2002-03-11 9:56 p.m.
I woke up this morning with this unbelievable pain in my upper back that prevented me from being able to do just about anything at all—God must have been punishing me for not jerking off enough. After mixing some vocal takes from the previous day in Pro Tools, it was time to head to the SF Museum of Modern Art.
Well, it turned out that I never made it to the MOMA due to the insane pain in my back and neck, so we went to eat some food and then headed home. During our food trip, I saw something amazing. Near the corner of Haight and Ashbury, a white, middle–aged, fat man was holding a huge picket sign that said, "GOD CAUSED SEPTEMBER 11TH." Uh, hello? Wow. I was kinda speechless. What do you say to someone like that?
I decided the best plan was to take a few photos of the weird guy and show them to the world. More on that later.
Ok, so about this guy. He really got my brain cranking and thinking. I slowed myself down and asked myself, "Why automatically assume someone is an idiot, just because they are dressed poorly and/or obviously a total WEIRDO and/or holding a picket sign?" I mean, DUH, of course the first things I thought of when I saw this guy were: 1) I want to join his comedy/performance–art troupe, 2) No, I can not spare any change, and, 3) Have you ever had sex before, sir, I mean, besides the countless times you raped your daughter when you were pretending to be drunk? Of all the picket signs that might get you laid, this was WAY low down on the list.
But then I got to thinking more.
I thought to myself, "What if he this guy is right?" Seriously. What if this god character of his DID cause September 11th? I mean, it was as far–fetched as much as it was believable, in some way. I could imagine an intelligent and articulate person (probably not him, though) defending both sides.
But, if Sign Guy was right, that makes his god character responsible for rainbows, puppies, first kisses, and coconut custard as well as anal yeast infections, smelly homeless people, cat dander, forced monogamy, and debilitating disease.
I went home. Andie drove, as my neck hurt way too much for driving. The next morning, I went to work and downloaded the pics from my camera into my computer. All the pictures were there except for the two pictures of the guy. They had disappeared. The pictures of him were, well, simply not there anymore. I have no explanation for this, as nothing like this has happened to me before. I have no idea what to say, and I surely was a little spooked by it. I got a little scared—what if his angry god broke my camera and is ready to do worse any second now. Eeek. Sucky.
On another note, the horse testicle are doing fine lately, but we have not been spending as much time together as we used to. They seem to mostly hang out in the front of my car, since that is where I have left them. I have been really neglectful, to tell the truth, though, but the truth is...I am starting to wonder what they really have to offer me. I mean, I need love nurturing, and good conversation. I mean, don't get me wrong, the definitely satisfy all my equestrain male gonad needs and then some, but, well...sometimes part of me thinks that maybe I need more than just a jar full of bloody alcohol and two gory, severed horse balls. Worst of all, Andie really does not want them in the house. I don't understand how she can be so insensitive. I mean, geez. She would probably lighten up if I locked her in the trunk of my car for a while.
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