Last night I had a panic attack. The executive's son at my company bought a copy of the Ass book. I didn't feel good about it. He's 14 or so. I thought he was too young.
"Don't get in trouble," I said.
"I won't," he said. "Sign it."
"Chase the Moon," I wrote. "Be the Sun."
The kid was thrilled. Not me though. I was pretty sure this was the end for me. One look at a book about Ass, and that might be my last day in television.
I guess that's a pretty stupid thought, huh?
Then comes one that supercedes all others. The Ass book isn't good enough. It needs work.
This might very well be true. It's a flawed book, but that was what it was all about. No changes. Who knows?
I think I'm feeling wretchedly strange because all I have read this last week is Charles Bukowski, and now I've watched 3 DVD's about him and, and it's all getting to be a bit much, and I keep asking, "What the fuck am I doing?"
It's a great moment of panic. Am I now the Ass guy? Will it be harder to get a date? Will I have to be a switch hitter?
"Oh, no," a guy at work tells me. "You're fucked on both ends."
I felt better this morning though. The book finally showed up on Borders and Amazon. (It's about time!) I will be dealing with the ftp to get Golden Ashtray images onto the database. Hopefully, it works this time.
"Anything else?" you ask.
I'm writing a book. What else?
I wonder what this one will be about. Maybe, sugar. Either that or gangsters. I like gangsters. I like the way they talk. They got that sideways thing.
"Ehllo," they say. "What's it to you?"
"A fig newton," I say. "With milk."
They bring it over pretty quick. I'm surprised. That was my first sideways talking. Usually, I just talk with my lips parallel. Not this time though. Now it was all sideways.
"Enything else, Boss?" one of them asks.
"Yeah," I say sideways. "I need potassium."
"Pa-what?" Jimmy, the Wrench asks.
"Bananas," I say.
The Wrench runs off. I sit there with my sideways talk. I count the money on the table. This being a gangster is easy. I just had to kill people and take their money, or scare them really bad. That was easy. And now I had Jimmy, the Wrench, getting me some Potassium. This wasn't a bad life.
"No, it isn't," one of my henchman agreed.
"Want a knuckle sandwich?" I asked.
"Nah," he said.
"Well, too late," I said and popped him in the mouth. "You got one." ______________________________________________________
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