A Bad Day At The Office

It was one of those in-between days, in that wasn’t unbearably hot but had a filmy grime quality that makes you feel like you need a shower. It’s hard to get motivated in times like these and really try to make a go of it. Max hadn’t. The suit he had on was too small because he couldn’t afford a new one and ever since twenty seven he began to get fat in all the wrong places. But he had to wear a suit so he wore the one he had.

See, Max was driving home from the first grown-up job that he had really ever held. He wasn’t pumping gas or Xeroxing papers at a stationary store. He had gone to college like an ambitious man should, and now at thirty, he was working a job that required grooming and that’s what made his wife happy.

Still, this filmy, filthy fucking weather made it so he couldn’t wait to get out of traffic. His ten year old car stank from the smoker that had owned it before him. The heat and the cloth interior and the smoky ghost of the previous owner was pushing things to the limit as he pulled his car into the too-narrow carport that passes for parking when you live in an apartment.

Once inside, the place was an icebox and the TV was cranked all the way to the “E” in “VOLUME.”

“What the shit is going on here?” yelled Max.

The lack of immediate answer was made more irritating by the suit jacket bunching along his sweaty expanding back as he tore it off.

“I said, what THE SHIT?!”

Laurel came out of the kitchen dressed in the same dumpy stay-at-home clothes she always wore. Some loose old skirt and a loose old shirt. She didn’t try anymore because she didn’t have to.

“What are you screaming and carrying on about Maxy-poo?”

Her teeth were already that sickening maroon. The bloody tusks of an elephant. She’d probably been at the cabernet for hours and it was only seven o’clock.

“Nothing, just why does the TV have to be so goddamned loud? My head hurts and my feet hurt and all hell broke loose at the office just before the day was up.”

“You say that every night. If you were supposed to like it, it wouldn’t be a JOB, silly.”

These comments made things more irritating, but Max was learning to pick his battles. They had only been married a year and although she had suggested it, they never got a pre-nup, so if he blew it she’d be getting fucked by someone else while he got stuck with the tab.

“I’m gonna change –”

Laurel was already back in the kitchen. There was only so much she could be expected to care about Max’s woes when every single day was a slight variation of the last.


He climbed out of the tiny suit and hung it up next to the portable steamer. One of the few practical things that came from the wedding, since otherwise he’d go broke trying to keep the damn suit clean and relatively wrinkle free.

The road to success had more booby traps than the Ho Chi Minh trail. You weren’t really ever supposed to make it, unless by it you meant success and fortune for other people.

Max walked into the bathroom and splashed water on his face. Amazing how once you notice age it spreads like a cancer. The cracks and spots and wrinkles; the gaping pores and random hairs. It was well past time for that martini.

Back in the living room, Laurel had mercifully turned the volume down on the television. Max went over to their sorry excuse for a bar cart and poured cheap vodka and even cheaper vermouth into the shaker.

“Got any olives left?”

“Mmm?” Came muffled from the kitchen.

“Olives? OLIVES?”

Fuck it.

He stirred it up and poured it into a glass. More of a shot that a martini, but he rather not go in there for ice and olives and catch hell for something. He sat down on the couch with his drink and picked up the remote and pulled up the menu. Laurel was on him immediately.


“Don’t what, for fuck’s sake?”

“Don’t CHANGE it! I want to see who she ends up with. I bet it’s Skylar.”

“Skylar’s a faggot.”

“You’re just jealous. What you have there? A martini? Ugh, is it hot? It looks hot. Why didn’t you ask for ice? Why do you insist on drinking martinis? Do you think you’re some big Don Draper type now that you have a job that requires a suit? Your boyfriend?”

“Don Draper doesn’t drink martinis, he drinks old fashioneds. Now stop being vulgar, I’m trying to unwind here.”

“Don’t call me that! I’m just teasing you know. You can dish it, but you sure can’t take it. Such a hypocrite. My hubby is such a hypocrite.”

“You just don’t understand the psyche of the creative male. I’m being murdered slowly by this nonsensical shit created by depraved monsters to collect money from me that I don’t care to earn.”

“I thought you wanted a Ferrari? Hypocrite. Right, the car from the poster from when you were a kid? If you drink too much you won’t shut up about it and you always drink too much.”

