cuz that's what nice boys do... they pick up nice girls from LAX.
i have weed, bomb ass mago flavored weed.
work is slow, but that is sorta fine this week, cuz i could use a day or two on the weekend to myself to just put around town and be my scumbag self.
sometimes i think life would be easier if i lived outta my suitcase and my truck. i'm a unmaterialistic minimalist.
when it comes to being out numbered, sheer wit and know-how will be your fucking army.
this has been a week of burly revelations. be it whitey going home from our AZ trip to find out his girlie wasn't waiting for him. or my cousin finding out things about his ex.
other mutual friends, with problems of their own as well.
even me. even i'm floored with news that i had no idea about, news that affects only me.
but i like the truth still. i like it even though it can sting a bit. and the truth can set you free, literally.
when i was a kid being forced to go to sunday school, they were all talking one day about how lying is a sin. and that lying will basically send your dead rotted carcass and soul to a terrible and tortured eternal afterlife in hell. but i, at whatever single digit age i was, asked the bitch sunday school teacher, "but what about lying because if you didn't tell your lie people would be hurt, mebbe even killed? what about lying to save someone's life?"
well she obviously was stumped, and it's been like 15+ years since i've even been in a sunday school class. and if i had to tell her anything right now, besides that there isn't a hell anyways, i'd tell her the right answer would be, "well lil anti, that depends...." cuz life is complicaetd and there ain't no fucking black and white answer for everything. there's a lot of fucking gray, mannnnn, and we just coast along through it blasting a kick ass mix CD. not caring. that's good.
there is like three ppl in the world who i tell EVERYTHING to. the three of them read this blog actually too. and everyone else knows what i tell them, nothing more. i don't lie to them, per say, i just omitt the shit that is none of their business, but when it becomes their business, i act right, and i share what i know.
i know i know... you're all prolly thinking, "this anti, he sure can't make up his child-like mind, didn't he just say a bit ago that ignorance was blisss, and fucking knowing shit?"
and yer right.
but i guess it's like the lying. it just depends.
it's like how people always mistake the shy person for being the snobby person, and it's like the cruel twist of why they're hated is so far from the truth.
so my ability to stay calm gets me in trouble. i'm supposed to counter attack, that's what we're trained to do.
but i'm not a sheep herdee fuckhead loser, i think, i think a lot, and i think for myself. and i don't like people controling my emotions.
i'll feel what i choose to feel when i choose to feel it.
like here's something, i'm known amongst my friends as kinda a "funny guy", but i rarely laugh, unless it's some kinda nervous filler laugh. like how george bush says "um."
and when my close friends ask me, "hey fuckwad, why ain'choo ever laughing?" i swear to them that i am laughing on the inside. the inside. somehwere deep downt here, there is a ball of laughter that is in on the joke and totally enjoying itself. i SWEAR
i internalize sometimes.
or at least, all of this defines one of my many many moods... like and old friend of mine once said, "anti, you're a moody sona bitch" and i am. cuz there's the totally rock and roll, keeping it reeeeal, shoot from the hip, suck my dick or piss in your shoes and float home-- version of me too. who is anything but internalizatron. who maybe should shut up more often.
i don't know who or what i am. i try not to pigeon hole myself too much. that will just set me up for failure. perhaps i don't measure up to this false sense of expectation? cuz i won't.and perhaps i won't just to spite what i am sposed to do, cuz i know that's what everyone does. we make our own laws.
i ca wake up in the morning, and alk into the bathroom to take a piss, and i look in the morror, and i like who i see looking back at me. that's not anti, that's me. John. my close friends call me johnny, and know what... maybe i shouldn't. but i think i'm great. self mastabatory? perhaps. vain? definately.
but i don't see that as my problem.
life sucks and noone wants to be the bad guy, but we all are evil in the end. and you're the bad guy just as much as they are. they screwed you over, but you're fucking with them too. that guy that me and raymi stabbed in the back was an asshole supreme. he was mean to raymi, and deserved every bit of what he got. there's people from raymi's hometown who want to beat his ass to this day.
so was fighting evil with evil ok then? is it ok now? does it ever make anything feel any better?
i have never done anything with the motive of hurting someone. and the people that love me never meant to hurt me. they wanted to spare me pain, they lied for what they thought was my best intrests. and i did the same.
there are special bonds though that run deeper than shit like that. six years up in here. recognize. i will know you forever.
i hate that.
everyone pulling and tugging and everyone wants their pound of flesh, "why don't you have time for me?" shit i don't have time for me anymore. i DO... but just enough to kick off my shoes, check my email, take a bong hit, write a blog post... and POW, i'm sucked back in the the real world. where everything is so much noisier than here. HERE all i can hear is the hum of my machine, and the clickity clack of the keyboard.
music to my ears.
i spilled the bong for the millionth time, and it reeks in here. bongwater is the devil.
