(Dog Scoping Shit Out, S.I.N.Y. – Photo by Joe/Gimped)
It just doesn’t stop staring at me. And it’s looking at me like I’m a fire-breathing, three-headed Mega-Godzilla. But I deserve it.
I really do deserve it…
I don’t deserve the batty gazes from the pizza and Chinese delivery guys(aka num and nuts). But it’s Memorial Day weekend and nothing’s gonna spoil it. Not even the killer inside me. If he tries to break free, I’ll just drown him in a sea of beer. Nothing’s stopping me from having fun this weekend. I’m gonna touch the summer. Taste that dandelion wine. I’m going to be at my best. And I can thank a soldier for that.
I wish I could say we were off to the wild unknowns of the New Jersey beaches. They are real nice, yet watch out for the migratory creatures from NYC. The most easily spotted of that type are the flighty cocks with their brickjaws, wild eyes, and roided-out wings. But one only need keep a moderate distance, as they are generally just there to sup on the plasticine hen carcasses. Or I wish I could say we were off to the Hamptons! Which is one big maze of wealth, though the nearest parking for the uninvited is at citi FIELD in Queens. But no… I’m going back to the crime scene. Back to the little gem of a townhouse where I penned this masterpiece: Staten Island BBQ Mayhem.
But it’s not so bad, because no matter what I do, I want to get back to writing about stuff in my present day life, especially about kicking it sky-high in the Big City. And this is the start. Because if I continued where I left off in my 1850s’ past life, things really get Stygian. And I want summery thoughts. I’m tired of ghosts and demons.
I’ll give you one piece of advice, don’t go snooping for the paranormal, and ghosts and demons won’t bother you. Oh! that reminds me to tell you, I still have the problem with the succubus. Nothing’s worked on getting rid of her. So please, no more suggestions.
Ok. So that’s it for now. We are going back to the beginning on this blog/blog novel or whatever BaldPunk.com has become after five years.
Joe aka Bald Punk aka Baldie aka BP
Btw, you don’t have to believe all my past life stuff. I don’t care.
Oh, I’m sorry I don’t always keep up with your emails. It’s just that it seems the only people who email me are whacked. They have bizarre problems and need divine help. I’m sorry, but I can’t help with exorcisms and weird-ass sh-t. See this post: Bald Punk THE EXORCIST. I’m done with that crazy stuff. I’m gonna party and have fun, which should be one in the same. But right now I’m on Staten Island, so we’ll see.
And as far as THOSE EYES… Something is burning a hole in my noggin’ with its gaze. I’ve done my best to avoid it. But I know I brought it on. Here’s hoping it loses interest in muah…