class

My actual job is a complete stress fest. And not only is it company policy to make it as stressful as possible, every non-work related aspect of my workplace is likewise designed to make you explode in a career ending tirade just as you approach a near living wage pay grade. From the long lines for D grade food in the cafeteria, to the spring loaded faucets in the rest rooms that give you 0.3 seconds of water, culminating in the coke machines that now only give change in nickels, something’s got to give. So a move is required.

I need a new job. Let’s see. I could become a propaganda writer for a snake oil pyramid scheme. (Funny how those types of companies are always hiring.) Nah, there’s some things that even I won’t stoop to. I’ve got it. I’m gong to sell the official Elvis Presley line of White Trash Jewelry.

The first item we’re offering is the men’s Royal Flush Diamond Ring. Resplendent with 5 multi-faceted Diamondess stones, surrounded with 18kt Royal gold. It’s an exact replica of the ring the King wore when he puked on Richard Nixon during his 1972 visit to the White House.

Continuing our line of distinction is the men’s Diamondess Onyx Cross. Plated in 24kt gold, it is a faithful reproduction of the very same cross Elvis wore when he was statutory raping Priscilla Beaulieu, and a bold symbol of his very deep faith.

And what fan of the King doesn’t remember the gold and stainless steel Men’s Flex Bracelet that he wore as he nearly choked to death on a deep fried banana and peanut butter sandwich right before his incredible 1967 comeback special? Order this limited edition soon folks. Supplies won’t last.

And finally, we are most proud to present for the first time ever; The “Aloha From Hawaii” Horseshoe Ring. Exquisitely crafted in 10kt gold, this is a cubic zirconia re-creation of the legendary ring worn by the King of Rock n’ Roll while he was overdosing on prescription barbiturates on the personalized red velvet and gold inlayed toilet in his famous Vegas penthouse.

So remember, when thinking of a gift for that very special someone; think of Elvis Presley’s White Trash Jewelry. Because, nothing says class like Elvis Presley.

one more

Another bad day in a lifetime of bad days. So when I’m feeling exceptionally low, I do a midnight drive all the way out to Montauk Point. There in the Lighthouse parking lot, I stare at the stars. On a good night, not only is the spiral arm of the Milky Way stretching like a band across the breadth of the sky visible, clouds of brilliant stars actually show their color, from whites to orangey redness. As I ponder the expanse above me filled with thousands of suns, and the billions of attached worlds within my eye span, I feel a little less worthless. Not infinitely small in an infinite sea, but part of something infinitely large. And somehow, it gets me through one more day.

hallelujah

For some, the American dream has been a non-attainable illusion. For others, it never even arose to the idea of remote possibility. The happenstance of our birth has kept us in perpetual second citizenship, forever unable to enjoy the freedoms or aspirations to greatness afforded to the majority of our fellow citizens, held down by the fear, intolerance, and prejudices of those that have deemed themselves superior. After this election, no more. We have crossed over the mountain top and seen the promise land. A land we thought impossible to reach in our life time. A land where the injustice and ignorance of the elite will be replaced by the justifiable self-righteousness of oppressed. A land in which any man can walk in the light of inalienable freedom. A land of true and equal opportunity for all. A land of eternal brotherhood. No longer will we folically challenged be forced to avert our eyes, but instead stare in the sacred brightness of a new day of freedom. A new age has dawned, an age in which no man will be judged by the baldness of his skin, but the content of his character. Why, I might even be able to interact with a non-inflatable woman. Hallelujah!

look

Another shocking experience of aging is seeing the ravages of time on all of the starlets and bikini models of your youth. When I was in high school, a guy I knew told me how to hot wire the cable box so I could get the Playboy Channel for free. What I got was an overwhelming vision of beauty, tame by today's standards, called the Playmate Playoffs. For a young male teen, this was months worth of "inspiration". The visage of one woman in particular buried itself deep within my cortex, a Playmate named Gina Tomasino. So, many years went by, mental images faded into long distant memory. Then last year, I was flipping through the channels and spotted a face on Housewives of Orange County. Why, who is that? Where do I know that face? Uh… Holy shit, it's her! What the hell happened? The tight little ass' became a cellulite field. The cute little upturned nose's become piggish. And the aura of "hot little thing" has become "wallowing sow". Jesus, to think I used to masturbate over her. The horror… the horror. Oh well, at least know I recognize the look I see in the eyes of any ex girlfriends I run into.



Yeah, yeah, I get it. Hey, you gotta write about what you know.