.

I go
To
All
The bars
In this town and
Over here
There’s a 19 year old girl
With a face like a daisy petal,
Like a bed of newly fallen snow,
Smiling at me as she slowly rolls silverware,
There’s the perv who’s always in the skanky bar saying
“Nice to make your acquaintance,”
Despite my lack of having accomplished anything whatsoever
In recent years,
There’s a bearded young gentleman over here
Who sets his mouth to running
Looking me straight between the ears
On the subject of craft beer brewed in Michigan
And doesn’t turn his mouth off
Until I pay for my two Short’s and leave,
And I’ve seen what goes into this type of thing and
Never in my life has
Kindness made me so sick.

Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 1 / 03.20.2015

Ugh, all these microbreweries, they’re for the birds! When is South Bend gonna get a sleazy, dimly lit martini bar modeled after the various Chicago spots called like Dynamite Danny’s, with a martini glass oscillating on a neon sign, a craps table and nothing but Bulls games and Bulls highlights on, 24/7. If the Cubs make the World Series you get one inning, then it’s back to Jordan from ’91.
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 2 / 03.20.2015

I wasn’t SCARED of the Burn ‘em taps. Ok? Got it? Kapiche? That’s not why my hands were shaking when I handed the bartender my ID. It’s RICKETS. I was diagnosed with the disease at a young age, seven, and it’s incurable. Through all the doctor’s visits to which my mom would take me, I’d trudge, all hopped up on ritalin and this ephedra diet my pops put me on to get me ready for the shootaround at the Valpo game. He had me shootin’ like 1,000 freakin’ free throws. The next human being I laid eyes on my was my ol’ Uncle Ramshackle, rollin’ up the street and kickin’ up quite a din, sayin’, either ya eat it or it eats you. Ah, drink heartily, folks!
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 3 / 03.21.2015

* Sunshine Sammy returns: “This English cu** came up and corrected my grammar.”

This English cu** came up and corrected my grammar! It’s like bit**, I ain’t eatin’ no biscuits and jelly! That’s pootie tang! That’s all that bit** is, just pootie tang! Oh, I’ll give her something to drown her sorrows in, after I tell her how untoward and ungainly here hips were in that hideous smock! All those British broads think they sh** gold. It’s like bit**, next time I say “different than” I want you to bring me a beer that’s different than Rolling Rock, since this is like my eighth one! Good thing it’s from Indiana. See, drinkin’ local, none of that Smith-Wick’s limey swill!
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 4 / 03.21.2015

(Sunshine Sammy returns: Sunshine Sammy gets his vacuum repaired)

Ugh, all this beer sh**? That doesn’t help you get laid! Chicks don’t even like it when you drink beer! That’s creepy, awkward, random and ghetto! I’m going in to get my vacuum repaired! Gettin’ spinners on it too, ‘bout to be icin’ up and down the block there on South Street, bumpin’ “Bombs over Baghdad.” They were playin’ me out at the gas station though, said I couldn’t bring my vacuum cleaner in there when I went in to get my Five-Hour Energy at 10 pm. I would have gotten Boones Farm but Kidrock used to drink Boones Farm! Haha! That’d be like so… random!
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 5 / 04.24.2015

*Sunshine Sammy Returns: “Look at these hilljack Bucks fans!”

Look at these hilljack Bucks fans! In that bootleg sweat shirt from ’92! Up there makin’ me some cheeeeese, aintcha soul mama! Ain’t nothin’ up in Milwaukee but trash, cheap beer, whores and reindeer! I go up there when I need a cheap piece o’ ass! Then they put on their crazy country back-woods Indian music… yeah I get down on that, trip out to some peyote and watch those mamas shake it! We were havin’ so much fun this one night on Peyote in the middle of Milwaukee that I had my friend tattoo the Miller Lite logo on my face… I was like fu** it, I’ll just work somewhere where they serve this, like Downer’s Grove! Ah, cheers friends, to all American originals, Bulls and Miller Lite, get rowdy or go home!
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 6 / 04.24.2015

*Sunshine Sammy Returns: “Who’s the biggest fagget in sports?”

Brick it, you fagget! Oh, sorry. Yeah, Sunshine Sammy here again reporting live from The Bier Garden in Asheville, North Carolina, where I’m taking a little week vacation from my job. Those elephant tusk smoking apparatuses sell themselves.
There’s so many hotties in this Bier Garden place you could freakin’ scrub the floor with hotties, you practically step on ‘em on your way out. But there’s none outside! It’s like the randomest sh** ever out there, when I’m smoking and looking at my phone, and sh**. And then that Scola fagget on the Pacers kept hittin’ those threes, with that girly ass long hair! I could cut that dude’s di** off, I swear to God. That bartender in there even knew he puts from the rough, but I stared at HER every time she walked by. Ah, I could watch sports all day.
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 7 / 05.02.2015

Sunshine Sammy Returns: “This would be a great day for that Jimi Hendrix acid headband.”

Hmmmmm-nah, this would be a great day for that Jimi Hendrix acid headband, I’m sweaty singin’ and I placed the 17 llamas in shifted congruence of
.
Where the peacocks
.
Were three times to their plight
.
Of
.
Climbing up hyena hill whereupon the noise inside
.
(hahaha)
.
The cave became an expressionist foray and we all dined on the china graces of the noble ogre Shrek, and I bought three stocks in sweaty Miramax before the gold dust tape recorders grew buttons and sings us to consumer malevolence.
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 8 / 05.02.2015

*Sunshine Sammy Returns: “It’s all about how you get down on that overnight-hops-injector-IV”

Oh yeah, baby, vibin’ off the iv-in’! Drinking is for pu**ies! Since I scored this overnight hops-injector-IV at the downtown dank brewery I’m in hops heaven! I had to pi** like 37 times overnight though, or rather, I STOPPED pi**ing 37 times, there were 37 intermittencies, per the report I ran the following AM, so I likewise invested in this trusty, portable urine basin. I didn’t even get any pi** on my Charlie Sheen bed sheets! What’s that in the washing machine, you ask? Oh, uh, my mom.
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 9 / 05.05.2015

*Sunshine Sammy Returns: “I’ve been a Modest Mouse fan since 1892, motherfu**ers!”