Max kicked his legs up on the coffee table and wiggled his toes as he drained the warm, shitty martini. He thought that he should trim his toenails soon.

“Oooh, look who’s mad now? Ignoring me? You can dish it, but can’t take it. What are you thinking about?”

He put his glass down on the table. The table needed replacing. Or at least re-finishing.

“Do you ever think any thoughts that you don’t barf out and hurl at me?”

Depending on what kind of wine-drunk Laurel was on she’d either laugh it off or he’d just wrote his own ticket. She looked down at him quizzically for a moment and then here face softened and cracked into a playful grin.

“Come here, Maxy-waxy!”

Her breath was of stale wine and garlic and cigarettes. Apparently he’d married a Sicilian woman ninety years ago. Still, better than fighting. She broke the kiss and smiled at him.

“Let me get you some ice and olives so you can have a REAL one of those.”

“It was real enough.”

“Huh? Maaaaaaax…”

“I mean, thank you babe. That’d be nice.”

Foolishly, he took it to the brink that time. In this god awful greasy in-between weather it’s no good sleeping on an itchy old couch like this, chicken feathers from the pillows poking you in the ass and behind the joints as you toss and turn.

Max took the opportunity to smack Laurel on the behind as she wiggled away. They were too young for everything to go to hell, but at least she still had a nice ass. Nice and round. Maybe they weren’t so young anymore after all.

Laurel came back out and fixed him a new martini in a fresh glass and handed it over. This one was good and chilled. She had a good ass and she could make a good martini. Two things to be thankful for as long as they lasted.

She handed it to him and took the dirty glass and with a peck on the head she went back to the kitchen.

“Dinner’ll be ready in a few, so don’t get too comfortable, Maxy.”

What was it about everything that’s so goddamned annoying? At least sitting wasn’t bad. And this drink wasn’t too bad as long as you watched it, because then it’d get too good and then it would be so much worse later.

Then the lights dimmed. Laurel poked her head out of the kitchen with her fishbowl full of red wine.

“Dinner’s on, babe.”

“What about your TV show?”

“That’s what the DVR is for, now come on before it gets cold!”

“So it was recording…”


“Nothing. Coming.”

“Okay. And don’t MUMBLE. I hate it when you MUMBLE.”

“Yes, treasure. I know. I love you and I’m sorry.”

She was already back in the kitchen. He followed her in. The kitchen flowed into the dining area which was all just one cramped space that was only partially separated from the rest of the tiny apartment. She had lit candles and the food was laid out nicely on wedding-gift plates atop wedding-gift placemats.

It was the same meal as always. Stuffed frozen sole and some pre-packaged greens and some cheap wine. Sometimes the meal was chicken. Laurel was no good at cooking so this would have to do until they went out to eat which wasn’t often.

She poured him a glass of wine as he worked on the second half of his second martini. Then she topped herself off and pleased as punch, took off her apron and placed it up on a small hook next to the stove. She took a seat on that rump of hers.

“How was your day, sweetie Maxy?”

“Shit. Yours?”

Laurel paused and then took a small bite and paused again. She looked Max square in the face but he was moving his fish around with the fork and wasn’t paying attention.

“Why was it shit?”

“Whaddaya mean?”

“I mean, why was your day shit? What made it so o-so shitty?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it. No big deal, it was fine.”

“No it wasn’t. Now what made it SHIT?”

He took another sip.

“The usual. Answering phones, moving paperwork from one place to the other. My suit bunching up, people talking and me pretending to give a shit, feigning concern and smiling.”

“I see.”

Laurel went back to eating her food as she eyed her quarry. Max didn’t acknowledge it with his two martini buzz and his desire to avoid a fight. If he kept it quiet and maybe they would screw later. They never fucked during the week because they were both tired and they both stank and usually had a bad attitude.


“Yeah, babe? The food is great, thank you.”

“I don’t want to talk to you about the fucking FOOD, Max. I want to know what you would do if you won the lottery. Let’s say a hundred million dollars. What would you do? Think you would EVER have another shit day?”

“Those are two different things.”