Shambalor: im looking at People's most beautiful people
BigBadAnti: am i on there?
Shambalor: and jennifer aniston was number one. is she pretty?
Shambalor: cuz I never thought so
BigBadAnti: i'm prettier.
BigBadAnti: i like her ass though.
BigBadAnti: nice ass.
Shambalor: huh. i never looked at it
BigBadAnti: she's hot for an older broad, i guess.
BigBadAnti: kinda lame style
BigBadAnti: too preppy
BigBadAnti: but whaevs
BigBadAnti: i'd fuck her.
Shambalor: her face looks like a man. and so does penelope cruz. if you cut off all of penelope cruz's hair, she'd look like a starving little spanish man
BigBadAnti: like a homie
Shambalor: complete with moustache
BigBadAnti: and poncho
but whuuutever. i'll take it as a compliment in the end. my life, or keeping up on what's going on with my life, makes you forget how shitty YOUR life is. cool. cool.
glad i can be of service. like your friendly neighborhood spiderman.
timing is everything. i have perfect timing in every area of my life excpet my personal life. not that it matters much. i don't care enough.
my haircut feels great. i was scurred to get it. and now that i got it... my hair is just outta my face, and my hat fits better. i need a new hat.
i want, like, 20 hats.
i wish i didn't smoke cigarettes anymore.
it's how i get new clean towels really. i bring an extra empty suitcase just to load up with towels and pillows and alarm/clock/radios, and rolls of toilet paper that i hijack off of the maids little clean-up, push-cart, thing-thang.
i've stayed at that red roof inn on 51st and McDowell in west phoenix like a million times. even me and raymi stayed there together once on a sign job. but this last time was the first time i got a room on the first floor. i am now a big fan of first floor hotel rooms. elevators are for losers.
i love that the red roof inn's continental breakfast consisted of two empty coffe thingies. and that they don't even give you shampoo, just a thin ass bar of soap.
i always take the bed closest to the AC unit, cuz i am a hot blooded freak, and NEED that shit on at all times. supposedly it's hot outside today here in LA, but i refuse to put on clothes, or go out of my house until i absolutely have to.
nothing too dramatic, or anything. i'm not trippin... just feeling less important right now. less important than i know i am.
sometimes it's a hard burden to walk into my lonely empty house... to walk in here knowing that there's people who love me out there. people who want to be with me... smiling...
people that get to see me are fucking lucky. whitey laughed when i told him that, but he agreed. and the people who have me on their side are ten times luckier, because i am loyal, protective, forgiving, and i will stomp the breath out of anything that poses a threat. i'm the hattori-hanzo-sword of friends. superior to the rest. bar none.
i view friends very differently these days. i see myself sorta like a football coach... picking out the best people for my "team" and sorry, not eveyone makes the cut. SOMEbody's got to get dropped. in fact, this team ain't even got room for bench warmers... so get yer ass OUTTA HERE.
i derno... i feel less unimportant now. typing dribble always seems to help.
i don't need any cheerleaders in my section... i'm all i need.
taking it back to sports analogies.... for me life is one giant "away game". but i barely hear the booing anymore.
i want my tombstone to say, "mannn, i'm so STIFF right now..."
drinking a beer at a club or a bar makes you look poor.
i'm scurred of the fact i ain't done taxes in an uber-long time.
so now i got a whole day off. fucking A. it feels unreal. i plan on smoking the weed whitey and i had left over from being crazy in the a z, and then....
I"M GONNA BUY MORE!
whitey's already driving back up to santa cruz. he's prolly somehwere between pismo beach and santa barbara by now. whitey's the man.
he uses a blanket as a suitcase, he's alergic to his own sweat, and smokes more weed than i do. but fewer cigarettes.
i might get payed enough from this last arizona trip to wipe out my debt in one big blast off. FUCKING UN REAL. or i might just buy a million useless things like comic books, baseballs cards, and video games... cuz that's just the kinda irresponsible asshole i am!
dave started some sorta website thing. he must not know how lame having a website is.
i said i was gonna be the rambo of signs, and i was man. i killed it. aced it. nailed it down tighter than uma's coffin in volume two.
we met rad crazy sign walkers almost all of whom quit on us and we had to hire a total mexican staff today for one of the jobs. but they DID GREAT! arizona has way better mexicans than cali, fo sho.
chuck the 80 year old skater turned sign walker/sign helper hooked us up fat, with even some vicod3ns, so we let him use the shower in our hotel room.