I’ve been a Modest Mouse fan since 1892, motherfu**ers, so tell your lil’ sister tha’, ya! I used to listen to ‘em with Ben fu**in’ Franklin! I’ve even collected the whole “The Good Times are Killing Me” boxed set, it’s like Dan Akyroyd’s “Glass Shards and Cigarette Butts” kids’ toy on Saturday Night Live, except it’s real: you get a complimentary ten strip of acid, a booklet on making meth, a bottle of some random liquor and a shot glass, and of course, unlimited texting.
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 10 / 05.16.2015

Sunshine Sammy Returns: “I bet if I take this attractive librarian out of the library then she’ll cease to be attractive.”

You know how when St. Louis folk musicians sing, they usher up impeccable phonetics, but then in stage banter they sound like hilljacks, once they stop singing they sound like hicks? I bet all these hot librarians at the library are like that. I bet if I take this attractive librarian out of the library then she’ll cease to be attractive. Never have I been so fully convinced of anything in my life, my cooperative reader, than of the fact that the very second I coax this tall, sleek, soft-spoken, bespectacled and sophisticated Biblioteca Betty out of her Nietzschean niche, she’ll grow varicose veins across her face, half her hair will fall out of her head, and she’ll start humming that song that’s like “‘Cause you’re sexy beautifuuulllll…”
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 11 / 05.18.2015

*Sunshine Sammy Returns: “I’m tryin’ to think…”

I’m tryin’ to think.. If I could only remember this fact, my brother, I’d get more on your good graces, and whereas most of the time I’m attempting NOT to think, whatseover, per the good, bad, good, advice, of Dr. Charles Bukowski, and Dr. Beck, in the song “#4 on Mellow Gold,” whatever the sh** it’s called, sh** I’ don’t give a flying fu**, ‘cause you look like a damned Tetris shape with a head a ttacched but my dad always told me, well, jack sh**, my dad always told me jack she**, that’s why I’m in this bar now tryin’ to think, when I should be just thinking, embodying an arbitrary yet somehow sovereign opinion of you, and it was always my goal to embody an assymptote that would reach the head of the Miller Lite no nun could ever touch, but I went fore with, I went forthwith it, I’m tryin’ to think, ‘cause you’re tryin’ my patience which made me distant to the point where I’ve successfully avoided the calamitous realm of actual thought and so like a Hades bound for the nether yesterytear I’m tryin’ to think…
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 12 / 05.23.2015

*Sunshine Sammy Returns: “No, I asked for INDIAN groceries!”

I’m about to get driven to drinking, I’ll tell you. Naharraja, not lysol. This new place opened up, advertised “Indian Groceries,” I get in there and it’s all this Native American crap! What the hell is that? Sociological deviation of the worst kind, damn renegades. They were selling all this random stuff called corn pone, peaches and various assorted custards, smooth and creamy, silky… ope, damn, lost my train of thought! I mean isn’t there ANYWHERE anymore to get a curry sauce imported 12,000 miles authentically from India? I swear to God, I went out to do two things, indulge in various sinful arrangements of creamy custards and kick some a**, and I’m about out of various assorted custards…
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 13 / 05.26.2015

*In which Sunshine Sammy channels the “B.B. King Death-Bed-Cam”

Dude, death bed cams are just, like, CHILL. Look at how glorious this dude’s left flank looks. It’s filled with manifold cultural remnants, culturally categorizeable, heterosexual episodes of chick-fu**ing, guitar playing, and just, like, being B.B. King, letting the magic just HAPPEN. I remember I got so dosed out on this B.B. King DVD one time and I just like GOT the blues, you know? I just like really GOT it. It took ‘til about the 63rd chord progression that was the exact same as all the other ones, and I really GOT this whole death bed thing too, I mean it rang true as I unstashed my picnic lunch from under my easy chair, and just reflected, I’m one day closer dying, dude, aren’t I?
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 14 / 05.30.2015

*Sunshine Sammy Returns: “Why are you buying the new album, a**hole?”

Why are you buying the new album, a**hole? Don’t you know a bud only grows from a tree one time? Your mom shoulda used a diaphragm. In singing, I mean. When she was in choir. So she could teach YOU a thing about music, chummy-chum-chum. See, the purple sages have spoken from the nether brushes, Hootie & the Blowfish – Cracked Rear View, Everclear – So Much for the Afterglow, The Wallflowers – Bringing down the Horse, all cuckoo cannonballs having been thrust into cosmic orbit in listening edification, and now that money is involved with the record company, all gets rendered smithereens by way of creative casualty, which Del the Funkee Homosapien touched on on 3030. What, you can download music for free now? What, you mean in a sea shell by the sea shore?
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 15 / 06.08.2015

*In which Sunshine Sammy briefs the townspeople on his pet raccoon Jefe.

This Jefe. He’s from Nova Scotia. He breathes, bleeds and yells Lincoln football. Of course, he moves around and crap more’d’n I do. See, look at ‘im now rapscallionin’ around. Me, all I KNOW is this rascal, that and servin’ beers. I ain’t even know what kinda car they skate in on at halftime, to each their sword.
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 16 / 06.13.2015

*Sunshine Sammy Returns: “Why do you keep coming to Builder’s Square?”

Why do you keep coming to Builder’s Square? I mean, it’s just weird, ya know, ‘cause we dated, and I work here. You can’t have THAT many home improvement tasks to take care of. Nope, IIIII sense some caveat that you want to get back together. My home improver’s sense spots these things. Hey, where are you going? How could you possibly know what aisle the merchandise you’re looking for is on? There’s like 37 fu**in’ aisles in this place. What? Oh, no, Mr. Tannenbaum, there’s no misunderstanding, she just didn’t know what she wanted at first. You hear that? YOU DIDN’T KNOW WHAT YOU WANTED…
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 17 / 06.13.2015

*Sunshine Sammy returns: “I fear the populace is incapable of saying a bunch of crap on facebook all the time.”

I fear the populace is incapable of saying a bunch of crap on facebook all the time. I’ve been calculating the summer data, the “Summerdata,” which is the satirical rendering of a faux word having manifested in the form of a song title by the electronica musician Clark, and some of the pulp cognition of the human townspeople seems to have been supplanted by the spiders and the wayward miscreants in the local vacant warehouses and factories, with abandoned windows and dead bodies in them all the time. I’m going to heal all of the ill will in the entire town this impending autumn. There, that’s like something a person would say. Just not on facebook. So I don’t know why I said it.
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 18 / 06.18.2015

*Sunshine Sammy Returns: “No, dude, seriously, Minnesota has the hottest summers in the nation.”