He knew it was boiling up and now he was deep in enemy territory. If he didn’t watch his next  step, he’d be in worse misery than at the office and in traffic and all of it. He naively tried to set things right:

“Well, I guess I would pay off our debt and we could get a nice house. Go on vacation and maybe start a family. Have kids. With that kinda dough we could send ‘em to a good school. I think that’s what I would do.”

Laurel thought on this for a moment before she downed her wine in an impressive gulp and THREW the glass against the wall which was near enough to get shards on both their plates.


“But babe…”


“What’s up, peanut? You on the rag, huh? Here, let me pick up that glass. I guess we both just had a bad day.”

“You pick up that glass and I’ll cut off your cock and cook that up for dinner. Just see if I won’t! Now I asked you: if you WON a HUNDRED MILLION DOLLARS, what would you do?”

Max took down the rest of the martini and chased it with the sugary cheap wine as he chewed the olives.

“I guess, I would invest the money so we would never have to work again and I would write. Maybe move by the sea.”

Laurel was staring right through to his cowering soul and then she began to laugh.

“There. The truth. The truth! My little Ernest Hemingway and Warren Buffett baby. You think Ernest Hemingway and Warren Buffett FUCKED and you’re their kid and maybe you just don’t know it but you got this FIRE that only YOU have, and you just haven’t gotten a chance to BURN yet?”

“Don’t give me this load of horseshit, Laurel. You asked.”

“And I got the same answer I got every goddamn night! If you had money you could do whatever the fuck you wanted! You have the brains for art and finance and travel and charm! You’re the most interesting man in the goddamned world! Rotting away in this shitty apartment because you wanted to marry me to shut me up!”

“No, I married you because I love you. Now don’t hassle me about my dreams. We’re not gonna win any hundred million bucks.”

Your dreams. What about MY dreams?”

“Those are good too.”

Laurel flipped her glass-covered plate across the table into Max’s face and onto his lap.

“What the hell, babe? Just cool it, okay? Laurel?”


A drop of blood fell on the table. Probably from his face somewhere. He had a good big head and a wide face perfect for catching shit. He got up and walked out of the kitchen area.

He cleaned himself off as the banshee screaming continued and Laurel broke more of the little they had. He put on his old sneakers and observed the holes forming over the pinky toes. He had a good wide face and good wide feet. Too bad about his dick.

Then Laurel appeared, wild eyed and dripping crimson gore.

“Jesus, what did you do?”

“It’s WINE! The only thing that makes me happy in this joke of a marriage!”


And with that Max stepped out into the night. The air had calmed some and the dirty filthy feeling wasn’t as bad anymore. He had two martinis down and most of a glass of wine and was feeling okay. Work came awful early so he needed to get a drink before he crossed into the hour of regret.

Walking down the street he knew he looked like hell but no one seemed to notice or care. That was the beauty of living in the city. There was always crazier and everyone was too self-absorbed to pay any attention to you. Max bet himself that he could shove a roman candle up his ass and fart fire at cars and no one would really care.

As he got to the bar he figured there must be at least six million other pathetic bastards out there who got put through the wringer like he just did. Good thing there were plenty of bars and liquor stores. Maybe he should go into the liquor business, it seems people need it more than food most times.

The bar was gloriously sparse. He sidled up on a stool as Davey, the washed out fag that tended bar came over.

“How’s it going Maxy?”

“I had a bad day at the office, Davey. Give me a well whiskey and a beer.”

Like magic, the drinks were there within seconds. That’s what made Davey a miracle worker when it came to tending bar. He didn’t ask too many questions and got your drink right and stiff the first time.

“I know what would make your day better.”

“If  that worked for me Davey, I would get divorced tomorrow and move you in. I could almost give up tits for the way you make a drink, but not the other.”

“Some girls have all the luck.”

Davey moved back down the bar as Max drained his whiskey and gazed out the open door into the cooling night. Out there was everyone. The sick and the rich, the ambitious, the mad, the lazy. All the girls in the world lived here in this great land of opportunity.

Then a low GROWL grew as it neared the stretch of road in front of the bar. It was the Ferrari that Max had on his poster as a kid. Must have been twenty five years old but it still looked great. The guy driving looked like he shat gold nuggets out of his tight little asshole and the girl next to him looked like she ate them up as quickly as she could. The light changed and the car roared off.

