teh Mexigogue

From A San Diego channel 10 article.

La Mesa police were searching Thursday for a man who tried to molest a 9-year-old girl in a park restroom, authorities said.

The man entered the women’s restroom at La Mesita Park in the 8800 block of Dallas Street Wednesday, the La Mesa Police Department said in a statement.

The girl was in the restroom using a stall when the man peered under the closed door and asked to see the girls genitals, the statement said, adding he then offered to show himself to her.

After the girl said no, the man left, but he came right back and began peering over the top of the stall, staring at the victim, the statement said.

You never know who is gonna be hanging around public restrooms.

Phelps tagged me so now I have to say what stuff I have on my nightstand. After looking at the stuff he listed I began to feel kind of uneasy because I don’t have a nightstand proper. I have a chair at the foot of my bed that holds an electric fan and my alarm clock. It also holds a black thing that appears to have been a bannana peel about six months ago. Either that or it’s a dead bat. Whatever it is it ain’t movin’.

My dresser has more stuff on it (I’m doing this from memory because I forgot to look this morning). I have an old burned out candle, a bunch of karaoke cards with phone numbers and e-mail addresses written on them, a stick of deodorant, a different stick of RE-odorant for days I wanna be offensive, and a set of triple blade shaving cartridges that I’ll never use because I’m growing my hair out into an afro so as to win $1 from Lauri.

I would list all my books but none of them are on the dresser, they’re all on the bed (yes I sleep with them) or on the floor. My videotape of “The Others” isn’t on the dresser either but I thought I’d mention it because my daughter wants to watch it again this weekend. We love spooky movies.

I made my mom go with me to Sholty’s last night. There was a league player there with his own cue stick and I tied him 2-2. I don’t think he was too happy with it because he just got done telling me that he took MVP for the league one year. Yeah but you tied me 2-2 today. Then my mom hit the guy with a spinning backfist and said “Let’s bounce dawg!”

Just kidding. I don’t really have an old banna peel on my chair!

My being temporarily banned from Leroy’s is like when Martin Luther King was incarcerated and wrote his famous Letter from a Birmingham Jail. It’s like Moses wandering around the desert for forty years. It’s like the British Empire sending Ghandi to band camp against his will. Future generations will look back and see this as an historic turning point until the world is once again set aright. I am the secular world’s Mahdi.

Perhaps I exaggerate a touch but while UNLV practices for our billiard showdown I am like Gary Kasparov tucked away in exile, my mind turning with the game in theory while my opponents get practical application. If I don’t get some real game time soon I’m going to imagine that my reality is, well, my imagination. Perhaps my existence is only idle thought with no connection to the physical world. Could it be that these are just delusional musings of the spirit and that my existence is actually of the non-corporeal? Now I’m creeping myself out. HEY!!!

Damn Descartes, I hate therefore I am. I hate that dude I had to punch, I hope his ears are still ringing. I’ve given up checking the obituaries for his picture but I was hoping he would have died by a delayed blood clot caused by the fight. Then his picture could have been in the paper with a quote from his mother saying nobody should have punched her boy because he was just a n00b. And under his picture would have been the caption “Teh pwn3d!!!” But each day that passes makes that scenario more unlikely.

So tonight I will once again go to sleep early, with nothing to do but await Sunday when I might get back in the joint. I’ve tried other places but it’s just not the same. I was thinking about calling Leroy’s, effecting a West Texas accent, and saying I’m President George Dubya and the Mexigogue has hereby been granted a full pardon. Paulie might buy it as it’s within the realm of possibility. If I was the President I would pardon me. It might work!

Yeah. And maybe that guy will die from a delayed blood clot.

Sigh!

The Mexigogue always rails against government but we all know that without government regulation like the Food and Drug Administration most businesses, being free, would twitch their evil mustaches and sell us all poison food and drugs with impunity. Or would they?

An article on the WSYM website details a failed plot by Al Qaeda to poison the American cocaine supply with the help of a Columbian drug cartel. With no government oversight this plan should have certainly succeeded. It did not. Why? Because the Columbian drug lords decided selling their customers poison-laced cocaine would be bad for business.

You intentionally sell your customers poison, whether it is spoiled hamburger meat or cocaine laced with aresenic, you are screwing over your customer base and that will come back to haunt you. Any good capitalist knows that giving your customers an inferior product is going to kill your business in the long run and THAT, not the presence of the regulations of the FDA, is the main reason businesses try their best to offer you a quality product. Bin Laden, in this case, was thwarted not by government regulation but by good old capitalist greed (of the Columbian variety which is probably a purer form of capitalism than exists in the US at this point.)