No, dude, seriously, Minnesota has the hottest summers in the nation. There was this, like, PALPABLE swelter down at the lake. PALPABLE. INCANDESCENT. INESCAPABLE. SULTRY. My mother was just distraught, as I fanned her on the beach and she sipped her Fiji water. I attempted to coalesce her by offering to drive her back to the cul-de-sac, but she was barely conscious, miring in utter cognitive futility. Then I got my bearded buddy on Skype. I said, man, ya know, us beardeds, we just gotta get through these hard days together, leave the disc golfing for September and October. Yeah, I know. Whoosh! Pee-you. Huh-huh. Gosh.
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 19 / 06.22.2015

Sunshine Sammy Returns: “Tobacco is a CASH CROP OF AMERICA!”

Tobacco is a CASH CROP OF AMERICA! I’ve smoke five cigarettes tonight, Marlboro golds, AND I got a dip in right now. Mama talkin’ to me tryin’ to tell me how to live, but I don’t listen to her ‘cause my head is like a sieve, gettin’ the messages straight from Raleigh, ya heard. And… another message is coming in… a matter of seconds! I meant minutes! Another message is coming in a matter of minutes! In the meantime, just listen to the sweet sounds of Stone Temple Pilots, who wrote one great song called “Atlanta,” and who wrote another great song called “Leavin’… on a southern train only yesterday”… yeah you got it damn straight Scott Weiland, as I listen to this bullsh** northern train thats’ probly never seen a prize bitch’s cleaveage, that’s probaly never REALLY been singin’, I’m leavin’, on a southern train, ‘cause I’m leavin’, on a southern train, yeah, they got the message…
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 20 / 06.22.2015

*Sunshine Sammy Returns: Whether it can be mathematically ascertained prospectively that the next Shins album will be good too.

Kind reader, I’m in the ebullient discourse of whether the next Shins album will be good too. And I think I’ve got it pegged, it will. First of all, there’s the fact that he still gets in fights: he says “If I still fight / It’s just ‘cause I’m / Afraid I’ll fall under that spell again…” It just means he’s still in the mix, he’s still living life to the… Hey you! You suck! Yeah you! You suck! Oh, ‘scuse me. Trust me, he sucked. And then there’s the sophomore slump album, on which the only good song was the single. {} THAT… MY FRIENDS… WAS PART OF JAMES MERCER’S PLAN ALL ALONG! I can practically SEE the artistic sea in which Mercer is treading as we speak. I can almost even see his very scuba gear. “Baby beluga in the deep blue sea / Swim so wild and ya swim so free”… haha, yeah James, come to papa. I been workin’ all day, James. Need ya to come to papa. Haha.
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 21 / 06.23.2015

*Sunshine Sammy Returns: “That’s one German-a** last name.”

Haha, your last name’s “Mueninck”? That’s one German-a** last name. You’re like straight from the freakin’ Berlin wall. So if you were going to blow up the Olympics, what kind of chemicals would you use? Haha. It’s like your last name being “Massarella.” That’d be one Italian-a** last name. It’s like, can I get some parsley on my baked ziti already, Lou? Spicey meat-a-ball! Bellisimo! Freakin’ Mussolini up in this piece! Hey Mussolini, you gonna execute me before a firing squad or what? Ho-HO! Fascism returns! I’m just sayin’, all this strict adherence to nationality isn’t good, we live in a melting pot country. Me, I got like 21 normal kids, and they’ve never had abnormal psychology. Whenever it is, you can always see ‘em, like, doin’ stuff. Like see over there, there’s one. Oh wait. Where’s she go. I’ll try texting ‘er.
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 22 / 06.23.2015

*Sunshine Sammy Returns: “Technically I didn’t ‘creep out’ Pippi Longstocking…”

Technically I didn’t “creep out” Pippi Longstocking, mi amigo. I mean it wasn’t QUITE like that. She was there at the exhibit at her pool table with her willow plate staring in my general direction and smiling with makeup and lipstick on for like four hours, this much can be ascertained by the police and local news. I just had to take a bite out of THE MOMENT, you know. THE MOMENT. This establishment is known for its artist/audience disparity. I was doing my civic duty in breaching this gap, by approaching her. Also, I looked up “Pippi Longstocking” on wikipedia, and the “prance” she did to get away from me is actually one of her moves, it’s part of her act. So there, I was facilitating her oeuvre, her little coy bag of tricks. What? Do I wanna shoot some heroin? Yeah, sure.
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 23 / 06.25.2015

Sunshine Sammy Returns: “I just got, like. the BEST screwdriver for maiming gerbils with!”

I just got, like, the BEST screwdriver for maiming gerbils with! Its attributes are LABYRINTHINE AND INIMITABLE. First of all, it’s blunt, not sharp, like the feudalist swords, which in medieval times were heavier, used for bludgeoning, not slicing through. And let me tell ya, folks, I am Sir Lancelot of the lamp-heated assorted straw shaving cage! And trust me, do I ever lance a lot! Huh-huh! Now if I could just figure out the prime AGE at which to make them my subject of, um, “physical exploration.” This is the term I needed to make it a non-profit tax write-off on my taxes. But I forgot to write off this new screwdriver I just got, my hands were shaking so much from excitement! Haha. Whatever. Now next week I can buy milk, I think.
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 24 / 06.25.2015

Sunshine Sammy Returns: “My Lord Christ, I think I’ve just seen a big-boobied angel!”

My Lord Christ, I think I’ve just seen a big-boobied angel! Somehow exiting my sedan earlier, I just wasn’t sure if I could go on with my day. I’d just found out Rachel is sleeping with one of my friends, I have this nagging cramp in my leg, and my mom’s cat got diagnosed with cancer. We had to go to this meeting for work at night and then I was due in in the morning, and I was just like, Fu** it! Fu**it all, ya know? Are you ever just like, Fu** it? And then there she was, hovering there with a chaise of baby blue, and the finest knockers I’ve ever seen in my life! It was like some message of sleek, divine curviness straight from God himself! I gotta remember to go to church more often.
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 25 / 06.26.2015

*Sunshine Sammy Returns: “In a hundred years the hip-hop lesson’s gonna be like 36 hours long!”

Damn, dude! In a hundred years the hip-hop lesson’s gonna be like 36 hours long! What, dude? Oh, damn, Sunshine Sammy, you need to lay off the pipe! THE HIP-HOP LESSON ALREADY IS LIKE 36 HOURS LONG! In a hundred years it’s gonna be like, 38! That’s gonna be a lotta rollin’ around, teachin’ that library chick about the albums. I’m gonna need like a bong-zilla. But how would that girl not know about the albums, ya know? Bone Thugs straight into K-OS, for facilitative smoking purposes. And then I’d magically grow a leather jacket around my torso, and shades, and I’d start magically smelling like that cologne they wear over by Western & Chapin.
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 26 / 06.26.2015

*Sunshine Sammy Returns: “Dude, my dad’ll get mad if I don’t spiritually usurp this pulp region of decaying planet Earth.”

