Saturday, January 5, 2013

Disney Buys Lucas: Episode 21; The Crazy Guy In The Park

    I live near Arcadia Park which is owned by the county of Los Angeles. So it's not a private park. It's a Mexican park. All parks in California are Mexican parks. Mexicans love USA city parks. Because there is grass and trees. There is no grass, there are no trees in Mexico. Mexico is jungle or dust, depending on what section of that hell-on-earth you are imprisoned in. But America has parks. Where there are trees and grass. And snack food bags, now that the Mexicans have taken over the parks. Because Mexicans delight in trashing the parks. Because they hate America. They think it's theirs. Because Mexicans are all Marxists. All Mexicans alive today were born and raised and "educated" into Marxism because Panco Villa was a Marxist. Marxism is all Mexicans know. And being all Catholics, and the Church of Rome being Marxists-For-Jesus, as it is, only serves to pump-up the collectivism into the Mexican heart. America has small pockets of citizens who are convinced they are sovereign beings These pockets of faux-individualism, even though basically socialist, are still hateful to Mexicans because the Mexican detests personal identity among individuals. Because it is a completely alien concept to them, as it pretty much is now also among Americans.
   Anyway, Mexicans trash the parks that they love. Because it's just the grass and the trees they covet. The park itself, that's in America and America is a place they enjoy being slobs in. They're like meth-head white trash only with a grudge, unlike American white trash which is just ignorant and comfortable around a mess. Mexicans like the mess because they see it as a warlike activity.
   They are a lot less messy in their homeland of Shitxico because they have a lot less trash. Cause there is no stuff. You need stuff to get trash. In Mexico they have no stuff. You will notice if you go to a Mexican "village" - they still have villages there, as do all prehistoric human habitations - you will notice the dirt roads and donkey paths in these desolate, hopeless villages have no trash. Because there are no Fritos and Slurpees emporiums in these fuckholes. Fritos and Slurpees are stuff. And if you don't have stuff you don't have trash. America still has some stuff, though less and less everyday and eventually there will be no stuff. But at the moment we have stuff. Crappy stuff but it's still stuff. Which Mexico has none of. They just have dead bodies. When you have no stuff you die. How long you live depends on how much stuff you have: more stuff = more life. Less stuff = less life. This is not complicated.
   In amongst all the Mexicans tossing bags of Fritos and Cheetos around in Arcadia Park are some crazy white men. These are lone individuals who rarely talk even to each other, they are all too busy talking to themselves.
   There is one I go to see every once in a while because it has been suggested to me that I do so every once in a while. I never talk to him but when he sees me approach, once I get within earshot and pull up a bucket or a log or more usually just stand there and light up a cigar and wait to see what he has to say...he starts saying things. They always sound crazy, the things he says. Crazy as crazy can be.
   The guy who said for me to see this loon every once in a while, he is an Italian named Libretto. I said the first time we met, "You're kidding me, right? 'Libretto'? That's the word for the lyrics in opera songs. No one is fucking named Libretto. Does this fucking cloak and dagger bullshit ever fucking end? How the fuck do you assholes manage to keep track of what's really going on with all this cloak and dagger crap? You need a fucking roadmap and ten guidebooks just to remember where your fucking dick is when you need to take a fucking piss, with all this bullshit." And he said "Why don't you just shut the fuck up. Just do what I say and shut the fuck up." I hear that so much from my wife and police officers I automatically switched to a compliant state. It's like a reflex.
   "There's a bum squalid fucking tramp in the Arcadia Park. He is batshit crazy, no joke. When I tell you, you go find him and pay attention to whatever he says. You don't have to try and make sense out of it. Just pay attention. You don't even have to write it down. You just have to fucking pay attention. You don't even have to remember any of it. Just when he talks to you, you pay attention. That's all you gotta do."
   I have a reputation for doing what I agree to do. And I only agree to do things once I understand what it is I am supposed to do. I also have to want to agree, then I agree to it. If I want to. If I am being told to do something I really don't think I have all the pertinant details about, I will get adamant about getting more data. I am a firm believer of pushing issues; this is the only way to get genuine emotions to flow. And if genuine emotions are flowing you can better detect if something is amiss. Is it risky? Sure, I guess. Who cares, you need to know what's going on if you're involved in it. If I say to you you fuck little boys and I aint smiling and you dont get pissed as hell........hey, it could be i just learned a fact about you you thought was a secret. So you need to push buttons once in a while just to see what the person does. Sometimes people say to me "Ya know, you ask a lotta fuckin' questions." I always say to them "You don't have to answer them, you know." That usually shuts them up. Dealing with people is like dealing with drunks. There is a simple way to deal with drunks and it does not involve arguing with them. And inside my head I consider everyone to be basically drunk. Whether they have been drinking or not. People are like dogs. And I don't mean that as an insult. I mean it in the sense that they are easy to deal with. You just have to either get their attention, or distract their attention. Either one. If you can distract them even for an instant and even for one atom's worth of distraction you can redirect them. If you want. And if you're me.
    I also have a reputation for knowing a real question to ask from a "probing" or "nosey" question to ask. I don't really ever need to ask "nosey" questions because I can usually figure out what's something I need to know and what's something I don't really need to concern myself with because it's someone else's problem.
   These stupid instructions did not seem to merit clarification. They seemed easy.
   So I been doing that for a while, listening to this schmuck lunatic.
   Since my instructions did not say I had to keep this bum's drivel to myself, here's just one of the things this smelly walking piece of toilet paper said:
   "On Sith planet there is only the light of fire. The sky is always aglow with the energy of rage and frustration and desire and determination and insistence and focus. In times of delight and satisfaction there are celebrations with Sith fireworks; rockets are sent aloft that explode.... and black inky specks and drops and streaks of shimmering carbon liquid are released with loud bangs that are visible as myriad and prancing and shooting eclipses all across the heavens, radiant in blackness against the incessant light of the red and yellow sky. Then they float downward in a fading dance and disappear again into the eternal blinding heat of the hate and the scorch of the hundred suns. This brings smiles to all and an inner welling of satisfaction that defies the telling of the joy that it truly is."
   What I wanted to say upon the delivery of this delightful bit of Trekkie unimportance was "Oh izzat so?"
   Instead I gave him a few Cuban cigars and some lighters which he could use to smoke or to burn down the city, which ever notion most appealed to him. Or he could do both, burn down the city and then smoke a cigar and kick back watch the show. Who really gave a fuck.


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