I just realized that that link doesn’t take you directly to the news article. When you get to the WSYM site go to the right under headlines. It should be listed under Bin Laden cocaine plot.

I found some worthwhile news in the local paper. The Lansing State Journal has an article describing some new Michigan initiatives to address the problems of high divorce rates and fatherless children. These are indeed huge problems which correlate with high dropout and crime rates for children brought up in such families. My issue is with the idea that government initiatives are the answer to such problems. Are these issues for the all the collective of humanity to address or are these best left to the families themselves?

I can almost hear comrade Hillary in the background mouthing that it takes a village to raise a child. Yet it is all this village interference in families that has helped feed the divorce rate by passing legislation that rewards people for breaking the marriage contract and by making fathers obsolete by replacing them with a child support formula. Note, when the divorce rate was at an all time low there was not a single government intervention holding it together.

Not content with supplying the carrot for divorce government now wants to jump in on the other side to create programs teaching people about the dangers of it (the stick). Since the answer to every problem (even those created by government) is government, we now have the government working against itself by creating both incentive and disincentive for the same action. Rather than swallow the bird to swallow the fly my idea is for the state to not swallow anything in the first place and leave individuals accountable to themselves but what do I know? That wouldn’t exactly jibe with Michigan patterning itself after the USSR.

Read the State Journal article. If it doesn’t make you sick to your stomach there’s something wrong with you.

San Angelo, Texas
July 1986

Carmen’s mother hated me. I’m an outstanding guy so it must have been because she already had a kid by some sirve pa nada and I was just a seventeen year old student with no job. Since her mother was acting evil and her brother was nuts we decided to hang out at my house which suited me better anyway.

Carmen was anxious to make a good impression on my mother so when she came over she made fideo (which turned out very good) and offered some to my mom. Mom wouldn’t touch it. She hated Carmen, probably because she was an 18 year old single mother who was going to corrupt the Mexigogue. She didn’t hide it which sent Carmen into hiding in my room blowing cigarette smoke out my window.

Shunned by the outside world, there was no social life left for either of us. The only thing there was left for us to do was was hole ourselves in my room with the weights pressed against the door (my lock didn’t work) and screw like banshees. Actually I’m not sure if banshees screw. But if they do, that’s what we were screwing like. At the beginning of the week I was a n00b but by week’s end I was a 100 honor with mad hacker skills and an enviable frag rate. Beat that b7tch3s!!

Naomi (the one year old daughter) was there too. We always had to wait for her to go to sleep before we did anything so we had to wear her out. Sometimes that entailed going for long walks through the neighborhood. We would start out on Wynne Street and head towards my aunt’s house on McKanne. Every so often we’d encounter a dog. Naomi would point her finger at it and say “Puppy?” Carmen would answer “Yes mija, that’s a puppy.” We would all smile and it was all very cute.

Then one day we walked past a house and a MONSTROUS DOBERMAN come crashing against a gate, SNARLING LIKE THE TAZMANIAN DEVIL! My blood froze in terror an it was only when I noticed that the animal was safely penned in that I was able to breathe again. Unperturbed, Naomi pointed a tiny finger at the dog and said “Puppy?”

The biggest issue at that time was that I was getting ready to return to Michigan. I had been planning this for some time: I was going to get back up North and move into an apartment with my friend Tyrone (who had to leave home due to some personal issues in his life). I would finish my last year of high school after which I planned to join the United States Marine Corps. I had told Carmen none of this and by mid August we had developed such a bond that I wasn’t going to ruin it with The Truth.

In my defense I didn’t tell a lie, I told a whole bunch of them: I told her I would write to her every week and that I’d send for her once I got in the Corps. She told me she loved me. I said “I love you too” and I even gave her the real address where she could write to me in Michigan. I don’t know why I did that because I just ended up looking at the letters and never bothered to answer a one of them, even when he began pleading for me to just tell her something. Out of sight, out of mind. But I’m ahead of myself.

My last week in San Angelo was the most harrowing. We narrowly missed a pregnancy scare and I refused to do her after that. I told her it was for the best and we had to practice self restraint. I’m such a jackass, playing the ‘responsible’ role when I really just wanted to make sure there were no ties HAHA! I even had a theme song for us: “Kiss and Say Goodbye” by the Manhattens. I played it for us over and over, only at the part where the background singers say “I’m gonna miss you” under my breath I replaced “miss” with “diss”. She never caught on.