"aw hell yah dawg, i'm on the lookout for the cookout"
the only way we even survived was by laughing our asses off and being out-of-our-mind stoned at all times.
i was so stressed out before i left for the trip, and actually all during the trip too. worried that the shit was gonna hit the fan, and i'd have to trudge through some fucking drama, cuz every sign job has drama.
but by the end all i could feel was hatred for all things arizona, like i was suffocating in it. and i could barely stand it any longer. whitey felt the same way.
we just put our shoulders down, and fucking barrelled through it, and i feel like i wanna run a marathon right now. well not really.
i think i'm gonna eat the last of the vicoden and pass out ihere in my apartment... a place i've missed SO BAD.
we only have the bank, home depot, and the print shop to attend to before we skip town. nothing major.
bye bye LA. you'll be missed.
hours left till departure? 0.
and he wishes he had a jack hammer.
nuff said, bub...
(whitey dubbed me "geemail" niice.)
btw, the theme song of the arizona trip os car thief, from the ebastie boys.
then tomorrow we book it to the print shop just north of san diego, pick up our signs for the two gigs in arizona, and book it to phoenix. we hope to get there by 8pm. chuck, this old dude who used to make a living slanging glow sticks to ravers and selling beads and shit, is gonna meet us at one of the sale locations, and help get that shit dressed with signs, and looking tits.
i'm getting totally stressed out, the pressure of pulling off ONE job flawlessly is bad enough. two on my hands is fucking ridiculous. for example... i have to buy TEN fucking bundles of surveyor steaks, and they come 50 a bundle. 500 times i'm gonna be pounding a damn sign into some shitty arizona dirt.
it's like diving into a situation that you know is gonna give you the butterflies in your stomach, and you want to quit, or ask for help, or have someone hold your hand... BUT NO! you fucking rock that shit, and YOU drive it rather thatn IT driving you, and the truth is...
i like telling people what to do. i love being the boss. from now until sunday i'm our company's arizona regional manager. whitey is working for me, chuck is working for me, and twelve Lucky-Ass people who will be signwalking in the brutal phoenix sun... whom i haven't yet met (shit, as of now.... THEY don't even know they're gonna signwalk this weekend) ARRRRRE fucking working for me. and anyone who doesn't act right, gets shit canned.
this isn't the weekend to try my patience. and it's gonna be hot as fuck out there.
but let's face it, i've had everything happen to me in arizona from getting stranded with no cash, to weighing out the moral logistics of dumping my helper-turned-diabetic-shock-victim in an alley stealing his wallet, and pooring a 40oz. of shlitz over his head. (we ended up pouring a vanilla coke down his throat slapped him awake, and threw his ass out at his apartment, he totally recovered fine we found out a few days later)
the bottomline is this. i got that feeling.
the feeling you get the day before school starts
and you're in first grade
at a brand new school
and you're not sure HOW you're gonna make it to the light at the end of the tunnel.
it's fucking great.
instead of trotting off to arizona to give 110% of myself for a sign job.... i'll be headed there with TWO SIGN JOBS.
that means double the signs, double the sign walkers, and double the hard work i'll have to do.
but the bright side is that i'll be making double the money.
i already called whitey up in santa cruz, and he's gonna hop on board for the mission... so now we'll also have double the stoners. and perhaps double the chronic...
but "...shhhhhh" cuz AZ has really wacky weed laws and the weed thing is gonna be low-pro-noone-needs-to-know style.
i need everyone to email it so i can see how it werks.
just write me something like, "hey dickface, go die a slow death"
i know the minute it hits me, i'll be sleeping deep as fuck. ok, imma swallow it now.
i have no weed, why be awake? plus, it IS 4am... and i AM still wide awake... so... thank you xanax for making feel sleepy just looking at you.
and man, if yer gonna get it wrong... why not think you're great when you really suck? at least you'd feel good about yourself...
why do people who are brilliant and/or beautiful think they are a curse on humanity? it's fucking mind blowing when you see it in front of your face.
i mean i can KINDA understand cuz i used to not be aware that i'm so damn smart, funny and good looking.
I KNOWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!! i'm thinking the same thing you are.
i must have been FUCKING crazy to not realize how awesome i am. and i guess i was.
my mom hooked me up with this huge 4'x4' piece of art.... so now i have something to stare at as i sit silently on the phone, smoking cigarettes, listening to people talk to me. isn't it weird how "my mom" rhymes with "da bomb" ?? no actually it's not that weird at all.
i fucking spoke too soon. eastbound to arizona soon will be my fucking song title. as soon as thursday.
i DESPERATELY need someone to go with me, so i don't die of boredom.
you will have to just kick it alone during the day, and we can go out and party at night.
i've been to arizona like ten million different weekends by now, and none of you arizona blog people ever make yourselves available.
that's fine, you got lives to live... i back you. but man, i'll be there han-solo-style up in the phoenix mix this weekend looking to party. and guess who's got the chronic?
oh yah, you knows i be coming correct.
act-right is my middle name.
what's yers arizona?
i actually signwalked today, cuz i was one worker short, and decided fuck it, i'll make their money on top of my money. and i did.
but at some point this puppy came out of nowhere and jumped up to me, i think he knew i was cool or something. and he totally hung out with me for most of my shift.
he was so good, and listend when i told him what to do, i even took him in my truck with me on my break.
but i know i can't keep him, but i wanted to rescue him, cuz he was gonna get his ass killed in traffic if it wasn't for me already.
a nice enough looking family in a white truck eventually asked me, "is that yer dawg, ese?"
i told them no, and that he needs a home, and is very nice, and will get his lil ass killed if someone doesn't help. and i was secretly sad to see him go, and i WAS gonna take him home if i didn't find nice enough looking family, but sign... i can't save the fucking world. EVEN THOUGH that puppy would prolly have made me so fucking happy. (deep sigh)
they asked what his name was, i told them "fuckhead".
and today's the kinda day where i just roll around on the couch like a lazy cat, and smoke 20 cigarettes all at once while i have the talk radio blaring in the backround.
and my back is all fucked up. but not from a bad back this time. THIS TIME i fucking fell back onto who knows what and it's like a bloody sore mess.
and man. don'cha hate when that happens?
my sign job this weekend is signwalkers only. SCORE. and in san fernando.
thank god i haven't been to arizona in like forever. not since valentines day i think.
i want to go to coachella...
Your inner child screams for cartoons and sugary cereals, but your adult tastes love the buzz of quality mind altering substances. Sooner or later, you're going to have to grow up, at least a bit.
Take the What Pulp Fiction Character Are You? quiz.
don't act all SURPRISED... pffft.
VINCENT: Which one's Trudi? The one with all the shit in her face?
LANCE: No, that's Jody. That's my wife.
sometimes the drug deal is my favoritye part of the whole experience. weirdo's living rooms from here to anahiem. the black dude in gardena who had a machine gun. fancy apartments in hollywood off sunset. meeting up in shady parking lots late a night, or even going with my friend, who had the medical marijuana card, to the weed store, that is now shut down, in inglewood. there they had fucking everything. i miss their hash oil.
grow rooms. holding pounds and pounds of expensive ass bud in my arms. getting jacked for my shit. and jacking peoples shit without mercy.
i think drug deals would be far less exciting if they were legal. like in amsterdam, you buy weed from a coffee shop?! what the fuck?
when buying drugs is as boring as buying marlboros from 7-11. that's when i move.
...and anais nin comic strip.
that scene was shot at the hawthorne cafe, on hawthorne bouylevard, in the city of hawthorne... literally a few blocks from where the guy pulled the gun on me at hawthorne savings, on hawthorne boulevard, in the fine city of hawthorne.
maybe something about hawthorne just screams give me your money, but from what i know, you can get jacked any and everywhere in LA. even ppl i know from detroit think LA is straight crazy for crime, and you practically need an AK-47 to even walk down the street in fucking detroit.
i grew up here in LA. went to grade school in hollywood. cheramoya elementary on franklin. and one thing has been constant all my life about the place... watch yer fucking backson, jackson.
from venice beach to san pedro to long beach and back up to north hollywood... it's all ghetto in the end. and most importantly... FUCK HAWTHORNE.
what sucks most is the random-ness of it all. it's not like you can have a full proof plan to avoid getting robbed, cuz even locking yourself in your house might not prevent a home invasion robbery like the one that hapened to my friend dave. they broke in with guns a blazing and hog tied his girl friend and his roommate when they saw dave leave his apartment in (yep, you guessed it) the fine fine city of hawthorne.
my outlook is this, why fucking trip out about the what if's. if you let those get the best of you, you'll suffocate.
all one can do is stroll like they ain't got a fear in the world, and when the fucking crazy brittish couple whip out their guns and demand your wallet....
just hope yours is the one that says bad mother fucker on it.