Max turned back to his beer and looked down into the glass, and the bubbles moving up in erratic trajectories toward his face. I wonder what it would be like if they could move past the top and hit my face? He thought. Might be nice when it’s real hot out. Max ordered another round and thought about the bubbles.

Book Release: Gourmont’s Lovely Lesbians

The long awaited, much anticipated book release by Michael Jones in conjunction with Anomie Publishing and LanguageAbuse.com is finally available. Official release date will be on June 9th 2012 at the “Art Speaks” event at The Vox Gallery (Vox Sacramento, 1818 11th Street, Sacramento, CA 95811-6515). But you may preorder it here and now and thus have it in time to bring it along with you and get it signed, or perhaps a custom doodle in the front page.

This book consists of almost 60 pages of selected Poems all paired with authentic Polaroid photography. Black and white insides, Color cover.

Bulk Order? Buy 15 at wholesale cost for your shop!

Sample Pages:

The Future: So Pure! 2000 & Beyond

The year was 1994; bulletin board systems (BBS’s) were quickly giving way to the internet. In the basement a bright young fellow, Lee Jackson, was running his own BBS dial-up service when he thought of a novel idea. He pondered the ever so popular Moore’s Law in which computing is estimated to double every 16 months or so, give or take. He realized that if this law holds true the outcome trajectory would be that of exponential growth. His mind was racing; he realized the implications while playing Duke Nuke’m with his Sears-bought joy-stick which he had just downloaded to his computer via 3 floppy diskettes carefully installed in succession.

He realized that the computer game, in many ways, was like the real world, and in other ways it wasn’t, Moore’s law could eventually make up for these. When computing power reached the power of the natural brain, for what would the difference in reality within and out of the network be, he pondered? Naturally, he figured it would advance beyond the human complexities of these simple times.

Before Lee knew it the year was far in the future, it was 2000! Robots and flying cars occupied the earth. Jet packers were more common than snowboarders and rollerbladers combined. Computing had gained its momentum and stayed on its exponential trajectory and Lee was ready to jump on the rollercoaster, he had no idea of the implications he was embarking upon.

Figuring out how to compute a world which matched the make-up and physics of the real world were no problem, for physics modeling is straight-forward, but interfacing with it was much more a difficult task to behold. Were they to build a “holodeck” type resource location or some other interfacing device in which their reality could interface with the computers artificial reality? They decided in order interject their reality into the alternate parallel reality that they must indeed. They built, with their far superior year-2000-knowledge, a 3D printing room which could “print” realities and project colors and textures on to them in real time. They added sound and chemical reaction to this environment, for they had succeeded alas.

What no one would have ever guessed was once these two parallel realities were aligned, one artificial, the other real, they could interact; they would become coherent only if the realities existed within 99.999% of actuality of the other! If one presented themselves at point XYZ in the artificial environ, they symbiotically appeared in the other reality, for they merged, artificial with nature. What no one realized was that computers could become extra-dimensional when the right components were present. Is this what phenomenon such as ghosts, UFOs and the like were manifested from? They easily found that they could simulate them in their computer. In order to figure out whether this is what had previously illustrated was another question.

They decided to model these incidences of phenomenon. So they did, and they did ever so meticulously. They made; ghosts, goblins, UFOs and even Santa Claus, and as predicted they did magical things in parallel reality as the computer program predicted. The line between reality and make believe started to fade, and it did so fast the two worlds merged and now far in the future, the year 2000, no one knows the difference betwixt reality and artificial reality.

People decided; for if reality was coherent with computational reality, what was the point of living a painful/ shitty life? The masses decided we should program our lives to “happy,” and thus humans did, and they lived happily ever after.

Wake Up

Dreams in our sleep
Make us all think
For if there exist these
Alternative worlds of the night
Which come to mind at ease
Might this be a clue
To other dimensions
Other realities
What make dreams less real

The fact that we wake
Perhaps your dream was the anomaly
And everyone else is still asleep, so many
But you have thought about this before
So go back to being a bore

Pondering “Psychosocial Evolution”

I often let my mind wander in in the realm of psychosoocial Darwinism, as it is entruiging yet elusive what may become of us humans if our brains evolve in the future (they have up to this point, so why stop now?). Will our prefrontal cortexes continue to grow out forward? Will we enjoy the power associated with an advanced brain, growing something perhaps called a pre-prefrontal cortex or device similar to this? If our current prefrontal cortex is the decision making center, what function will this so called preprefrontal cortex have?