Dude, my dad’ll get mad if I don’t spiritually usurp this pulp region of decaying planet Earth. Yeah, of course I’ve smoked pot. Of course you’re my friend, dude. Still, I wanna conquer my brain’s normalcy, incur a rush of endorphins and enter into an all-out blitzkrieg state, flipping over cars over here, causing chaise and exhaust system damage, and impressing all the ladies. I might hurt some little cats and dogs, too, just to add effect. What, ladies don’t like when you hurt cats and dogs? Ok, time to modify the plan then. I’ll HELP the cats and dogs out of the way of the flipped-over cars. What, the same person can’t logistically flip the cars over and then help the animals out of the way? Ok, so then you do it. But then YOU get all the chicks. Man, I should smack you.
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 27 / 07.02.2105

* “The singer he had long hair / And the drummer he knew restraint” – Pavement

*Sunshine Sammy returns: “Punk drummers are lined up outside my door!”

Punk drummers are lined up outside my door! One just got fired from his mom & dad’s business. Rushing the tempo, beating a damned whole through the snare, I’ve seen it with the whole damn lot of this crew every time I’m tryin’ to chill out to Scott Weiland, it’s like all of a sudden I think the drummer’s gonna shoot me a glare for wearing Birkenstocks. You can’t hydrate Indonesia with buckets of water in Birkenstocks! Well, I was chilling at my house, using this little thing called LOGIC that says there are murders and armed robberies in my own damned country, so I’m gonna get my kicks before this whole sh**house goes up in flames, in the meantime, thank you to Between the Buried and Me and Scott Weiland and the Wildabouts for your philanthropic efforts of giving these punk drummers a home despite the glaring artistic obstacles at work.
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 28 / 07.04.2015

Sunshine Sammy Returns: “I wanna write a St. Louis Post-Dispatch bestseller.”

You know what, lads? I wanna write a St. Louis Post-Dispatch bestseller. This would differ, of course, from the already extant concept “New York Times bestseller.” It would be a bestselling book among readership and circulation of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, not the New York Times. I mean, let’s go Missouri St., eh? Where’s the love for Missouri St. basketball? Bear pride! That comeback they made against Illinois St., under all the lights in Arch Madness, the Missouri Valley Conference tournament held every year in St. Louis, a lot of those boys emerge from crack-dealing upbringings in St. Louis, Kansas City and Wichita, and do things athletically the normal person couldn’t do. And New York has changed from crack to heroin. But then, that’s why they usually get the bestsellers. Looooottttttttttttta subterfuge.
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 29 / 07.05.2015

Sunshine Sammy Returns: “Bull-fu**in’ SH** that was the wrong number!”

Bull-fu**in’ SH** that was the wrong number! God, I’ve had it with these douche bags giving me this “You have the wrong number” sh**! I mean, who do they think they are? They adopt the haughtiest fu**ing tone when they say that sh**. I mean here I am, perceiving this junkyard across the street, this lot over there they’re doing some construction on, and then the blinding sun reflecting off of this skyscraper! That’s a lot of unpleasant stimuli at one time! You’d think they’d have like any consideration for all the unpleasant stimuli you’re brain is forced to incur! I mean, what’s the music for THAT? Like, Haste the Day, or something?
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 30 / 07.05.2015

Sunshine Sammy Returns: “Your poems too closely imply cosmogonical exactitude.”

Your poems too closely imply cosmogonical exactitude. You’re like that person I just wanna STRANGLE. You’re like that person who sits too STILL in the coffee house, and I wish you’d just start emitting grunts, or impatiently initiating a belligerent office message on your phone. I mean, haven’t you heard of the idea of ACTION? Haven’t you seen the people, the masses, they’re HUNGRY, man, you look at ‘em at any given time, they’re undeniably immersed in intense ACTION. What, do you wanna just be sitting around? You’re too concerned with your SOUL. Yeah, of course I’ll stop using that word. You’re the one who was so interested in it.
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 31 / 07.04.1969

*Sunshine Sammy Returns: “I feel just like a fu**in’ lobster!”

This is nuts! I’m out here trippin’ in this field, and I feel just like a fu**in’ lobster! I’m in the middle of freakin’ Michigan too, scurryin’ around in the Middle of a** Michigan, not even close to Mount Pleasant, neither, just out in the fields. I’ve seen so many confederate flags that I’ve actually adopted Ulysses S. Grant’s accent. Here ye, troops, this way! We’ve gotta defend the confederacy! And / san / uh / hut! And / san / uh / hut! Haha. Got the whole thing down PAT! This is a poignant war, too, eventually we’ll wipe all the other colors off the planet, and it’ll be only reds, only lobsters! Viven los reds!
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 32 / 07.09.2015

*Sunshine Sammy Returns: “I wonder if the backup clicker gets a full ride.”

I wonder if the backup clicker gets a full ride. Notre Dame’s athletic department is extensive, as you may know. The backup clicker is a representative of the virtual gaming team who backs up the primary clicker, for when his finger gets tired. It’s just computer games though, they’re purists there, so it’s just one finger clicking on the mouse real fast. The virtual sport? Scoot-scoot-chairs.
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 33 / 07.09.2015

*Sunshine Sammy returns: “Dude, the Bulls totally need to fire their mascot.”

Dude, the Bulls totally need to fire their mascot. Fire Benny! Benny’s time has come, dude. It’s sad but true. No, I don’t mean the guy PLAYING Benny, he’s doing fine. I mean, I guess. He’s such a tried and true, trite old cliche by this time that I hardly notice his sundry histrionics! Huh-huh! Huh-huh-huh-huh! Huh-huh-huh-huh-huh! Ah. But seriously. Whew. Almost choked on my chardonnay from cracking myself up. But oh yeah, back to stupid people. Maybe, like, the “Old Style lemur” would be a good replacement.
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 34 / 07.09.2015

Sunshine Sammy returns: “Ugh, those dogs were boofin’ in there.”