I actually did like her a little which was another reason I had to leave quick. I didn’t need any emotional attachments messing up my plans. Saying goodbye to Carmen’s friend Della (who I had known first and liked in the first place) was actually just as hard. Della was nice, she was the good girl archetype. I talked to her for hours on the phone each night. It seemed I was always saying her name. She never did become a nun by the way, but at that time we all thought she might.

The day of my departure came and I was excited beyond belief. I knew something cool was in store for me back in Michigan but I didn’t yet know I was about to meet Pinkie, some chick named Toni Esther, and would find great times at Riverfront Park and Westside Deli. I only knew I had something to look forward to. It was all I could do to hide my excitement when Carmen came by.

So the last night together our song comes on and at the “kiss and say goodbye” Carmen starts pouring tears. I’m holding her in my arms saying what I think are supposed to be the right things but really I’m thinking Goddamit her tears are getting me all wet! I swear by all that is holy at one point as I’m holding her and I knew she couldn’t see my face I broke out into a big and evil grin. Another Kodak moment gone to waste.

Finally, between sobs, I hear her manage “I’m going to miss you Michael.”

“I’m going to miss you too Della . . . . . I mean Carmen!!”

My people, if looks could kill I would certainly not be here today. Her eyes would have scorched me like a coal on the fire that looks intact at the end of the day but when you touch it it just crumbles into power. That part was an accident but it was a fitting end to the story of how I dissed Carmen and laughed all the way back to Lansing.

Moral of the story: Never NEVER address a chick by her name. Call them “Hey”. In fact two years ago I had a chick stress me out because I had been seeing her for two years and never called her by her name. Even when we were in the middle of the act and she’d say “WHAT’S my name? WHAT’S my name?” I would always go “Ummmmmm. . ” I’ll take the heat for that because the upshot is that I never called her by another chick’s name. Damn the pop quizzes!

My first time was when I had just turned seventeen. Stop laughing, that’s about normal for dudes. I was in Texas, it was summer break from school, and this girl I liked named Della wasn’t ever going to give it up. She was in fact talking about becoming a nun. But she did hook me up with her friend named Carmen, a chick who was a year older than me and already had a kid. I deduced that meant she put out (damn I’m smart.)

Meeting Carmen was really weird because Della wasn’t there but she sent me to the mall to the restaurant where Carmen was a hostess. Carmen was expecting me and the first thing I noticed was that she was ok looking. She greeted me pleasantly and immediately took a smoke break so that we could get acquainted. I can ignore the smoking thing, I thought, if it only gets me to the end zone.

She ordered lunch and shared it with me although I didn’t quite know what it was. I had never heard of a chimichanga before. “I know that chinga in Spanish means fuck,” I says “and I know that changa means female monkey. And I ain’t eatin’ no fuckinin’ monkey!” She assured me it wasn’t monkey so I ate. The cook was a jealous ex boyfriend and he ate lunch with us and acted like an ass.

I think it was that same day she borrowed a friend’s truck and the thing stalled a million times because she didn’t know how to drive a stick shift. At some point we got to her house and I met her brothers Carlos and Manuel. Carlos was twenty-one and he was one of those insane Mexicans who would kill you at the drop of a hat. He later was charged with stabbing a seventeen year old. I remind you I was seventeen at the time. Luckily I wasn’t the one.

After her brother disappeared Carmen and I went for a walk in the park. Her baby was in the stroller. At some point we started making out. Wow, I thought. Today I get to first base. Maybe tomorrow I’ll get to second! Things were getting all hot and heavy.

“Fuck it, let’s do it” Carmen says.

“Do what?” I ask.

“You know, it! (lol n00b!)

“Uhhhh, ok.”

We go back to her house and luckily Carlos is gone. “If he knew what we’re doing he would kill you!” Nice to know. I’m going to do it anyway because my hormones are screaming at me.

I’m in, we’re doing it, I’m all surprised. I keep checking out the window as per her instructions to make sure her brother doesn’t come back. At some point I REALLY get into it and stop checking out the window. I’m all in and I’m waiting for the big payoff. It’s right around the corner. Suddenly BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM!!! “CARMENNNNN!”

“OH SHIT, IT’S MY BROTHER! GET YOUR CLOTHES ON!”