We really can’t guess, looking back on modern humans before we had the prefrontal cortex as advanced as we do now could we have even been able to rationalize what higher level decision making would entail? Doubtful, as we wouldn’t have the proper nueral pathways that could make this into a coherent sensible thought. Perhaps our current brain, without any extension or change that may occur, can likewise not recognize or comprehend what that change may be.

But it’s still fun to guess at what these changes could be. Perhaps there would be some sort of symbiotic funtioning center, where we as humans evolve to coexist and work in tandem with eachother in peace and in harmony. Maybe after years and years of brutal war and conflict, those who enjoy to fight compelled by things such as war, money, and power will be naturaully selected to not reproduce.

Maybe the evolution will turn murdering into an act so unthinkable humans never partake of it at all. Just like taking a dagger and puncturing your stomach and ripping up extremely hard, no one does this, unless they are criminally insane. So, perhaps somthing on this magnitude will be the type of evolution that will occur of a vast period of time.

This brings us to an important place; will there be outliers that deviate and become problems? It is hard to say since we don’t really know what will happen in this course of natural selectoin. Perhaps these functions of the brain will make these actions extinct like an animal forever lost to the endagered species list. Or maybe a weird breed of super-criminal will emerge for super-ciminal fighters to fight. It is just impossible to say at this point since our brains can’t comprehend what changes may occur.

What I am inclined to guess is that the processes that will occur with humans will involve the mutual survival of our specieces, so it is fairly safe to say that these changes will be in the love / kind / caring / peace / etc. realms. War and conflict cause devistation and death. Peace and education lead to well being and happiness, this is therefore the obvious route natural selection should lead us as perfecting humans.

Superpowers? Is it possible we could develop them? Very likely indeed, if we look at many different animals and insects they possess natural processes that if adapted to humans would be interpreted as super powers. The ability for the squid to almost completely dissapear into its background, differnt insects being able to see the ultraviolet and infrared spectrums, ginkos being able to walk up completely flat non-porous walls. These are just a small smattering of possible funtions we could come to possess. This doesn’t even include the possiblity of higher unknown functions that we may be able to tap into.

What if there is some sort of quantum mind? Perhaps the mind and consciousness is some sort of state that is encapsulated in our neural network. Perhaps by physical processes still unkknown to us there are ways that we could develop communication by sending signals directly from brain to brain (telepathy). The sky is really the limit on what could occur.

Since it has not happened, and therefore may not be explored it is generally not considered a science, but I propose just as a meteorologist forcasts the weather, it is possible for us to forcast the possiblities that may lie in wait for Human psychosocial evolution, and should not be looked past with a laugh. Even though we will not see it in our lives, we are supposed to see computers reach a cognitive level matching our minds any year now, perhaps we can model computers to go beyond what our minds can do, and this is where the real magic lies.

Grey Day

I’m fucking sick and tired of living in a world of black and whites (not race). I’m tired of everything having to be one or another, no dualities, promoting one cause or hating it. No one can just say, “I’m standing right in the middle on that issue.” That is the problem with almost everything in our country. The rich have been laughing since the Reagan and Bush One tax cuts that widened the wealth gap, realizing that they pay less (percent-wise) than the average middle class American. But all you hear in the media are people talking about either “no new taxes” or “new taxes.” Black and white, no compromising to be had anywhere. After seeing that trickle down economics is a fail, why don’t we move on? Oh, I know: because the rich have become a juggernaut that can’t be stopped.

So back to the basics, let’s look at the right wing and the left wing. The purists on the right would like to keep getting fatter and fatter and playing chess with their billion dollar companies as if it’s a weird rich-person type of game, but we need to get a handle on this delusional mess. There are two types of republicans; those that are rightly stereotyped the powerful tycoons, sans Warren Buffet and there are the working class ones. I often wonder why the working class right-wingers who listen to talk radio are so indoctrinated. And I figured it out; they have a sense of false class consciousness. Glenn Beck, Michael Savage, Rush Limbaugh and these other pundits are the upper class false consciousness agents. Why would one be so suicidal to vote against health care that would perhaps save their dying sister or son? Why would one vote to not lower their middle class taxes? Because these agents that work for the bourgeoisie play on the social issues at hand. The issues that are played and are a tired discourse of failed trumpeters.