Ugh, those dogs were boofin’ in there. Fu**in’ dogs boofin’, what’d I tell ‘em about that, man. Fu**in’ disgusting a**es. Look at ‘em tryin’ to play it off, too, they’re tryin’ to appeal to my sympathy by staring at me like that, on top of each other. Beagles. Lil’ disgusting a**es. I’ve only reported this problem with beagles in the entire tri-state area, from Pittsburgh over to Michigan City. Ah. Well, this’ll be a fun report to tell the boss. Gotta go.
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 35 / 07.16.2015

Sunshine Sammy returns: “I get this weird, clicky feeling.”

You know when you have on a band shirt, a shirt of a band, like Led Zeppelin or whatever, and you see someone else who has a band shirt, like say Nirvana? I hate that. I get this weird, clicky feeling. All of my realms shut down — the cinematic; like I can’t make fun of the person like they used to do on Old School, saying, like, “You’re my boy, blue!”, and I also don’t want to shoot them, like they used to do on Reservoir Dogs. It takes the cinematic potential entirely out of a situation. No, not “clique-y,” “clicky.” The exact feeling is like faculties are “clicking,” instead of churning. It’s like there’s nothing I can tell him, and there’s nothing he can tell me. But maybe that’s just the way we’re supposed to be. And I can see why people would want to feel “clique-y.”
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 36 / 07.19.2015

Sunshine Sammy returns: “And then when a girl and a guy in a band t-shirt meet it’s TOO cinematic.”

And then when a girl and a guy in a band t-shirt meet it’s TOO cinematic. It’s like some Sleepless in Seattle thing. I blame girls, personally, for liking movies like High Fidelity, and then doing things like smiling, and coaxing their little fingers together in intricate, rhythmic patters. God, god damn those intricate, rhythmic patterns. They make me feel like John Cusack. So I guess what we have here is ionized energy… a positive and a negative, through music. Man, I never thought happiness would feel this basic, makes me wish for the whole adversity thing again…
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 37 / 07.23.2015

*Sunshine Sammy returns: “I bet this robot looks at this chick right here, or else he’s a FAGGET!”

I bet this robot looks at this chick right here, or else he’s a FAGGET! Haha, hell yeah, there he goes, that’s my guy! Robot’s about to be GETTIN’ IT IN! I remember those suckers were hatin’ on ‘im ‘cause he was a robot, ‘member that sh**? Fu**in’ bullsh** man. Just ‘cause he was a robot, they were tryin’ to say he couldn’t get on his grind and sh**, ‘member that? They had ‘im up on that ONE program, I forget the name of it, but yeah anyway he had ALL these haters, ya know, haters gonna hate… it’s just good to see him striving in the face of adversity. And no, I don’t think this is the one that mauled that guy to death in Germany. I think they arrested that one, and then sucked his life electricity juices out by a very sophisticated, humane and expensive process. And the MMA guys are lookin’ at it. Damn, I gotta get me that ephedra, and cialis. Fu**in’ haters.
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 38 / 07.26.2015

Sunshine Sammy returns: “The way a woman walks is really imperfect.”

The way a woman walks is really imperfect. This is something I’ve been thinking about, and I’m considering addressing the issue with one or multiple of them. Like, I remember seeing this woman walking in Indianapolis one time. She was on the fifth floor of the apartment, where I lived, and she just had such a self-conscious expression, as if she knew her own corporeality were subject to universal law’s of life’s intrinsic damnation. I remember her. She had blond hair, and she walked slowly, and she probably had like seven venereal diseases, because I remember she was going to my meathead neighbors who snorted coke and listened to Soundgarden. I once read a study that one in three girls 15 or under has a sexually transmitted disease.
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 39 / 08.15.2015

*Sunshine Sammy returns: “Dude, that’s kinda not cool bringin’ me these fries with nothin’ to dip ’em in.”
Dude, that’s kinda not cool bringin’ me these fries with nothin’ to dip ’em in. Check the soldia boy man code, dude, stat, ’cause your trip pin’ vibe is like OH-CEE right now. The perturbation is running rampant in my mouth and tongue. I already told you, I’m the catcher’s uncle. And when I get fries, I need a MOUTH AREA FLAVOR ENHANCER. MOUTH AREA FLAVOR ENHANCER. I say mouth “area” because they can sometimes wind up on my wifebeater, or my flannel, too. Anyway, back to what I was saying. There’s been a wide range of condiments over the years, from ketchup, to mayonnaise, to barbecue sauce, to mustard, and any of these would do… but you, YOU, you, left me here with these deserted, dried up deep fried and heavily seasoned ubiquitous snacks barely recognizable from their original form. Now, does that sound like something that would taste good without a serious dairy garnishment? I think not. Now get out of la la land and back to a man’s world.

Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 40 / 08.25.2015

Sunshine Sammy returns: “You should slow that song down, to make it more meaningful.”

You should slow that song down, to make it more meaningful. Think of all the women and children in the audience. All those who have really loved and lost, ya know. Their hearts scampering about in troublesome waters of romance every day, and now only further singed by your crassness of racing through this song at reckless tempo like some scofflaw of Eros. Whatever, one day it’ll catch back up to YOU, pal. You’ll be trying to reassemble love that you can give to someone else, studying the band’s pattern on the stage banner, only to have the band mistake moderate timbres and an E/A progression at 90 b.p.m. for moderate timbres and an E/A progression at 120 b.p.m. Ok, pal. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 41 / 08.28.2015

Sunshine Sammy returns: “I can tell God loves me by how fun he made dippin’.”

I can tell God loves me by how fun he made dippin’. Ah, lord, consider me with ye, I feel ye! Ye hast the greatest of splendors, right between my cheek and gums, just like Joe Walsh said in that song “All Night Long.” And where’d all the pictures of Joe Walsh go? Why do you never see pictures of Joe Walsh? It’s just like how you’re not supposed to see pictures of the great divine ones… their presence is inferred.

Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 42 / 08.28.2015

Sunshine Sammy returns: “Ah, nothing hotter than a girl who says the word ‘pu**y.’”

Ah, nothing hotter than a girl who says the word “pu**y.” I like girls who just get it all out there, you know. I mean, fu**ing is just a bodily function, just like eating or yawning. That’s just the world we live in today. There’s no time to sit around and sentimentalize. And when they intimidate and belittle me, I get that old Jimmy Kimmel feeling of the room spinning around me, and the first person to say something loud gets my hand in marriage, unless I’m already married at the time.
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 43 / 08.28.2015

Sunshine Sammy returns: “You take a dump like a massive tool.”

