Tuesday, September 13, 2016

More on My Hit Parade of Failed Friendships: A Metaphorical Visit to Le Ministère du Sanitaire

Corner of Q and 19th Streets NW, Washington, D.C., 6:33PM September 12, 2016.


I composed a whole entry but I need another 2 hours or so to finish it -- what with photos and all that -- and I am simply way too tired at the 1AM hour to do that, especially as I have to go to work tomorrow. I did have a good gym workout tonight.

Specifically, I wrote about presidential campaign happenings (Hillary's bout with pneumonia and the general, predictably awful reaction, as well as the weather / climate (it's still too damn warm and dry). I'll try to post it later today (it's a non-gym night for Tuesday night).

The Q Street side escalators of the Dupont Circle Metro station, Washington, D.C., 6:31PM September 12, 2016.

We need some frickin' rain, no matter what the CWG and its readers think.


However, I also wanted to write (again) about everybody that I loathe these days from My Hit Parade of failed ex-friendships, acquaintances, and relationships in general. For that, I'll just to a quick summary here (in no particular order of importance):


We start with GASY the CHIPMUNGORILLA and segue into the Crypt-Keeper / Psycho-Gollum and whole Larry's Trap-House and Opium Den boozer crowd of cheap rail vodka; stale, warm beer; and Hamburger Helper mixed with some BROKEN DREAMS and even more BROKEN WIND.

Then we mention Hysterical Gee, specifically, when he is in that special manic "up" phase, eyes bugged out and face in a grand mal palsied contortion while nonsensically shrieking ROCK ON! ROCK ON! ROCK ON!

Next, we turn to -- and away from -- Shits-Off, with whom it's TOTALLY OFF. He didn't want to be my friend -- well, NO PROBLEMO. There's also from over a decade ago ex-friend Dan (now in Idaho or maybe YOU-da-HO).

Hampton Courts apartment building (where I live), Washington, D.C., 6:56PM September 12, 2016.


Finally, the Wall-P crowd, a 1980s-and-1990s-forged, money-obsessed shitty Gen X'er cohort grown up into D.C. Suburban Bourgeois Inanity with sticky-poopy children that are now awful adolescents ...

... although Wall-P and its Staff themselves keep dogs instead of having spawned to produce annoying children, while living in a gilded cage filled with junk and kitsch, the reward for Wall-P doing the bidding of his Neoliberal Corporate Oligarchical Overclass paymasters.

Metaphorically speaking, I'm lifted AT LEAST into LOW EARTH ORBIT now that all of them are out of my life.

I'm not even going to bother with the M. WADE Tipamillyun and its Beloved Oooza ("Caw! Caw!"). I'm beyond exhausted with that stupid topic.

However, the crow sound reminds me of another type of bird, namely, the HONKING GOOSE!

Where's the HONKING GOOSE??


[There follows a 48-minute nonsensical story about nothing, circling and circling the airport, as it were, and would you please bring this damn baby in for a landing already??]

"What makes a lady of eighty go out on the loose? / Why does a gander meander in search of a goose?" -- Elmer's Tune.

Oh, Gasy, ur such a GOOD FRIEND. How are those steak-flavored tangerines from Giant? Or are they tangerine-flavored steaks? I get 'em confused sometimes. Or is it a shopping excursion in which it's tangerine-flavored EVERYTHING?

Yeah, but dat ain't no fair 'cuz you GOT GASY!

I know, I know -- the whole frickin' fan club is lined up TEN DEEP to ass-kiss, and I'm supposed to be the dark side kick that gets treated like something flushable. Well, that's so over and so done.

It feels good to have jettisoned all that entire lot (as they say in Great Britain).

Does anyone remember that little cartoon "La Petite Parade"? It is a cartoon short set in some mountainous European duchy (where folks spoke English with an absurdly thick French accent), and it features a 7AM parade every day that passes the house of the village matchmaker. Owing to a badly placed pothole, the garbage truck from Le Ministère du Sanitaire that brings up the rear of the parade dumps a big load of its contents in front of his house every morning, forcing him to angrily get out of bed and shovel it up.

How he goes about resolving this issue and the unintended end result somehow all seem appropriate:

OK, that's all for now. It's late and I need to sleep.


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