If the right is the black, let the left be the white (color here has no negative or positive connotation here). On the extreme left side we have the academic elites many of which are behaviorists who think they are supreme in knowledge and would love to be able to mold the average citizen in a perverse academic experiment-world void of freedom. Never mind innate human rights, for these elites know what is best for everyone. They are better read and have more knowledge, therefore it makes them seemingly more qualified to be on a path to what looks like a dictatorship to me.

What we need is gray! Let’s look at Norway, Sweden and Finland. These and other socialist countries have been quietly thriving and extremely successful for many years now. The major global crisis’s rarely ever touch them. They have very high satisfaction rates amongst the populace, high creativeness rates, and great health care. The propaganda you have heard opposite of this is likely coming from the American power broker elites. Socialism is synonymous with communism in the United States for some reason, but why? If one were to look on a spectrum, with communism on one side and capitalism on the other socialism would be smack dab in the middle, gray. Maybe humans need to start taking their heads out of their assholes and take a look around at what is working well in other countries. Perhaps we can borrow the best from each country, such as collectivism from eastern countries. It’s time to quit bickering in this black and white world and make a nice gray haven.


Got Your Fig and Olive Right Here

After five years I finally came into a bit of money, and shocked by this forgotten feeling, I had absolutely no idea what I should do with it. So, not being particularly interested in much of anything, I chose to do something nice for my long suffering gal and took her out to a fancy dinner.

Something as seemingly simple as this proved to be a bit of a problem right from the start, as I had little idea of a good place to eat. To be fair, I eat out at restaurants somewhat often, but  usually in the $15-$20 range. This had to be different. Valet parking, endangered animals on the menu different. Well that was the benchmark I set anyways, and after doing little research it dawned on me: why not go to where the prez just ate? The, um… oh right, the “Fig and Olive!” I’d heard nothing about this place (other than it’s “trendy” but what the hell isn’t nowadays) so I fired up the modem and hopped on the World Wide Web with the best intentions of setting up a night to remember.

First off, it’s a chain. Well maybe not a chain chain, per se. but the kind of place that opens up in New York, London, Tokyo and Los Angeles and that’s it. Shit. Ok, the food looks decent… olives, figs, pasta, grilled meats. Cheese. Standard fare, a little expensive but what the hell. I decided to make the plunge and clicked the “open table” icon to see what was available, settled on 7:15 and was ready to find out what the hype was all about. Throwing caution to the wind, as I’m sure I won’t get paid for another five years, I made the commitment. My girl and I were going to rub elbows with L.A.’s finest.

We got to the restaurant just in time for our reservations. A polite Mexican took eight bucks and the keys to the Volvo and in hindsight, that’s where the night should have ended. As we walked through the door, we were greeted by a wave of noise. To my horror I observed that the tables were about 9 inches off the floor, and the bar was clogged with Persians. The noise was unbearable. Making our way to the hostess stand, I wasn’t surprised to note that she was really annoyed that we were here. She checked our name off the list and then an equally put-out girl walked us to our table.

Winding through the cackling, perfume-drenched crowd I saw a light up ahead. What’s this? Could there be actual tables? Is there a restaurant component that I had overlooked? Was I once more far too quick to judge? Sure enough, we passed into another room, and I spied some regulation height tables. OK, this could go…fuck. FUCK. Really? Yep, there were tables all right, but we get to sit against the far wall, cafeteria style. My momentary feeling of relief gone as quickly as it came.

Now, for those of you that may not know what I’m talking about, let me savvy you to what “cafeteria style” dining means. This is where a bench runs along the wall, small tables are lined up in front, and on the other side are free standing chairs. The idea is to create a socially interactive environment and start chatting with whomever you get stuck next to.  It’s cramped, uncomfortable, and for a misanthrope like myself, is the worst possible situation to eat in. Sure as shit, we get shoehorned next to another couple (struggling actors, yay) and being a gentleman, I take the hard wooden chair and the splendid view of a concrete wall. So I have my back to the restaurant, and I don’t feel comfortable talking because I don’t need strangers up in my business. This was gearing up to be a great dinner.

