Three Pennies

Last night I met up with some friends at a drink to help charity event. I think this particular charity was about abolishing the Prison Industrial Complex. I don't really know what the fuck that means but it matters to somebody so why not raise some money for the alcohol appreciation society at the same time. It was a fairly friendly crowd.

After my friends and I closed out the bar we got some lovely pizza. I treated because I'm frighteningly wealthy and generous. I had to leave because they started using some kind of nasty smelling cleaner. So while my friends finished their pizza I met a loud homeless woman who told me that it was her birthday and asked me if she looked good for 49.

I told her she was 49 and looked just fine because I am a dynamic street poet with crazy rhyme skillz. She continued to speak to me about her uncle and her sister who were down the street and not taking care of her. Finally my friends came outside and we could leave, but the woman insisted that I'd promised to give her three pennies. I actually had three pennies on me but I was taken aback by the idea that I had promised her anything. Also I thought giving her three pennies would just piss her off more. I told her I hadn't promised her anything but she insisted that I absolutely had. I told her that I no longer believed her that it was her birthday and I was leaving. She got very annoyed and said that she should kick her size 14 shoe right up my ass. If somebody lies and then threatens you does that automatically take back your compliment?

It's not always good to get attention.

When I'm an angry homeless black woman I'm going to remember to be nice to people. Especially on my birthday.

An Open Letter to Facebook

Hey Facebook,

It's Kranki here. I see you've been in the news a lot and you're getting more popular every day. That's awesome, congrats. Listen, you and I have spent a good amount of quality time together. Remember when we stayed up all night and I drank too much and passed out right next to you? I had the keyboard imprint on the side of my face. LOL! ROFL! Good times, good times... Anyway, I know you're busy and don't want to pressure you or anything because you know that's not my style. I do however need to made a simple request. Can you please make me look cooler? Please?

If I wait for my friends to do it, it'll never happen. They're far too busy finding terrible and embarrassing pictures of me to share. Pictures where I'm in some idiotic pose with a stupid prop or where my hair has grown out into a mullet because I was on vacation and didn't care. Pictures where I'm clearly going to be hung over the next day and doing something "zany" or "wacky." Or they'll find the one picture where I accidentally Frenched one of their dogs. That kinda thing. As you can imagine while it shows I have a fun side it doesn't really convey cool. And while I know I'm not some runway model with brooding good-looks I still think I deserve better from you, Face. I mean, I don't want to have to remind you that I left MySpace for you. I've only spoken through MySpace a handful of times in the past year. I've made a commitment to you. Lately though I've been having my doubts about your commitment to my happiness and my needs. So, I really need to know where our relationship headed. I didn't want to say it but with you my sex life has really gone down hill. MySpace was helping me get ass pretty regular. MySpace helped get me laid by nearly a dozen* women. What kind of action do I get from you? Zero. Sure you helped get me back in contact with some dear old friends from high school and college and you've certainly introduced me to some interesting Australians but get your act together, dude, they live in Australia. I'm here in San Francisco.

I'm getting off track here, it's not all about hooking me up with attractive women.** I also want to be taken a bit more seriously as a creative artist. Look, what I'm basically saying is you owe me for my loyalty. You need to start making me look like a cool, sophisticated, man about town. If you can't do that I may be forced to do something drastic. That's right, if you can't hold up your end of the deal I may be forced to leave the house to meet people. Let's both hope it doesn't come to that. Get it together, Face. I want to work this out. I love you, man.

p.s. I'm still kinda ticked off that you made me use my real name. So much for an intriguing mystery name that implies I'm a jaded malcontent with a playful edge.


* really just 7 times

** it isn't?

Monty Magic was Wondering

My handsome and learned friend, Monty, from South Africa (I only have one there since I never bothered to exchange information with the topless chick that I met in Amsterdam who was painting mushrooms and rainbow zebras in the basement of a bike shop. She didn't strike me as much of a corresponder anyway) wanted to know what happened on the aggravating Saturday night a few weeks back. Well, I wasted time on a very frustrating person who happens to suffer from adult A.D.D. and is freshly divorced and carries with her a whole mess of baggage and intimacy issues. It seems that I am going to actually have to call her and tell her that she isn't somebody with whom I wish to spend my time with. Why do we always give the attractive ones more chances?* She seems to find the dynamic of leading me and lately my friends on then feigning complete ignorace of the ways in which human beings interact with one another to be delightful fun that we should do again real soon. I did enjoy when she jump-kicked off of the moving bus, but that was only because there was a danger of her falling, hitting her head and becoming more sane.

I am looking forward to not having to worry about San Francisco and the strange cards it has seen fit to deal me. Granted I've proven not to be a very good card player but you still need a few good hands to with the pot. Bluffing doesn't work as well in the real world as it does in cards. Or maybe it does and I should start wearing my "I am so fuckin' happy and rich!" shirt. Soon I will be on vacation and despite being too sick to undertake the flight and long road trip I am about to undertake I'm going. If you're good Uncle Kranki will bring back a shiny anecdote for you from Colorado. I will think of you as I soak my feet in the hot tub at a very large and elegant Telluride home.



























































* That's easy. It's because we're all a selfish and shallow lot of fools who are taken in by packaging.

Ear Plugs

I can always tell when the lesbian couple upstairs are about to get conjugal because it's the only time that they run their shower in the evening. Sometimes it's fun to listen to their love-making but most of the time it just keeps me up. I've actually invested in a pair of ear plugs. The side of the box doesn't guarantee that it will protect the wearer from the sounds of Saphic pleasuring but they really do block out nearly all of the noise. I don't hear any of the moans, grunts or fevered whimpers of pleasure. I only hear the creak of the floor when they change positions. I really should send in a letter to the ear plug company telling them how helpful their product has been.

I just wasted a Saturday Night. I can't tell you what I was doing because I'm ashamed that I didn't trust my better judgement and just made other plans for the night. But I fucking god damn well didn't trust my judgement and ended up listening to my Id and my friend Mr. S and ended up spending time with a crazy person who annoys me 85% of the time I'm around them.

I will never get this Saturday Night back ever again. I could write the next great novel of our time but no matter how poignant and evocative that piece of shit international best seller is, I will still never be able to unlive this evening and gain back the time wasted on foolish notions.

You can't change a person into a sane person and you certainly can't trick them into being sane, so if you are around somebody and they are acting crazy and.... now the phone is ringing. It's the crazy person in question. Thanking me for hanging out tonight and trying to convince me to keep trying with them. I think not. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me 9 times and I'm a martyr to a pointless cause.