz my homeboy 5nIpEr works for Time Werner but gramma pitches in for rent with her social security and also I get WIC and that’s my monthly card for womans infants an childrens like milk and cheese and diapers and eggs and shit so like my tio biG pAnThEr lives here occasionally but he gets all perverted when he drinks and does speed and so my tia LiL’ dReAmEr who used to be with him but she went all machona tortillera when she went to the pen in chowchilla she loves to eat pussy she came at me and was like ‘sHyGiRl lemme taste that sweet lil pinoche’ like at her own daughter’s quincinera and I was drunk and horny and tempted but the bible says that shit is wrong so… then like last week she warned me and said that pAnThEr weird sexual extendencies but only just when he drinks and does tweak – but then I decided I still I don’t want him around my dotter… because another tio of mine bIg JoKeR is a sick fucker who touch my lil cussin Carla and she said he showed her his serpiente and she should touch it til it recoils back to its cave and shit and then he said she made it bled white on her hand, so she should pt it in her mouth to get the rest of the blood out of it and make it better, so he had to fkn go so but that sick motherfucker disappeared after I toll liL SpOoKy, I think liL SpOoKy he put his ass somewheres – but bIg JoKeR was abuse by has papi mR. sMiLeY like bIg JoKeR had to suck his papi mR. sMiLeY dick and got buttfucked by sMiLeY so, like they said shit rolls down hill so we nips that shit in the butt like quik fast I think he brought jOkErZ ass to TJ and blasted that sick ninos toucher and put his ass somewhere anyhwowz so then we jus kep partying and listnin to my favrit narco corridore jamz (rip Ariel Comacho mi corazon) Then like huero was slamming windows and shit like a lil’ bitch and then at like two in the morning pUpPeT and 5iLeNt show up they just came from the clubz and pUpPeT has blood all over his boots and jeans and he’s like ‘I just kikd this mother fuckerz head in like bad, he tried to talk shit when we were leving’ and there like gacked out smoking speed and I was like ‘you fuckerz cant do that here because last time the speed was all hot an likwid and spilled out the pipe onto meja’s feet an burnt it and I don’t want that shit and I was by the stove cooking and then 5iLeNt was like, ‘Shud up sHyGiRl bitch you still got that infection cuz my verga burns like fuck after putting it in your culo’ and I was fkn mad so I grabbed a hot pot of menudo and threw it on his back and he let out a bitch scream like you here in the movies and shit and I was like don’t ever put my shit on the streets pinche motherfucker lil’ dick bitch! Jus then the door knocked and was like police and these fools all bugged the fuck out and pUpPet 5iLeNt an rascal are all on probation so it was fkd up cuz it was like three am and the cops saw the kids awake and on the floor craw ling round the kegger and the ese’s are all bug eyed and jacked up and I toll them kick back aye and they started all this shit and the funny part too was that they tased 5iLeNt because he was like trying to fan his back with a dish rag and huda thought he was coming at them so like they zap that foo! And my abulita like ducked her head out and waved it all off and went back to her program. And those fools all got taken in and sent up for violations and now I gotta find more people to move in and pay the rent or something.

Money Money Money Money….MONEY!

I spent most of my life hustling or making ill-gotten funds through rippin’ and running, scamming and stealing and wheeling and dealing drugs. When I sobered up and got clean off of cornucopia of opiates, copious amounts of crack and vicious amounts of vodka I still tried to do scandalous shit.

But my consciousness just wouldn’t allow it anymore. I felt every lie. I felt it every time I stole, and every little stupid manipulation for a little more money. I was locked into that behavior, and always so filled with guilt and shame. All the shitty little acts that I was committing in a sober state. I was hard-wired for the criminal lifestyle.

I’m not gonna’ blame my father, my mother, my stepfathers (2) or any of my stepmothers (4). But the fact of the matter is I grew up watching people steal, deal drugs, get over on their taxes, profit from bullshit insurance claims, and just the general felonious quick money scams and ideas. (Shameless plug time)

This will all be covered in my book which is coming out on Punk Hostage Press. The real scary thing is I saw that my dishonesty (stealing, lying, and cheating) was completely connected to my next drink or drug. So I’ve had to learn to live a life of honesty and pursue my creative dreams, which were drowned out for so many years by drugs alcohol and a completely low self-opinion. I’ve had to take jobs and make humiliatingly low pay. But I have a solid clear conscience.