The waitress comes over and starts spouting the specials, the one that sticks out is the Julep. Whiskey sounds like the right cure for what’s ailing me, so I go for it. She explains that it’s an experimental drink and she would love feedback on it. Agreed. She points out some food choices and goes off on her way, returning shortly with the julep which looks like pond water with a splash of bourbon presumably in there somewhere. I take a sip and the flavor is ok, but the fig seeds, mint leaves and walnut chunks give it the pond water texture I may have assumed from the initial observation. So, I decide to give her my criticism: this isn’t much of a julep. I point out the unpleasantness of all the debris in the drink to which she replies: “well that’s our spin on the classic julep. We crumble walnuts into it.” I see my date start to get uncomfortable, so I leave it at that.

Perhaps against my better judgment, we take some of the waitress’s recommendations and place our order. Just some assorted small plates. After all, we can always order more, right? Wrong. “The chef requests you place your entire order at once. I can bring out some marinated olives for you if you’d like.” Sure, but I think we’re ready to order the whole shebang…

The food was tasty, but unremarkable. The whole place smacks of gimmicks (no one’s tapped into the Mediterranean market yet, so kudos) and the crowd is insufferable. I can recommend the scallops, which were perfectly cooked, and the crostini assortment was fine (not sure how one would fuck up toast and cheese). There was plenty more on the menu, but I don’t believe I’ll be going back any time soon. When the bill came, I was pleased to see that my handful of trash and bourbon came to $15. All in all, the total for dinner was about what I expected; best $200 I’ve ever spent.

Fig and Olive, welcome to the ranks of Nobu, Bazaar and every other money-faking overly hyped Hollywood eatery. Looking forward to the “for lease” sign in the window six months from now. If you want to try a good restaurant that successfully pulls off what Fig and Olive was attempting, save a bunch of money and go to Cobras and Matadors. It’s BYOB (with a reasonable corkage fee, but you can bring beer and presumably cocktail fixins’ as well) and infinitely better. Just go early, because around 7pm the cafeteria seating will take its toll, and the space is much smaller than F&O so consider yourself warned.

On a final note, apologies to my girl for my incessant complaining about everything. I wish I didn’t feel contempt, disappointment and disgust almost every time I find myself in a public setting. Perhaps next time we’ll go to the Beanery, where for the amount spent at Fig and Olive five of us were able to eat and drink in the comfort of a booth for nearly six hours straight.

Examining the Sacred Geometry of 9/11


Special report filed by our New York correspondent: Mark Harrison

Using various images of the horrific aftermath of 9/11/2001, I have devoted the greater part of the last decade into reading the sacred geometry of 9-11. Many conclusions may be up for debate about what follows, but the overall message is as concrete as the middle of The Hoover Dam. First and foremost, I am a leading expert in the field of sacred geometry. My experiences in visual-spatial geometrical meditation to interpret the meanings of the sacred geometry turned up some very shocking results about the uncertainty of the future. I have pioneered two methods in order to analyze the way the buildings crashed to the Manhattan streets below and also the explosions as the planes hit in real time. The first, I already mentioned visual-spatial geometrical meditation (VSGM) and the other is self-induced hypnotherapeutic neural modification (SIHNM). These sound very complex and they completely are so I will briefly explain them.

VSGM involves having a Printed Stimuli (PS); it may be a photo, computer image, or other representation of the subject of which you are analyzing. You must be in a mid sized empty room with very limited items. These items a researcher must include are symbolic symbols (SS) and prescriptive pointers (PP). The bigger these items are the better! As one starts they must be standing throughout the whole process in order to focus and also to have your body symmetry aligned. You must focus in on the area of importance on the PS; the importance here is to not blink and to literally burn an image of the section of the PS into your brain, after doing so for one hour you should take 50mg (varies dependant on body weight) of a benzodiazepine. As you are falling and trying to stay awake/upright/cognizant (key here is you must try to keep standing) you will knock the symbolic symbols into different directions as well as the PP. When you awake you must analyze the results.

