Who? I have no idea.
Recently, I found the woman who offered me a job in Area Code (314), and I had bragged of it years ago in (805). What happened? Nothing. I bragged of this job offer in (213), and nothing came of it. “What happened, Bill?” I’m so glad the schizophrenic [According to Dr. Mafia] voices in my head have prompted me to tell two more “California Stories.” You want my West Coast Advisory? Don’t go out there unless you are already nuts, and if you are not, “They’ll take care of ‘ya.”
Story #1: I was behind the MGM Lion Tamer’s senior center, when an attractive lady approached. “May I buy you a cup of coffee?,” she asked. After I had told her my life story for free, she said, “I will contact Reverend Nutcase, and he will find you a place to stay.” “Hey, somebody is going to help,” I told the Kook Kontingent. She was to return in two weeks. When she did, she had been transformed into a surly bitch. “I cannot help you,” she angrily said. Go to the agency at an address that is also Howard Hughes’ Pilot License Number was the directive. I did; I got out alive. You might not.
Story #2: Two ladies were behind the Lion Tamer’s center. I heard them speaking in French. Shocked I was when they spoke to me in English. Again, my life story for free. The nice lady was from Belgium, and said, “We are starting a business, and will hire you to help get it going.” They also returned in two weeks looking like dazed Zombies. When I asked about the job I had bragged to the Boss Lady Lion Tamer about, the Belgian woman handed me a loaf of Saint Louis Bread Company bread, known out there and elsewhere as Panera. To the assembled bums and drifters I said, “What the fuck was that?” “Zombie-ized” in that manner, maybe if you gave them a rifle, they would…never mind, French P.M. I am way overdue for my Tom Eagleton / Eagleton Federal Courthouse-approved Electroconvulsive Therapy. It helps with my “delusions.”
And now, a passage from my crazed personal correspondence, written six hours before a gun_man entered Planned Parenthood in Colorado Springs. Mr. Policeman, maybe you should bring him a bag of legal pot. That might calm him down, so he stops shooting at cops and others. I myself have been crazy enough to say, “Burn that shit up!” I contend it is no good for you. Amendment #1 of your Con.stituton says I can say that at the Press Club in Washington, if Dr. McCoy gives me a gate pass.
“I am now rabidly against the sale and shooting of guns, and if running for public office I’d say, ‘Fuck the Second Amendment. A few more dead cops and someone will pack the Supreme Court with Sarah Brady’s relatives.’ [That’s profanity + a political joke]. Guns, Guns, Guns is an old Guess Who song.”
I know I’m right! (About the RCA record by that Canadian band, at least).