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Just Quickly…My Need For Millennials

Look, I’ve been on the planet for five decades. WHOA! Half a century! If I’m not vigilant as possible, I tend to get real curmudgeonly. Some of my generation is tired, beaten down, or metaphorically pushing a shopping cart on the shoulder of the cyber superhighway. And I get it.

I grew up in a completely different, slower, more physically experienced, educational time. We had rock fights (yes we threw rocks at each other, and nobody ever won, you just ran out of rocks and then gave up). We blew up outhouses with M-500’s. We BMX’d in the gully. We stole nitrous tanks from hospitals and had laughing gas parties, all fun until someone’s lungs froze from ‘Bogarting’ or ‘Lloyding’ (sorry millennials an old reference to Lloyd Bridges in Sea Hunt) the tank. We toilet papered houses, drank quarts of Schlitz malt liquor then played pinball at the bowling alley. We skated and smoked Fallbrook Sess or Humboldt’s finest in the afternoon at elementary schools listening to cassettes of Black Sabbath and Ted Nugent on boom boxes.

We played asteroids and Pacman and centipede and space invaders tripping on L-25 or wet on Sherm. Whoops, I digress! In the last 3 years, I’ve had three very good creative experiences with people 20-25 years younger than me. We help each other, I provide real-life experiences from a time that they obsess on, and learn about on Google. In turn, they help me focus and maintain the structure of the piece we are working on.

I’m a big fan of the youngins! They need respect, they’re going to be here long after us boomers are gone. I grew up hard, ass whoopings, latchkey kid, no real love, or positive reinforcement. You will be able to read more of this when my book comes out on Punk Hostage Press. And I ain’t whining about it fuckuz! I’m saying that I got a deep well of experience and stories that are not boring. But I need help sometimes untangling that shit! And the youngins have no emotional or historical connection to my never-ending well of soliloquies!

Intro to yours truly.

You would think after getting shot at on the 405 freeway back in the mid-1990’s (for flipping somebody off) that It wouldn’t happen again, or more importantly just chill out on the road in general, I’d be Zen-like.

 

Nope, wait. Before I get into the next “the second time I got shot at” story, that occurred on the 10 freeway, I’ll elaborate. It’s a “hot as fish grease” day,  August 1994. I’m making my way over the Sepulveda pass to The West Side. I had just left my Mother’s condominium in Van Nuys. As I was leaving she stated, “well, should be a breeze at this hour, but you never know.”

I’m in a Jeep Wrangler ‘soft top’ no air conditioning, the top is up. Traffic is moving at about 7 miles an hour in fits and starts. I’m light-headed and nauseous from the amount of exhaust I’m breathing via the windless baking heat. I feel like I’m in a Glad sandwich bag or a rolling greenhouse. The Jeep seats are plastic, the top is canvas and the windows are plastic.

In my haste to ‘get on the road’ I neglected to zip off the back and side windows, and although the front is zipped down I’m not getting any relief. This is not ‘a breeze.’ I started going into deep morbid reflection about the Jeep purchase. The main thought was; a year and a half later and $12,000 in payments to go I felt like a sucker, an absolute dupe, a patsy. Glendale Jeep got me good. They saw me coming.

I sat for 7 hours bargaining and negotiating for this ‘utility’ vehicle that already had three recalls. I maxed out three credit cards as a down payment for this rolling memory of constant financial remorse. It haunted me frequently. As all this was turning in my head like sneakers in a dryer, a Toyota Celica cuts into ‘my’ lane and I stop short, almost hitting the left rear quarter panel. The bumper of his car has a plethora of 12 step bumper stickers, “easy does it, clean and crazy, let go and let god, one day at a time, my other car is up my nose,’ and of course the car has no license plate.

I honk, he immediately puts his left finger out the window and shakes it. That’s always a strong move, you cut me off, then flip me off. You do it with real authority, with a shake like you would a fist, but with ‘the bird.’ I had been listening to Fugazi’s “Waiting Room” my self-pity quickly turned to homicidal rage. I turned off the music, ‘Fuck you piece of shit!’ I yelled.

