3C0N0M1C SYST3M L1K3...

economic system like

extension cords, adding one

credit line off another

PR4Y1NG 0VR M4NVF4CTVR3D...

praying our manufactured

crap can somehow last longer

than the terms of financing

J.J. Krupert Top 13 Countdown - June '10 #7: "Thunderstorms And Neon Signs" by Hank Williams III

It is already August and I’m still working my way through the second half of my June list. This stupid fucking blog has started to emulate how I pay my bills. Note the donation paypal bullshit in the right sidebar, if not now then never. I do not pretend I am the brokest, because I have things. They are broken and pieced back together on a regular basis, but newer than nothing, that is for sure. All in all, I know I have it good, but I also am an American so I’m not even floating water anymore financially. Ultimately, that’s probably a good thing. We’ve all been cattle, munching the fuck out of grass, and they kept giving us bigger pastures to chew on, but then all of a sudden they ran out of fertilizer so the grass is all brown and fucked up, but they’re like, “COME ON YOU STUPID FUCKING COWS! EAT! EAT!” And I just kinda stumble through my days, making minimum payments, hoping it all works out before I am dead, which it won’t, but that don’t matter because I’ll be gone. Y’all have a bonfire and throw me in the middle and tap a keg and let the backyard speaker play until Sunday morning.
Much like Tricephus, I share a name with the two previous paternal branches of the family tree. In my fam, at least up to my grandfather (who I never knew before he was dead), we shared the same first and last name and had different middle names, which is why I’ve been called Raven my whole life, because that was my middle and my dad already pissed all over the Charles to mark his territory. Both grandpa and my dad were chronic alcoholics who died before the age of 50. I am different, because I am of a generation where when someone says “chronic alcoholic” I use a cartooney stoner voice to go “ah ha ha... tha chronic,” and make light of the situation. If all you know is the stupid fucking dark, and it scares you, usually the best way to deal is to make light. Make light all the fucking time. Nothing can ever be serious, because life is too short. Literally for many of us.
STEAL "Thunderstorms And Neon Signs"
NEXT UP: Mellow AM radio sounds, because music was meant to be mono!

Key West Sunset Ale

AFFORDABILITY: I had visited family in south Florida, actually my wife's family, and they are of an economic situation I am not familiar with, like their shutters in their house probably cost as much as our whole property did. But we went out, me and the other dude and another family member who was unmarried, and we drank some beers at a bar, then wandered through suburbia in a Mercedes CLS, and the brother-in-law who was hosting, his credit card had gotten left at a spot me and him took the kids to lunch at the day before. They called because his card had been found, which of course was, to him, an excuse to go down there and snag a few more beers before us menfolk returned home on Thanksgiving Eve. He made a call to the wife's unattended cellphone first, checking sunset times, to make sure he beat some sort of sunset rule for short attention span meanderings they have established between them, and we went to the dockside bar and drank up a few Key West Ales apiece, being it was the local beer on tap. And his magically returned credit card covered the tab, meaning these were as affordable a slew of brews a dude like me could come across. 5 out of 5.
DESTROYABILITY: Me and a pair of brothers-in-laws, in a faraway wealthy place that I did not feel at total ease in, we drank down a few of these Key West Ales in a rambunctious manner. I led the way, being at unease, and my host bro-in-law told the waitress, "He needs another, his must have a hole in it." And then he finished his off too, and made the same joke about the hole in the glass, and the waitress, who was a vivacious buxom overtly friendly type, looked at the third member of our party and his barely drank beer glass, and I said that his doesn't have a hole, and she went, "Yeah, it has a diaper." We was rolling. Then we went home to the rest of the family in the big house of the host with mahoganey shutters and doors and I sat around drinking more beer because it was holiday time bitches, and I was in a different state. 4 out of 5.
LABEL AESTHETIC: I never even seened the label, and I don't honestly remember what the beer tap at the bar looked like that night. But being it is Key West Ale and I was drunking myself up at a gulfside bar in deep south Florida and it was during a cold spell of like 65 degrees at the end of November, I can give them the benefit of the doubt on their label, because it's cold as fuck here. My chicken water keeps freezing every day. Now I've got to try and save up for a stupid heated chicken waterer by next winter. Everyday it's something. 3 out of 5.
CORPORATE MASTER: The Key West Ale, upon some intense momentary internet consultations, is brewed up "under something or other" by the Florida Brewing Company, somewhere further up in Florida. In fact, the internet said that all the allegedly local south Florida beers are actually brewed up in the greater (oxymoron, am I right?) Orlando area. Having visited there and roded my first ever airplane and you could see the diaspora of wealth esploding through the over top of the swamplands. Man, my favorite time of cable television was when The Spike channel was still TNN but it didn't stand for The National Network but The Nashville Network, and though they played shitfuck crap country music videos a lot of the time, on a Friday night you could see demolition derbies, and on Saturday and Sunday mornings it was weird motor sports like the Swamp Buggy races and shit. That was some good television. I know the UFC reality program is all sorts of the populars now with closeted homosexual muscular young men with tribal tattoos on their upper backs, but man, having weird long truck things driving through two feet of water in circles is way better. And less gay. 2 out of 5.
OVERALL AMBIANCE: I enjoyed my trip to Florida because I had like $37 yet ate and lived like a King in a concrete castle with palm trees for six five days, and I associate the Key West Ale with such a high and unwarranted living, thus I enjoy it and hopefully have edutained you about the Key West Ale, even if the real type of info you'd maybe want from some beer dork review nerd website is not here. I am a spiritual person, and go by the feeling. 4 out of 5.
TOTAL RATING: 3 & 3/5 STARS!