SIHNM is much more involved and intense of a process. Leading research into neurology has shown that the human brain is purely magic. It has also shown that it can be almost infinite in scope. If you have any idea of how large infinity really is, you know what I am talking about. The goal here is to harness less than 0.001% of the power of the brain. Some neurons that connect to the brain and run through our nervous system are up to 3 feet long, and can be longer! We have neurons all over our body within our nervous system! That means that not only our brain can harness the magic of the grey matter but that it can also use it for real functions as well. In order to harness a neuron we make a tiny cut on our right index finger in order to directly access a neuron. At this point you hook up a wire to the skin (usually with an alligator clip) and hook it up to a volt meter. Next you induce self-hypnosis by various methods. Next you must ask yourself questions, if the answer is yes, you will see the volt meter move. If the answer is no you will see the volt meter stays still.


There are four main results I would like to talk about in this section, they may seem unbelievable but they are absolutely true. How do I know, you may ask? I can tell while looking you straight in the eye that I followed the scientific method to a tee, and we all know if that is done correctly it has to be right. You may like the results, they may scare you, either way they are very profound and will touch us all in one way or another.

The first major “event” that will happen in the next ten years is that a major “credit card bubble” will pop, much as the housing bubble did. This will touch the poorer/lower classes that rely on credit cards and currently find themselves in major debt. As banks get bailed out and the same old bureaucratic hypocrisy keeps affecting the lower socioeconomic classes touched by this, they will take to the street and demand that the money be given to the people and not to the banks. The people will start to see how the banks wish to enslave people (at least a major consensus will). Tired of the banks harassing them and the feeling of drowning, the people will cause violence to ensue for quite some time. The government will try to make some concessions but they won’t be good enough. This will ultimately lead to a scandal that involves people very high up in government and they will get ousted and/or impeached. The end result or concession is that the lower SES people will have the option of getting a large portion of their debt reduced and the government will put extremely tight rules and regulations on how much they lend to people depending on their income.

The second major “event” which will happen is a war in a place people would have never thought would be touched by war. I couldn’t see the nation in my SIHNM sessions, but I could tell that it was within a developed nation such as Switzerland or somewhere in Euro zone or United States. The military response by NATO/US will be swift and devastating. The people of the nation will look upon the government negatively because of this for some reason. Perhaps the people that were suppressed had many supporters and were a growing movement. I can’t tell but it seemed to be some sort of party involved with major reform or maybe even revolutionary plots. A modified version of communism or socialism which attempts to distribute the wealth amongst the people seems to be the most likely reform group in which it will effect.

Third, due to the huge success of the World Wide Web, and also the quirkiness of cats on the internet, pet cats will get to the popular tipping point where they prove “out of control” and are colonizing in feral populations almost everywhere. The government will have to declare a “war on cats. (WOC)” PETA and cat lovers will unite against the WOC. The scenario will become extremely ugly, and eventually a Unabomber type (on the pro-cat side) will start sending packages to the cat killers. Just as the populace thinks it couldn’t get any worse, a cat-to-human virus sweeps across the nation, and unfortunately to those that enjoy kissing their cats on a regular basis will swiftly die of a virus; H4N72, or “Cat Flu.” At this point the debate will swing to the side of the cat killers, but the cat lovers will claim the CIA introduced Cat Flu in order to advance its agenda. In the end, the problem will be mostly fixed but the pet cat will never be looked at the same.

Lastly, the most promising of all is the laser-engine. Scientists and dreamers alike will collaborate on building a new energy source made from lasers. Scientists working at CERN will finally find the elusive Higgs-Boson. From these findings the doors to physics will be swung wide open. Revelations that involve some sort of free energy will become a new reality, somehow scientists will use complex systems of lasers in order to harness this “free energy,” and the public will become fascinated about the ramifications, and that perhaps global warming could be averted. The lasers will not actually power the “engine” they will somehow “excite” a source that allows the energy to be “tapped.”


I love coming home to you
Whether you are lying there
Or looking out the window waiting
We talk; even though we really don’t
You love me back
Sometimes I rub your back
And we always miss each other
Sometimes I put on a movie
Sometimes we watch Netflix
I always make you dinner
I don’t mind that
Usually I smother you
with kisses
Before bed
Then, you usually jump
Into your litter box and take a shit
And lick your asshole