You take a dump like a massive tool. Whatever, man, I saw you in there. You have this entirely platitudinous way of glancing at the various tiles and textiles. You know, my grandmother forged those tiles during the Great Depression. She made them with her bare hands. And I invited you into this house thinking, THINKing, that you’d have an appreciation for them. Yeah, I know the view out the window’s nice. Especially when the idyllic sunlight’s shining in like clandestine yesteryears. I’d love to talk about it over cigars. Hope you got awhile.
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 44 / 08.31.2015
Sunshine Sammy returns: “I’m always tryin’ to go to Burger King, but they’re always closed.”
What’s that on the TV? Oh yeah, Burger King? That’s the nasty. I’m always  tryin’ to go to Burger King, but they’re always closed. I have to go up the street, and pay like five dollars for a burger. But Burger King is just such a well-lit, multifarious dining experience, you feel on top of the world, you feel like a, I dunno, like some member of the monarchy. Like a squire, or something.

Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 45 / 09.05.15

*Sunshine Sammy returns: “Whoever invented humming to yourself is such a genius.”

And so once again, today, we as humans find ourselves in realms deep, dark and unknowable, and inescapable. It started with the rhythm of the rain. Hank, watch that skillet o’ crawdads, woudlja, it’s boilin’ over. Human beings began beating on themselves, but then eventually developed animal skin drums. And animals, while they’re alive, brace themselves on neverending quests for food, feeding on each other and knowing no song, house cats and dogs the most charming, the least lethal.
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 46 / 09.05.2015

Sunshine Sammy returns: “Phil Collins seems to once again be expressing his rich disgust with me in timbral and inviting tones.”

Phil Collins seems to once again be expressing his rich disgust with me in timbral and inviting tones. The messages have been made clear: I could have saved a guy from drowning, and I escalated the cold war. Messages tried and true, messages rendered in static and moribund pop songs played in grocery stores all along all 52 states. It’s almost impossible to mistake Mr. Collins’ moral stance on my presence, or his undeniable craving for me to gather around the fire, grab a hot chocolate, and indulge in his long, slow, melodic display of radio-friendly indignation.
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 47 / 09.06.2015

Sunshine Sammy returns: “Why does this fu**er get a ration of cheese every day?”

Why does this fu**er get a ration of cheese every day? I see him every day when we’re in our allotted spaces, the extent to which I get my own ration of cheese every day being hereupon irrespective. Somethin’ about this guy, I dunno. It’s like he sees me. He has these dark eyes. It’s like he’s takin’ notes with his eyes, and then I see him eatin’ that cheese when we’re crouched in our allotted spots, it’s such bullsh**. I’m surprised the prick can even eat, with how sunburned he gets, haha. Just watch. There’s no way he’ll survive the next revolution.
“Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 48 / 09.12.2015”

Sunshine Sammy returns: “What can I say, I was just born with better whistling skills than this dude.”
.
What can I say, I was just born with better whistling skills than this dude. He thinks he’s a true canary, but I say, nary. I’ve got the puckered pipes to woo Wesley Snipes. It’s ok, though, I conferred with his mom about it. I had a heart to heart with her. At one point she lunged for my larynx, in an attempt to examine it and glean its capabilities of putting her in a trance like state. capabilities of putting her in a trance like state. capabilities of putting her in a trance like state.

Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 49 / 09.12.2015

Sunshine Sammy returns: “I was briefly good at math.”
.
All these people who say, “I was never good at math,” I got news for you! Eat your heart out. I was briefly good at math. Down in Katrina, a seven day stint of hauling dead bodies into trucks, I could figure out exactly how much body-age we didst needeth to supplant the opportunity cost of excess space in those Econoline trailers. They say those Econoline trailers they got got 16 miles per gallon, and the other leading brand only got 14. But still, it’s not good having the empty space in those trailers, it’s always good to use all space in any business. Just kidding, fu**ers. Haha. Gotcha good. That was a put-on, a burlesque ephemera of noir humour.

Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 50 / 09.12.2015

Sunshine Sammy returs: “Eh, whatever, music unencumbered by the corporate dollar has had a good run.”
.
Eh, whatever, music unencumbered by the corporate dollar has had a good run. I’m fully fine with Charlie XCX headlining Lollapalooza, being the massive tool box that I am. I mean, it’s time to get with the changing times. All these clothing stores gotta sell clothes. And in order to do that, we’re going to need people to procreate. We’re gonna need a lotta little water and carbon prototypes occupying those linens, folks. I’ve been examining the figures. That’s 7,392,128 people we’re gonna need in the next several years, for The North Face to reach its target revenue. So what can I say, hopefully Lollapalooza keeps up, ya know, all we can do is pray to our good lord Christ.

Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 51 / 01.12.2016

*In a special winter edition, Sunshine Sammy returns: “Bull-fu**ing-sh** heart attacks in women hurt!”

Ever get one of those billboards flexing on you while you’re driving all like “Don’t ever let anyone tell you heart attacks in women don’t hurt”? It’s like, bull-fu**ing-sh**! I mean, where’s the proof? God, it makes me wanna do extra knuckle raps against my dash board, ‘til they get even more white and purple than usual. I’m tellin’ you, I’m not gonna accept this. One way or the other. There’s absolutely no reason to believe women’s ventricles are the same as men’s. We’re all like snowflakes, each unique, falling from the sea. With pu**y a** knuckles.
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 52 / 04.19.2016

* Sunshine Sammy returns: “Someday I’m gonna bore the SH** outta my kids with
discussions about MTV.”

Someday I’m gonna bore the SH** outta my kids with discussions about MTV. And then the MTV aspects of the discussion will segue into an overall MTV tinge when the MTV implications and the MTV verbal manifestations reveal themselves as being secretly MTV MOTIFS, which will then purport upon the ceremonies the idea that music is better if you pay for it, if there’s a market for it. Boy are they a bunch of damn fools, haha! But seriously. Someday we’ll get with the changing times, at which time our kids will continue gnawing at our psyches by ignoring us, looking at their cell phones. Oh, yeah. Swing to that, buffy.
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 53 / 07.12.2016

*Sunshine Sammy returns: “Do they still MAKE shrooms?”

Do they still MAKE shrooms? I’ve got the sudden overwhelming urge to reconnect with my earthly roots… is this still within the realm of possibility? I mean I’ll be walking down the street and I’ll see the television conniving right before me, like human beings degraded to animals before the monetary’s ebb the moral’s obfuscation, and I’ll just know for a fact that these individuals have not beheld that glow in their eyes which might emanate from such drum circles as are monitored by the ghosts of Eric Clapton and Keith Richards. Oh, those guys are still alive? Do they still MAKE shrooms?
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 54 / 09.26.2016

*Sunshine Sammy returns: “God, those naked Miley Cyrus pictures were horrible. I could barely even jerk off to ‘em.”