"Pigs" by Cypress Hill

Went to our friend's corn maize they run in soulless sprawling northern Va. today, and ended up bringing home a back end of a Subaru full of pumpkins, which made the all wheel drive drift and shimmy as all I could afford (credit check wise) was two new tires on the balded front ones last time and let the back ones ride. I told them dudes to move the back to the front but they didn't, fuckin' assholes. Anyways, brought the pumpkins home, took the kids inside and put them to bed and as the wife nursed the baby to sleep, instead of rushing to get inside and sit at the teat of the television, I carried the pumpkins, two at a time, across the yard to the stone altar, and set them up in a circle around it. Then went in and got the wife and lit a tea candle, to manifest the magic.
Blog will probably take a turn for something else in the coming future, as I always set up these odd parameters and this week, I got burned on the parameters. Things are moving right now for me, in a direction where I'm less likely to swallow a hollow point by the river one morning. At the same time, I've been faking the funk a bit. Shit man, I can think words in strange circles all day long inside my brainframe, but don't always put it inside this robot at the right angles. But I've been trying to focus on real things that bring me real satisfaction anyways. Life is short, and I've wasted a fat chunk of it with accumulated soul clutter. Trying to shake it off, and some days the thickets of brush around the edges of my brain are too thorny and thick to chop at, but I'm trying to get at it. But putting pumpkins in a circle around a strategically stack of stones seems right underneath the stars and the cool autumn air, and that type of shit has tended to reap better rewards in my life than any credit check ever did.

Friday Love/Hate

LOVE: The latest homebrew we cracked open starting last night, called Spring Chicken Ale, which we made before we even had chickens I think. Has some coriander and lemonpeels in it and is light and good as fuck. My goal to make regular homebrews so I didn't ever buy beer again involved making light beers like this instead of most homebrews that taste like some poured a gallon of hops into a tiny bottle and swished it with some dirt. This is my new favorite beer ever and I'm glad my wife suggested we keep a recipe book because we didn't keep up with our every 2 weeks brewing plan, meaning we will need to get money to get started again, and this easily fills the light tasty awesome beer void that I tried to fill with Yuenglings. This Spring Chicken Ale gets me drunker though. I've drank one and a half tonight (22 oz. bottles) and have quite the buzz. 50 bottles ain't gonna last long though.
HATE: Having to pull a long day tomorrow, hopefully clock a check from folks, and spend half of it on fucking stupid bills right away that are due tomorrow. I hope the new credit card laws they are passing contains something about them issuing metal credit cards that I can then sharpen into ninja death tools and slit the throat of the fuckers in the credit industry. I know I know, it's all my fault, but I wasn't really trained properly for this bullshit world I seem to be stuck in. I'm old enough to know better, but I think I'd rather just have a temper tantrum, kill some motherfuckers, not have a revolution start because it won't be televised by the internets, go to jail, and get some really swank guitar string tattoos and hopefully not be, you know, raped, although I am white and from what I hear that makes for tasty ass in jail. I could be all white powered out in the name of self-preservation though. God what a shitty situation to get into. I apologize fake internet holographic world spun from my dorkblog... I won't use new-fangled metal credit cards as ninja throwing cards and kill credit industry fat cats. But I might use a fake social security number or two to solve my credit problems. If only I can maintain the sense to pay off actual credit cards with fake credit ones and not just use new fake ones for back tattoos and buying that lime green '65 Impala sitting at that body shop in Centenary on route 20. I'm sure that dude doesn't take credit cards anyways though.

(frybread) Thank God It's Friday

I did my best to contribute to the end of America last weekend. We were riding home from Richmond and had to eat, even though we had no money, so we tapped that credit card that should've been scissored up already one more time, getting stuck on the edge of town towards home in chain restaurant nightmare land. We ended up going to T.G.I.Fridays, and knew it was a mistake as soon as we walked in, all dark fake wood and shitty teenagers on the wait staff. But the kids would've had breakdown and blood sugar mutinies, so we sat down, and proceeded to waste $70 of fake money on some shitty ass food. It tasted like shit, being we usually cook our own, but I looked around and there were all these pig-like people, stoked to be there, sharing fried green beans and some mystery sauce next to us. It was disturbing as fuck and made me want to join Al-Qaeda. I stopped going to any Chinaman buffets for the same reason, sitting there one day and seeing all the pig people waddling around happily towards their slaughterhouse death. Very Fear & Loathing like, yeah, but I am sensitive to it. Can't help it. I got weird DNA fibers inside of me.