goofballs

You see some hardass motherfucker coming down the street, that guy will give it up in less than an hour. I've stared down the hardest, bad-est killers and thugs on the planet. Tough mothers, hard headed and scarred. Tattooed up, cut up, calloused thugs that would cut your throat open if they could. But not a single one of those shit heads ever gets out of the box without giving up their best friend, their mom and Jesus Christ Himself, if He worked the job with them, did the dirty. Those cocksuckers don't scare me. Kids. They scare the shit out of me. Kids ain't got no sense, no idea about consequences, no reasons not to spit in your fucken eye and tell you to go fuck yourself. You can't get in their heads, cuz there ain't nothing there. I don't mean all kids.. of course you can scare the shit out of some punk from the suburbs, some mommy or daddy's kid that fucked up, got caught up in some shit they didn't plan on. That's like stealin...

President of the United States of America/Vice President: Obama/Biden United States Senate: Boxer United States Senate: Feinstein United States House of Representatives: Pelosi State Assembly: Ammiano [ * ] Bay Area Rapid Transit Director: 1) Klivans , 2) Lucas , 3) Radulovich (incumbent) San Francisco Board of Education: See: http://und1sk0.blogspot.com/2012/11/official-voting-instructions-from-lefty.html San Francisco Community College Board: See: http://und1sk0.blogspot.com/2012/11/official-voting-instructions-from-lefty.html California Ballot Measures: Prop 30 - Yes. Prop 31 - No [ * ]. Prop 32 - No. Prop 33 - No. Prop 34 - Yes. Prop 35 - No. Prop 36 - Yes. Prop 37 - Yes.  Prop 38 - Yes. Prop 39 - Yes. Prop 40 - Yes. San Francisco Ballot Measures: A - Yes. B - Yes.  C - Yes. D - Yes. E - Yes. F - Yes [ * ]. G - Yes.

Read through all this shit so you don't have to. US Representative District 12: I'll be voting for Nancy Pelosi . John Dennis seems like an earnest enough guy, but the first thing I see on his webpage is a plea to "End the Fed." The Federal Reserve is vilified and misunderstood. Whenever I see a plea to end it, I know that there are other dog whistles a-blowing in the wind: Dramatically cut federal spending immediately. Savings could be realized by abolishing the Departments of Education, Commerce and Agriculture and reorganizing the Department of Homeland Security. Budget savings for these changes would be approximately $300 billion. Abolish capital gains taxes for at least 10 years, if not permanently. This will attract the necessary offshore capital to start businesses and create productive jobs. Drastically cut, with an eye toward ending, the income tax. This puts real buying power back into the hands of the consumer. Nice try, Libertarian! ...

Marsha was out cold when John heard Tony pull into the driveway. She was chewing on her hair, snoring softly. John looked into the bathroom mirror. "What a mess." He frothed his face up with her shower gel and considered wiping down his pits. Nah, not today, not for Tony. The fall air was clean, smelled of pine and burning leaves. Eugene, Oregon. "Hey Tony, that's a lot of truck you got here," as John hoisted himself up into the passenger seat. "You know what they say, right?" Tony said nothing, his hands gripped the wheel with his eyes fixed forward. "They say, 'nice truck, sorry about your dick.'" John laughed nervously. Engine still running, Tony shifted the truck into gear, and the pickup shuddered before backing out onto Willamette Avenue. cop[10]

The party line ticket. The good (Barbara Boxer, Nancy Pelosi), the not-as-good (Barack Husein Obama) and the ugly (Diane Feinstein). Diane Feinstein, for all her faults (and there are many) is the devil we know, same as the incumbent POTUS. -- So let's deal with the 800-lbs gorilla in the room: Democrats acting like Republicans. DiFi and Obama are both (the former enthusiastically and the latter more moderately) in the "blue dog" camp, which is a Democrat who is willing to court votes on the right, wants to appear business friendly and will often vote in spite of the will of the party constituency (or at least stated orthodoxy). They are hawkish on defense and willing to play games with civil liberties (especially those pertaining to due process - looking at you, Mr. President); they can be coy or waffle regarding civil rights, especially marriage equality (though Senator Feinstein has always been pro- and POTUS has come around due perhaps in no small part to h...