His tinted windows were all rolled up, he was sitting in the cool composed comfort of air conditioning, looking for someone else to impede on. I pulled into the right lane and got up next to him. I was quickly making hand gestures for him to roll down his window. He rolled down his window, he was wearing a suit and tie, I imagined he sold cars or worked in telemarketing sales. “Hey asshole, don’t fucking cut me off, then you flip me off like it’s my fault, you piece of shit, and what’s up with all those stupid bumper stickers?” We sat and made eye contact for a moment. “So what are you going to do?” He asked blankly. Fuck this guy. “Pull over ‘Mr. clean and crazy’ and I’ll give you a beatin’ you won’t forget.”

He put the car in park and slowly reached over to the glove box, my intuition quickly told me he had a piece. He pulled it out, it looked similar to the .380 I had at home, which I wished I had now. I quickly zipped up my jeep window, huh?

I saw him pull back the slide and jack around with his left hand. Then he lay against the passenger seat. Expressionless, he leveled the gun right at my face. Quickly, I sat back in my seat as hard as I could. Am I going to die? Here? Now? I heard the .380’s report and immediately smelled the cordite. I had been shot at before but had never been at this much of a disadvantage. Visual assessment. I wasn’t shot! I saw a small bullet hole in the plastic jeep window and was strangely grateful that I had zipped it up.

Cars were honking and there was a 5 or 6 car gap in front of him, so I quickly cut over and floored it, I went into the emergency lane and drove like, well, like I had just been shot at. I looked in my rearview, he wasn’t pursuing and I got off at Sunset and headed west. I pulled over. I balled my fists and pounded on the steering wheel and went into a Tourette like rage, “You motherfucker! You column of human waste, scumbag, dope fiend, alcoholic piece of shit!” I finally stopped. Most of those insults were truly things I also felt about myself at one time or another. I took a breath. I chilled.

I thought about the fact that I had nowhere to rush to, I had no job, and I had almost got myself killed over a patch of road. I continued to drive like an asshole even with the bullet hole through the plastic window. I’m hard-headed, I’m a little insane. I don’t learn lessons from these experiences and then just act right. There is no need to tell the other story. I’ve mellowed out a little,  except for following a guy to Starbuck’s and beating him down. That felt justified. So, I’m on the Glendale freeway going north. In fast-moving traffic, a grey Mercedes-Benz gets in front of me and slams on the brakes. My old dog Roscoe flies against the dashboard with a loud yelp. I’m enraged and mystified all at once. Did I do something to this guy? Did I cut him off earlier? He’s laughing and holding his middle finger out the window, his arm accompanied by a horrible silvery green, cable-knit sweater. His license reads BADAZMB. The freeway divides. I’m going west, he’s going east, but I can also see he’s signaling to getting off at the next exit.

I know the exit. There is a Starbuck’s, Noah’s Bagels some other little retail stores and a theater. I get off the next exit and double back. I have a strong feeling he is at (or going) to Starbuck’s. I drive and park my car in a shaded corner and slowly slink around the parking lot. I see his car BADAZMB. I walk up to it look around, nobody is watching. I key the fuck out of it, both sides all the way across, “This is for disturbing my dog Roscoe.” I turn to go back to my car, I can’t. I turn around and walk to the Starbuck’s, I go in. Steely Dan’s ‘Babylon Sister’ is playing. I look around, I see him and his bad sweater in the corner. He is on his computer.  Maybe he is writing about me? I look around again, no cops but a lot of people of all ages. I walk up to him. Stand over him on his right side. He looks at me, he has NO IDEA WHO I AM.

He Just did all that bullshit and has no clue. “Can I help you?” I look out the window and point to his car. “Is that your Mercedes?” He looks out the window. “Yes. Why what’s up… Just then I grab him with my left, hold him down in his chair as I pummel him with my right fist. Five quick shots to the right side of his cheek/chin area. At the same time I’m saying, “YOU MOTHERFUCKER, THIS WILL TEACH YOU TO STOP SHORT IN FRONT OF SOMEONE ON THE FREEWAY FOR NO REASON!” He’s screaming, ‘I’m sorry! I’m SORRY!’ Very quickly people start leaving the store. “We’re calling the cops,” I hear a voice yell at me, So I turn and say ‘Alright I’m leaving.’ I walk out. Now I’m paranoid, was all that on camera? Am I gonna go to jail? For days after I feel horrible, scared, and have an emotional hangover that reminds me of how quickly violent I can turn. Since then I’ve learned to seriously pause or pull over when I feel it surfacing. It takes serious vigilance. This is a reminder. I will lose my freedom if I let some shit stain rock my game.

Getting Through It All