I’m dressing really quickly as she tries to stall him. I’m all set to go out the back door but she says no, he’ll hear. Go out the window. So I go out the window and buckle myself as I make my way through the back alley. A dog barks and I jump but it’s not loose. I begin a three mile walk back home. I narrowly escaped death but it was worth it. I’ve finally made a touchdown (if not the extra point.)

Stay tuned to tomorrow’s exciting continuation of How I Dissed Carmen and Laughed All the Way Back to Michigan

I didn’t eat breakfast, I just decided to wait until lunch time to feast. I need a big burrito. Not one of the ones from Pancheros either. I want real Mexican shredded beef, hot salso, onions, and stuff in it. I miss that place in San Angelo I used to get the good stuff from, I can’t even remember what the place was called. La Fuente?

My computer at home died. Rather I think it’s just a power thing. I had it unplugged during the storm and the next day when it was back to normal outside I plugged it back in and booted up. It was on for about 30 seconds and then the power just died. It won’t turn anymore and it seems like an electrical problem. I’m gonna wait and see what I’m gonna do. I think I’m gonna go home and read a book.

I’m thinking when Dubya promised to fire anyone connected to leaking that agent’s name he put himself out too far. He might as well have said “Read my lips.” Changing the standard now is not slick at all and he’s going to pay for it. The thing to do would be to maintain his integrity, stick to the original message, and take his lumps. This other way is gonna hurt.

Gotta go peace.

I was given a month off from Leroy’s for that fight. It’s unprecedented lenience. Every dude who has fought there before has been banned outright. I was actually expecting a one month ban so when Paulie said “one month” I was like wow, I was right!

More news, they said the other guy was bleeding when he left. I think that came from me trying to gouge his eye out. If Paul didn’t pull him off that’s probably exactly what was going to happen. The best part about it is that I would have then went up to the pool table and said “EYE-BALL in the side pocket!” and slam dunked it in to the enthusiastic cheers of the crowd. That chance is now forever lost and that joke is stuck in the realm of the hypothetical.

Actually Paulie said come back and talk to him in two weeks. He said he really wanted to give me a pass on this but he had to give me at least a nominal amount of time off. He said he’ll call it a month but will probably quash it before then.

People like me because of my gyrating hips!

So I’m at Leroy’s and this ghetto peasant n00b is being annoying telling people what shot he would have took like he’s all sagacious and shit. The fucking retard is telling Ken how to shoot. Ken’s picture is on the wall for being on the team that took first place in the city of Lansing in 2004. The jackass who’s criticizing his game does not have his picture anywhere because he’s a n00b. Finally he does it again and I approach him.

“You play pool?”

“Yeah.”

“You play for money?”

“How much?”

“Play for $20.”

“I don’t wanna play for $20.”

“Well what you wanna play for?” I ask, reaching into my pocket. “I play you for however much you want.”

Then his retard spidey sense kicks in because even he can tell I’m calling him out, putting him in the untenable position of having to back up his words instead of just sitting there talking shit. He gets up and says “Why the fuck you over here talkin’ to me?” He gets dead in my face nose about an inch away from mine and tries to punk me “WHY THE FUCK YOU COME OVER HERE ASK ME SOME SHIT LIKE THAT!?! WHY THE-”

It sounded just like “Hit me.”

When he got in my face I raised my hands and said “It was just a question.” When I saw it wasn’t going to end up good I planted my rear foot and drove my palm into his face. His head snapped back as far as it could go, his face pointed to the sky. Direct hit! It was on!”

Here’s the part where you can tell I haven’t been in many fights. I watched and was like wow, what’s going to happen next? He lunged forward and grappled me. We crash to the floor and he’s on me trying to hit me in the head. How come nobody ever wants to box me? It’s always this grapple shit! I’m on the floor and I started to manuever my hands up for the old thumbs in the eye while moving my head to try to avoid getting punched. He got a couple of hits to the side and top of the head but nothing direct. Somebody pulled him off and it was over.

I was going to lose unless I had managed to get the thumbs in the eye (I did that to a dude back in ‘91 and he jumped up or I’d have taken his eyeball out.) Oh fucking well I can’t have somebody trying to punk me and get off scott free. What the fuck is wrong with people, the correct answer if you don’t want to bet is “I don’t bet.” Now he messed around and got hit and plus put out of the bar. I have a little owie in my temple but that’s about it. No big thing.

What sucks is that I have to talk to Paul sometime today. I hope I’m not barred. From my point of view he was all in my grill and I wasn’t going to wait to get hit first. People suck. There should be some kind of rule that you have to box in a fight. I hate grappling. Now if I get barred I have to stay home and do something positive.