Re: This bike isn't your stolen one :( Inbox x Terry 11:19 AM (26 minutes ago) to me I'm sure the police have contacted you and given you the bad news ,it's not your bike. Sent from my iPhone Thanks a lot, jerk. I am sorry the PD wasted their time checking the bike you were selling out. I am more sorry that you have wasted my time so thoroughly. Next time, when someone asks for proof of sale, you should consider offering it up on request. Thank you SO MUCH for taunting me about it in email. I hope you never sell you bike, asshole.

Prop 30 - Yes. The proposition asks the wealthiest Californians to invest in the state whose treasure they enjoy and whose economy enriches them. Prop 31 - Needs more study. SFBG says no, "gives governor too much power". Likes the idea of a 24 month budget, and some of the other proposals (more municipal control over funds), but does not like the bills complexity, suggests it is a grab-bag approach to fixing several critical problems at once and is leery of using propositions as legislative fixes for issues this critical. I may be leaning toward "yes", throwing caution to the wind regarding executive power in lieu of budgetary fixes. Will need to look at polling data - would rather it lose by a slim margin that pass. Prop 32 - No. SFBG is emphatic that this is a no vote, citing SuperPAC's bearing down on Unions. That's good enough for this liberal. The measure presents itself as an even-handed effort to reduce political spending by both unions and c...

I hope you all get gangrene. Wo est mein bycicle? Reward if found (unless by me, then probably a punch in the face):

"My condolences Jimbo," said Sergent Wilcox as he shook James' hand vigorously. "You know, I've been hearing that a lot," said the newly minted Detective First Class James Bradford Radcliff. James set the moving box on his new desk. The box was branded on all sides by the moving company the city contracted. It was the type, used for small moves, with the elaborate folding diagram on the top for the morons who couldn't figure out how to fold a boxtop so it would close. James allowed a brief flashback folding similar boxes while volunteering for his high school library. The boxes full of books that were to be thrown away. Years later, in his 20s, restless and floundering, James drove a semi back and forth between Utah, Nevada, Arizona and New Mexico and Indiana, Illinois, Ohio, Michigan and Pennsylvania. All day he'd drive, punctuated by loading cardboard boxes onto and off his rig. Occasionally he'd be put on a route to California - a ta...

"I wonder if Bill Moyers and Kathleen Hall Jameson do it." "What?" "Bill Moyers and Kathleen Hall Jameson. Do they hump? I mean, the guy is solid liberal gold, right? He's unimpeachable. So... does he hunker down with Kathleen Hall Jameson, kiss her tenderly, and stick it in... Do they fuck?" "Who the fuck is Kathleen Hall Jameson?" Steve does another line. The snorting sounds as loud as God. "She's a pundit... and intellectual, I think she's a professor, she's on Moyer's Journal all the time." "Who is Moyers," says Steve with a sniffle. Mike grabs the cocaine, laid out on a plastic faux ceramic tray, and cuts a huge line. "How the fuck do you not know who Bill Moyers is? What..? You're 30-something... 33? 34? Bill Fucking Moyers... on PBS!" Mike snorts, Steve grabs the tray back. "Don't know him." "Fuck," Mike, sniffling, "seriously? Bill Moy...

Administrivia: Will come back around and write up the outline/story board. The tough part will be finding James' voice, since I don't really know him that well - although I have some examples to guide me; it's hard to put myself in the head of someone who doesn't equivocate every decision and just "reacts" morally. This is the last Mike vignette until I get the housecleaning done on this story, but it came to me in the shower so I had to put it down. Mike moved into a Victorian walk-up in late summer of 1997 on Lucky Street. The alleys between the major streets lined up: Balmy. Lucky. Treat. Balmy lucky treat. August in San Francisco was anything but. Mike was taking over Javier's room: a pantry with a painted concrete floor, the kind of room where you might keep a washer and a dryer, or store dry goods. There was no door, only a curtain that had been strung across the archway haphazardly. Mike had arrived at night on the train with his only two ...