God, those naked Miley Cyrus pictures were horrible. I could barely even jerk off to ‘em. It looked like her tits even had muscles in ‘em: her tits like lifted weights, I swear. Straight orangutan sh**. The only one I liked was when she was showin’ that little booty. There, she was a truly a shining diamond. Like a setting sun, bestowing the land with rich, aesthetic splendor. Well, she could enter a naked race, at least. Here, America, instead of fostering a moral paradigm we’re just gonna have naked chicks. Chicks the way God made ‘em… questionable. And that make you horny naked. There, nothing sociologically discouraging about that.
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 55 / 11.25.2016

* Sunshine Sammy returns: “Oh, God, no, anything but the Kids’ Furniture Outlet.”
Oh, God, no, anything but the Kids’ Furniture Outlet. Man, the Andersons are gonna get some, I know it. And then they’re gonna be all, “Oh, Sammy, get your feet off that furniture, it’s for the kids!” Fu**in’ little brats. I can just see the way little Eric looks at me afterwords. Little bastards. That dude don’t even know I’m ‘bout to be mobbin’ through these streets, I got WEIGHT!
Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 56 / 12.05.2016
*Sunshine Sammy returns: “So I cloned that chick and put her in a bunch of different cages, big deal!”
So I cloned that chick and put her in a bunch of different cages, big deal! You guys need to get off it, man. You’re so morally scrupulous. Hey, when Notre Dame lent me the key to their chemistry facility, they knew I was going to be using it for vanguard, unconventional purposes. It was all transparent, from the start. I even had Donald Trump helping me on it. Trumpy straight put me on too… he gave me this spray to use on ‘em so they can’t move, so you can… uh… watch ‘em not moving. Hey Trumpy, the check’s in the mail! I’m gonna tariff the sh** out of this spray when I sell it to those fine blokes in Papua New Guinea.

Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 57 / 12.08.2016
*Sunshine Sammy returns: “Yeah, dude. Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen on Full House? It was both of ‘em.”
Yeah, dude. Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen on Full House? It was both of ‘em. Don’t ask me how they did it, but it was both of ‘em. It’s common knowledge. It would be like one would be out takin’ a crap or eating Lunchables… BEEEEEP! Cue in Ashley! Oh, da**, my whistle’s broke. Gotta hit up Viacom for a new one, my sugar daddy. Hope Mary Kate didn’t steal my budget and ride off in a Hot Wheels. How rude!

Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 58 / 02.05.2017
Sunshine Sammy returns: “Lemme make an analogy.”
“Lemme make an analogy. Let’s say I put a pizza in the oven. What temp do I set it at? Huh? No, I’m asking, what temp do I set it at? I’ve never cooked before in my life. 375. Ok. Now getting back to my analogy. Let’s say I want to cook it for a certain amount of time. What amount of time do I put it on? Huh? Yeah, of course this has to do with the analogy. I’m asking, what amount of time I put it on. 10 minutes. Ok, perfect. Now, after I take it out, to wait ’til it’s cooled down to eat it, or do I shove it in anyway, and incur third degree burns on my chin from that evil cheese-with-the-sauce-on-it-rundown? What? You’re leaving? Haha, my plan worked. Happy Super Bowl Sunday, everyone.”

Sushine Sammy Says / Part 59 / 07.15.2017
* Sunshine Sammy returns: “Oh, you have to pause this conversation to cut your lawn? Sure, I understand.”
.
Oh, you have to pause this conversation to cut your lawn? Sure, I understand. There I see over there, since ya mention ‘er, lil’ grass head pokin’ out practically ridin’ halfway up yer’ sign o’ Calvin pissin’, hehe. Lil’ rapscallion. And oh, observe that sleek metallic steed, ya got there, to beat the band. 2012 John Deere X13, to be exact, 87 C.C.’s and jet-fueled halfway into Bonnie Raitt’s britches. Huh? Oh, yeah, of course I’ll move while you turn around. These seven-point turns can be tough.

Sunshine Sammy Says / Part 60 / 09.27.2017
* Sunshine Sammy returns: “I was thinkin’ maybe I’d… sue YOU! Sue everybody!”
.
I was thinkin’ maybe I’d… sue YOU! Sue everybody! There you are, NoHoldsBarred3206! Once again, you’ve made me feel very uncomfortable by sharing pictures of you with giant boobs superimposed onto your chest, right under your beard, and you’ve DEFINITELY got a severe lawsuit coming your way. Now, if I can just find where to click on “sue.” There we go, right under “Zoom in.” Ahem. And is it connected to my Paypal account? Yup. Perfect! Ok… “Sue!” There we go. Da**, these things take forever to load.

* Sunshine Sammy returns: “Hey a**hole. Why are you trying to reuse your old password? Are you trying to di** me over again?”

.
Hey a**hole. Why are you trying to reuse your old password? Are you trying to di** me over again? It’s right there, ya jerk, you used “September2” six years ago the last time you had to locate the companies through which your domain names are registered. I swear, every time one of you low-life password reusers comes around I just remind myself of all the classic ones I’ve doled out as suggestions here in my tenure at Network Solutions. Like just last week I bestowed this one Southwestern chef with the cheeky moniker “UnicornAppendectomy324.” Can you use it? Oh, sure, I don’t see why not.

The exact thing with “seeing too much”
Is that everything you see becomes a part of you —
It’s never water off your back
Like Dickie Greenleaf
It embeds its pores in your ankles and wrists
That you look at down like lili pads when you’re
Trying to go to sleep and
Upward is downward on a
Sunny July day when
Everybody always acts like they know everything
And falls in line

I am walking down my street and laughing to myself
Because that is what I have to do,
To stay happy.
I’m thinking of the show Malcolm in the Middle,
How the
Little
Kid would run into the room
With a spider bite and talking about chainsawing someone to death
And then the dad would embody a total calamity,
Quickly entering and exiting the room and wanting his favorite tie, talking at high volume at no one in particular.
Everybody was crazy and in a way it was a unique perfection,
I’m walking on a sunny Sunday in the middle of an afternoon
Down my street which is densely populated with impoverished people
And giant roaming dogs and
Into my sight comes a stranger:
I see the open van and immediately I’m embarrassed,
Just hoping it’s not like the worst thing they’ve ever seen
And they’re gonna call the cops on me so I
Avert eye contact for as long as possible,
Look up and see a one year old baby there sitting in its car seat,
Perfectly still and
Smiling right at me
With
All the
Crazy naivete of a life of grandiose undertows of possibility.