Mrs. Mia Wallace:
A five dollar shake.
Buddy Holly: How do you want that shake: Martin and Lewis or Amos and Andy?
Mrs. Mia Wallace: Martin and Lewis.
Vincent Vega: Did you just order a five dollar shake?
Mrs. Mia Wallace: Ummhh.
Vincent Vega: That's a shake . . . that's milk and ice cream.
Mrs. Mia Wallace: Last I heard.
Vincent Vega: That's five dollars? You don't put bourbon in it or nothin'?
Buddy Holly: No.
Vincent Vega: Just checking.
i hate cheap people. sometimes. even though i myself am cheap. but i'm not cheap per say, i'm just poor. and i make priorities. and i spend tons of money, just on the same old thing. drugs and booze and cigarettes. but if i had Mrs. Mia Wallace at my table or her stunt double i'd buy a five dollar shake for her ass, no problemo.
today was the first real day off i had in for-fucking-ever. and i didnah do a GOD damned thing. but i should have... at least eaten, yo.
why do i always forget to do that?
i think i wanna milshake.
Goddamn, this is a pretty fucking good milkshake.
Mrs. Mia Wallace: Told ya.
Vincent Vega: I don't know if it's worth five dollars, but it's pretty fucking good.
jozjozjoz dot com
we stroll around, shooting the shit, waxing philosophic on such topics as, "why's this town got no 7-11's?"
but it's like we're here with this job to do. it's a dirty job... ect, ect, ect. i say "fuck it yo, i'm street, i can hang" and do my thang, and not trip out about cops or or sign haters.
sheeeeee-it, you already know, don'cha boss?
i also like that in pulp fiction vincent resides in redondo-fucking-beach, yo. and the wolf called it "the sticks" ...and it fucking is, man. i'm like 15 minutes from the nearest freeway. for LA... that's bloody murder, man.
i made this this girl (see slyelvis in my cast page) cry today. i barely even tried...
ps... FUCK you if you think i am.
and i'm eating chili with the viking and we watched ummm...
oh yah it was spun. that was tight.
i'm kinda drunk yes. just a bit. and i'm gonna have funn thi=s coming weekend or umm week, or whenever. as soon as rent is paid and um other shit.
i'm wearing my apraisal swweatshop shirt. forthose ffew of you in the know.
and what happens to t shirts and cool cloth4esi used to love that just vasnish. i never get ird of shit. it just goes poof. fuck it.
there was an internet connection, so i fucking blogged.
back tot the food. or the absolute vodka or whatever. i just like typeing, i think it's fun.
i'm going out tonight in no. ho. and we just gone done at old tony's eating crab cocktail and calamari and four free glasses and mai tai's and little tooth charolette waited at my house, cuz she's our little bitch. literally.
i ended up getting drafted to sign job today. more like bribed. whatever.
i'll prolly just sign job tomorrow cuz now that's my version of fun.
ahhh... good times.
and i'm smokinitupppppppPUH
hmmmm.... do i shower or just paint myself clean with the deodorant stick?
my hair is enormous. i'm ten miles past lookin like a damned hippie. my shaved headed younger self wouldah kicked my ass. le sigh.
my kung fu is very strong this week.
holly rhymes with shmolly
you fire their ass. that's right.
and we did.
so the truck, not my truck, will be caput for tomorrow, and i'm gonna wrestle the job alone-ski, with my truck.
this is why we hate the sign walkers. because if it weren't for their dumb asses, you could do the sign job blind folded, and one handed.
you figure, "i'll get out of the car, and show them exactly where i need them to stand so the cars can see their sign, and they'll NOT be able to fuck it up." well drive a lap around the block, and shit your pants when they're on the WRONG FUCKING CORNER!@!@(*YE!@#*(Y!@HH!@#)*(!&@#$*&!E
or holding the sign upside down, whuuutever. it's always something.
most of the sign walkers know enough to kiss our asses and shit, THEY SHOULD, but the mouthy ones never last, and this one's gone for good. bitch even had the balls to moth off to the promoter.... i thought the viking was gonna hit her with the car. but hitting the pole was bad enough as it was.