Yuri and Pancho ducked into Joe's Diner. It was about 3am. Pancho tucked their skateboards behind the service station while Yuri went behind the counter and poured "coffees" for the two of them - the coffee consisting of half actual coffee, at most, and half chicory. Joe was cheap, and chicory was a coffee substitute used in prison. "If anyone asks, we've been here for hours," said Pancho, still panting. Wanda looked on bemused. Mike sat at one end of the diner with a couple of friends. James and his girlfriend at the time sat at the other end. It was 1995. Wanda was the unofficial late night den mother for all the wayward teens of Parkland Heights. She'd give out free coffee when they came in penniless, and often feed them if they looked starved (a lot of latchkey kids from lower income neighborhoods would come in late at night). And if ever there was trouble, the kids in the neighborhood would get Wanda's back - more than one robbery at...

The first time was a dizzying blur. Adrenaline? Mike had boosted a great many things before: candy from the grocery store, porn magazines. One time he chatted up the clerk, some teenager just like him - a townie girl - while stuffing an entire carton of Marlboro Red's up the sleeves of his leather jacket, one pack at a time. On leaving the store, a gas station, he got in his boarding school roommate's Jeep and said "Tom, I just boosted a whole carton of smokes," as he unpacked them from his jacket, "let's get the fuck out of here." Tom laughed. They pulled out. The clerk was none the wiser. But this time the alarm went off from the Walkman tucked under his backpack and security was on him immediately. The rest was dreamlike: the back room, cops, the ride in the back of the cruiser, the jail cell, the florescent lights, the unsympathetic looks, the paper work, the phone call, the disappointed father. Everyone asking, "what have you learne...

"Whenever I write the novel... you know, the novel I never actually write... in the story I'm usually, no, I'm always the bad guy," said Mike as he spun a half-full tumbler of whiskey in his right hand, shifting in his bar stool. "What does that even mean?" James was becoming impatient. He sipped the last of his Newcastle and shot a glare at the bartender, socializing with friends, at the other end of the bar. "It's not that I'm romanticizing antagonism... it's just that after all these years I just don't think I'm a good person. And when I try to be, I just fuck everything up. In fiction, I at least don't have the luxury of guilt." Guilt. James pondered that momentarily, puzzled why anyone would choose to antagonize. Gillian Welch came on the jukebox: "...I wanna do right, but not right now..." Mike swallowed his whiskey. "It was nice to see you James," said Mike as he stood and started to walk...

One thing most adults have in common is that they've had sex at least once. Kids run around, totally ignorant of this other, hidden, adult world of sex for years... at some point they become cognizant that adults are shielding them from sex; but also from a great many other realities. That's biology - sex is supposed to happen at a certain time, a time that's "right", for every person. And no one is ever prepared for it, no matter how much "sex-ed" they get. But at any time, a person, young or old, can encounter death. Mike encountered it, but in the abstracted world of funeral parlors: the dead were made up, laid out, and caked with make-up to look as if the corpse were sleeping. Others aren't so insulated. Jame's uncle Fat George took himself out with a round in the heart - he was kind enough not to blow his face off like Kurdt Cobain. If you looked past the blood soaked shirt and the pool of blood on the floor, you might think he...

No nonsense rookie investigator James finds himself pursuing his old friend Mike, an ambiguous and at times highly unlikable élite -- in many ways James' opposite. The motivations of those who elect to be members of the authority and put their lives in danger and those who claims of liberal guilt, empathy and concern for civil rights are muddied by destructive and selfish behavior. A straight laced father turned cop with a reckless past marked with some dark spots questions morality, legality and order attempting to navigate among over-educated but under-moralized intellectuals vacillating between the equivocating figures like Camus or Capote. Too clever by half 1%-ers, junkie technologists and unapologetic hedonists populate a world James desperately tries to make some sense out of. cop[2]

old friends find themselves on opposite sides of a murder investigation. cop[1]

cop

Pre-posted with (my own) permission from Chowbacca! The desert's quiet and Cleveland's cold, so the story ends we're told: Friends don't let friends vote stone-age.

"Those who save, win." That's a nice idea, Dad, but when you can't save, you've lost before you even get started. I could save, then again I choose not to. I don't deserve comfort.

It's hard to be a writer and artist and musician with "Oh, Comely" existing in the world. It's like being Salieri to Mozart, except I havent written a single song.

I really think I am getting to the end of my fucking rope with this "career". It's pointless, I'm bored, I don't add anything to the world and I don't do anything for my fellow human being. That's all.