I’m walking around in my Orioles hat. I don’t have a car, but I live close to what I need to go to, which is the two bars down the block, to see if they have concerts tonight. My car bit the dust back in ’12 when the oil ran out in Gary, Indiana, the worst place in the U.S.A., and the engine exploded.
I get to the two bars and see that neither has a show tonight, only that one of them has DJ’s on Friday nights. It’s an unfruitful endeavor, in other words, and I would have been better off staying home.
Two things happen in exact concurrence with each other on my walk back home. There’s a dude with this long-sleeved blue and red Cubs t-shirt walking a big dog. Terre Haute has a huge dog problem. There was just a man mauled to death in Dayton by a pit bull this year.
The other thing that happened is that I noticed that that abandoned hat on this one porch of this abandoned house isn’t a crappy blank Target hat at all, but rather a Colorado Rockies fitted. It’s out of style now — with the MLB logo on the back and the straight bill — but I decide to take it home, wash it and then plan to wear it anyway. I had been thinking about getting a new O’s hat, all black instead of the black back and sides and the white front. All of their logos are hopelessly gay and wimpy looking. Maybe I’ll take on a favorite team of a new frontier.
The Cubs fan with the dog doesn’t seem to be doing anything at all. He’s literally walking in a circle, glancing intermittently back at me in a most suspicious manner. You might say he’s got it all.

When you see something deep in my eyes
And smile,
I wonder,
Do you actually see the vision of my future
And does this whole huddled mess
Make sense to you,
Or is your spiritual enthusiasm marked by a
Deliberate, convenient blindness
To all the puzzling complications
And all the changes that lie in wait for all of us
Like pouring water without a cup to keep it in

Just thinking back to my favorite girl’s face,
I was wondering why I liked her so much,
Or if I even liked her at all —
.
Maybe the feeling was something deeper,
Like dread, or fear,
Of her beauty.
.
Her face reminds me of the
Allman Brothers song “Little Martha.”
She happens to be from the South, too,
Although she doesn’t talk in a Southern accent, even.
.
Eventually, for anybody,
The everyday churnings of life
Will suck the energy out of us,
As even she
.
Will stare at the same neon beer signs every
Day, which hum there with inhuman,
Machinated element, an ideal unwanted.

At the laundromat I see this girl I work with whose face reminds me of a flower. She looks hungover. We pretty much all drink a lot here in Terre Haute, Indiana. There probably aren’t enough bars here, incidentally, for anyone looking to corner the market. Anyway, as usual, the girl ignores me with a dutiful, mildly disdainful expression on her face. She’s about 19 or so. I’m 34. At work I try not to pay her much attention, noticing though that her behind is well shaped, wide for her slender sides. At the laundromat when I look up at her I notice her giant, perfectly rounded globes. She is working fast, bent over at about a 30 degree angle straight ahead of me 25 feet, so that the large, treeclimber looking man sitting 10 feet the left of me has her facing exactly. Shamelessly she lets her top fall, exposing the upper one-third of mammoth breasts. I am reading Collected Poems by Robert Hayden. The poem, “The Dream,” is so good that I decide to stop perusing it and pick it back up at a later time when I’m better able to devote it my full attention. It’s often hard to concentrate in the laundromat. Sometimes if I’m reading something and I enjoy it then some rustic looking person will come up to me and really glare at me, which is sometimes unpleasant, although lately I’ve been having so many unpleasant things happen in my life, such as losing my running water for a couple hours, having the net neutrality repeal fu** my phone service in the a**, going to Shoe Carnival and not finding a single pair of shoes that fit me and then calling them on the phone only to find out they don’t take phone orders hence necessitating another two mile walk over there, that I’m not so sure that such a glare would bother me anymore, or that anybody would even be willing to dole it. As I leave the laundromat I think that that girl I was talking about is in this giant SUV, although I can’t tell, since it has tinted windows. The motor vehicle is running and it is 92 degrees outside and cloudy. I flail my arms considerably when I walk. I see a girl walking a dog, Caucasian, about 21 or 22, the dog a tiny little shih tzu or something, whatever they’re called. I don’t really fully understand the appeal of dogs although I have met some with whom I get along. I know not to walk down sixth street, where one time I encountered a large dog, off its leash, foaming at the mouth, driving one young black, 18 or so, to charge up onto a nearby porch, taking retreat. I know not to run away from dogs. I slowly walk. Its owners call to it. And they call to it. And they call to it. And they call to it. It’s still walking after me with no expression on its face. My heart is beating about the boiling point of water, Fahrenheit. After about two blocks it turns down another street, still not going back to its owners. I say to the girl with the little shih tzu, “He sure likes that grass, doesn’t he.” She smiles and says “yes” in a somewhat loud voice. Across the street to the left I see a black. At first I nod and smile at him. Then I glance at his shirt, which is an Indiana State one. I think he says something about “that a**,” referring to the girl who had been walking the dog. She had indeed been exorbitantly attractive. I just laugh and keep going. One time back home in South Bend a black male, 50 or so, had commented to me, “I hope yo boyfriend eatcho a**.” I was really glad he said that. I needed someone to say something to me. It was freezing cold in November and there was really nothing much going on, anywhere, especially, to speak of. The Notre Dame quarterback once stood three inches from the female reporter, smiling ear to ear and looking straight at her, during an interview. Down the street, fourth, I see more dogs and one single cat, who is frowning down, as if it has seen everything that there is to see. The dogs are off their leash and big so I turn around, thinking I’ll go down, I dunno, something. Terre Haute has a lot of streets and giant, old houses. I think, if a dog comes at me, I’ll jump on a car. I think of the Jane’s Addiction song “Of Course”: “Of course this land is dangerous / All of the animals / Are capably murderous”. Perry Farrell has never chainsawed any kittens to death, as far as I know. Well, maybe that’s the problem. Anyway, how anybody’s response to life could be anything but humility is entirely beyond me.

The massive sea of humanity is today to me
Like a mountain, with all parties looking
Inward, intelligent but unconscious.
.
By numbing themselves with drugs,
Television, rape and carnage, they
Have doled unto their own devices
The strength they need to cooperate with the world’s
Plans for them, which was to be unwatched and known.