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so what the fuck??? whoever the retard was didn't even give me their web site.
i'm working hard, and keeping up the stanima. there's light at the end of the tunnel. and i'm slowly getting rich in the process.
maybe i'll travel, maybe to santa cruz.
but what i know for sure is this. i love working non stop.
it's fun, i mean... i make it fun. and so does the viking. so yah, i'm sitting here in no. ho. and we're both all wound up from installing sings all night in covina, and tomorrow we're off to wilmington, and man... i'm in so deep with the signs i need a straw to breath.
welp, imma stroll outside to have a night cap cigarette, since i can't smoke inside here, and listen to howard stern until my eyes shut.
i wanna be drinking a mai tai and hitting up the hot tub by the time work is over. THINK PALM TREES
and btw. fuck traveling. people need to come to me.
so i have this thing for monkeys. they're my favorite animal. grrrrrr-animal.
i love songs about monkeys, and monkey movies, and my mom used to buy me so much monkey crap once a year for my birthday, cuz she knew i was her little monkey, and i still am, but know i'm more of a stoned monkey than a little one. whatever.
these three motherfuckers are all i got left cuz of trusting that one guy to move my shit who instead left 90% of it behind only to get thrown away. before i get mad, lemme swing to a new topic. ajklsdhaljksdjh, deep breath.
earlier today my cousin and i were hanging off the top of 30 foot poles flapping in the wind trying to install car dealership banners. our ladders were too short, and we were all airborn with straps and knives, and power tools. and shit.
yes you fucking have to be james fucking bond to be a fucking sign guy.
and i fucking am, man.
so tomorrow i jobbb the signs in wilmington. or to us locals, "wilmasss holmes..."
15 signwalkers to babysit. and checks to be cashed. tomorrow will be action packed.
i better not have my cousin jenny's lazy ass boyfriend on my crew tomorrow. that lazy no good....
but i digress... i think brandon is fired for good finally anyways
i wanna make sure i sleep good tonight, so i've already started getting a nice buzz on with the little rum i had left.
now i got fifteen minutes till leno is on, and on mute, so i can listen to my musica. and smoke cigarettes really slowly with my eyes closed.
damn i'm one fucking lucky ass monkey sometimes.
i will smoke more pot now, and try and get high enough to write more.
today i work AGAIN. signzuh!
i have turned into workotron.
this better be making me rich!!
now i will leave for no.ho.
they're all burly and crazy and make me laugh like milk was coming out of my nose. but i'm usually not drinking milk, but tap water coming out of my nose sounded odd.
i got the weed guy on his way over here, and i've been watching that movie Repo Man like it was on loop
i hate when my phone rings. i get this really annoyed feeling, like, "what is it THIS time?!?!" and i get all impatient and huffy.
and for some reason i get ten million wrong numbers a day. i think it might be due to the fact that my number starts with 379, but there's 376, and 374, and 372, and people just mix them up all damned day. but mostly on mondays for some weird reason.
i bought this downstem for my bong when bunny was out here visiting los angeles, and i don't think i'm down with it. the hole is too big and my hits aren't all milky like the way i want them to be.
the weed guy just called and says he has two kinds. the regular priced/regular quality, or the super fucking pooper scooper for a zillion dollars.
yes... i'm gonna blow my wad on the pricey shit. but only cuz i know where to put my priorities.
i worked two different sign jobs, one in the valley, and one in rancho cucamonga. if you live in rancho cucamonga, you are a rancho cucamongian.
and so the sign job in the valley forced me to buy a totally sleazy 7-11 cell phone. yes i bought a cell phone at 7-11, so fucking what? anyways, it's cool and works most importantly.
friday night i skateboarded!! i was lucky enough to borrow a skate, and my legs are still sore.
now onto the inland empire. where the viking an i fucking killed it. except today we had the most problems... we were already a signwalker short (we needed 15 we had 14) and then we saw chino drinking a beer. so we had to fire his ass before he could even start. it's kinda weird, but it makes total sense... you can do any drugs you want, smoke weed, snort speed, whatever... but if you drink on the job AT ALLL, you're instantly fired with no pay. the reason is because the booze makes people retarded, and a liability. drunks have done everything from fall on their head for no reason, to wandering in traffic, and fucking taking a nap in the bushes. and chino is a regular signwalker, so he fucking knows better.
BUT we ran out of time and had to hire two drunks, oddly enough, off the freeway offramps, but they promised not to drink anymore till after work, and only one of them made it all the way thru. the drunker of the two replacement-guys fucking disapeared actually. so whatever, we kept his money and had lunch at applebees.
so, i usually only work three days in a row, with four days off, but i'm glad i worked the last 5 days, maybe i'll have some duckets to fucking splurge on pointless shit with.
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