magnum enforcer vi

I tailed Maxwell to a rub-n-tug in Santa Monica. I sat in the car and waited. I must have gone through an entire pack of cigarettes. After two hours, I went inside.

“Yes, I’m having pain in my groin region and I need it stretched out,” I told the receptionist.

Maxwell came out with a towel around his waist. “Uh, hi James. It’s not what it looks like.”

“Hello Maxwell,” I said as I feigned stupidity. “What does this look like?”

“I just come here to get my prostate massaged. It gets flared.”

I took out a cigarette. “There’s no smoking in here, sir,” the receptionist said. I replaced it with a toothpick. “You got nothing to worry about with me, Maxwell,” I said. “Remember, I’m not on the LAPD anymore.”

“Right.” He gave an awkward laugh. “Well I guess I’ll see you around.”

I eyeballed him as he walked away.

I followed him around town for a few days…to the bars, to the gay clubs, to Knots Berry Farm…but I couldn’t bust him. I was growing tired. I drank. I tried heroin. But I couldn’t shake him from my mind.

Maxwell was good. Too good. But I knew eventually he’d fuck up. And when he did, I’d be there to bust him.

Finally I caught a break.

He picked up a prostitute off Sunset. They drove up to the hills and pulled off to a stop overlooking the Valley. It was late. Too late.

I had to stay back. I could’ve easily been spotted. I perched on top of a ledge overlooking their spot. The windows fogged up in Maxwell’s car. I couldn’t see in.

After several hours without movement, I feared the worst. I pulled out the 357 and walked towards the vehicle. I opened the passenger side door and there laid a strangled prostitute.

Maxwell was nowhere to be found.

Damn it, I thought. How could he have escaped?

Then I heard a beeping. There in the glove box was a timer counting down to zero. I tried to run but the explosion knocked me back several feet.

I got up and checked myself for injuries. There were none. I’m invincible.

I waited next to the smoldering remains for the fire department and the LA Police Chief to arrive. “You’re no longer on the force,” the Chief said. “The is is an official police investigation.”

“Sir,” I replied, “how well do you trust Ellis Shitburg Maxwell?”

“With LP dead, he’s now my best officer. I’d trust him with my wife.”

“This is Maxwell’s car. Last night there was a dead prostitute inside. Don’t you get it? He’s the Hillside Choker!”

“Now you are way out of line James! Charles Krauthammer was the killer and you busted him! The case is CLOSED! You hear me? CLOSED!”

“Will you listen to reason and evidence? Maxwell and Charles are in cahoots! The mayor said himself that crime has gotten out of hand! Maxwell has taken matters into his own hands! He’s gone renegade sir! RENEGADE!”

The Chief got right in my face. “Now you listen here James, and you listen good. There is no vigilante conspiracy in the LAPD. NONE! Not on my watch! Now I am telling you to walk away from this crime scene before I bring you in as a suspect!”

I walked away.

That night I got drunk and started thinking about LP. I stumbled up to Stacy’s door and began pounding. She just put the kids to bed.

“Have you been drinking,” she asked.

“Just started.”

She invited me in poured a vodka. We both sat on the couch.

“How are the kids,” I asked.

“Brutus has taken his father’s death hard. He’s been strangling the neighborhood animals, dissecting them, and leaving the remains on the owner’s porch. Laquisha’s been missing since the funeral.”

I reached out my hand and put it on hers. “And how have you been doing?”

“I’ve been struggling. I just miss LP so much. He was a great husband.”

“I miss him too,” I said.

We both stared into each other’s eyes. We leaned in and kissed.

As I was ramming Stacy silly, I couldn’t help but think of LP… how he was up there watching over us…furiously masturbating in heaven.

my time in the wilderness

Death sucks.

But so does life.

While I was crying at a 7-eleven at 1:30 in the morning, I had a though: “could my life get any worse?”

But it’s never really been good.

Sure it’s had its moments. Doing mescaline at a Pistons game was pretty cool.

But something feels lost. And I can’t get it back.

I stepped away from the blog for a few weeks to regroup. I only got more lost.

So now I’m back. For now.

Probably always will be, now that I think about it.

So as long as my heart’s still beating and the drugs keep my brain functioning long enough to construct sentences, I’ll be posting.

That’s all

shoot me, deadly

I burned the apartment complex down while making nachos. After the court cases were settled and 20 people were made homeless, I needed the money.

A strange man walked into my office. He laid his briefcase on the desk and pulled out his revolver.

“I’m here to offer you a shot at redemption,” he told me.

“What’s the case?” I asked.

“You’re the worst private dick in town,” he said. “I need a moron, a dipshit, a loser, a complete piece of shit that would be willing to take the fall when things go south.”

I took out a cigarette and thought for a moment. Fuck it, I thought. I needed the paycheck.

“Give it to me,” I said.

“A mafiosos daughter has gone missing. She was last seen in San Diego. Here’s her picture.”

She looked like a woman that could eat your heart out and save room for dessert.

“What’s the dame’s name,” I ask.

“Isabella Maria,” he replied. “She was a spoiled brat. She dropped out of law school to pursue a career in phlebotomy but got caught up in the wrong crowd if you know what I mean.”

“Drugs?”

“No, improv comedy. She was terrible.”

“Well,” I said. “I’ll need a $5,000 deposit and a list of references.”

“Just send me the bill. Everything you need to know is in this briefcase.”

The briefcase was a Boccio. Italian leather. Not sure why he bothered. A Manila folder would have worked just fine.

“I didn’t get your name sir,” I said.

“My name’s not important. But what I represent is.”

Fuckin weirdo.

The man left and I told my secretary to not take any calls. I went back into the office and pulled out a handle of Everclear. After popping my Zeldox and Zoloft, I lifted the glass up to a picture of my dead mother.

“Welp, things are shit and they ain’t getting any better,” I said.

And down the hatch she went.

the greatest live performance ever

I don’t like doing these kinds of posts. Just posting a video seems lazy to me, although I have done it before.

But there’s something about this performance that I want to discuss.

Everyone knows The Human League and their songs “Don’t You Want Me” and the one above, “Human.” Some know Human from those insurance commercials a few years ago (if you’re in the US), so there’s a tendency to dismiss it as just another cheesy 80s song.

And that’s where everyone is wrong.

I mean, it sounds alright in the studio recording. But live, it becomes something else.

At least during this live performance, the song’s subject, the regret of infidelity and the simultaneously true yet stupid excuses to justify it (“I’m only human”) becomes much more potent.

The performers don’t do much. Nothing really. But as the song comes to a close, watching Phil Oakey meander to the back of the stage, get uncomfortably close to the drummer, and gaze at the crap flashing across the background like he’s having a mental breakdown on stage is a subtle piece of performance art.

He has no words.

He knows what he’s done, and has to live with it.

This is done to the soundtrack of a haunting keyboard and a drum beat that absolutely slaps. I don’t know if it’s the acoustics of the room, but there’s a dimension to the bass keys that, well…it just hits you.

There’s something about this video that just hits.

a shot at the title

So I was crying in a corner, just minding my own business when the FedEx guy delivered a letter.

“Have a good day sir,” he said.

“Fuck off”

I opened the letter. It was from Bob Oglesby, Head of Productions at Trainwreck Studios. It read:

“Dear Mr. Less

We read your screenplay ‘The Virtues of Drinking Bleach’ and have a few notes. Please reach out to your agent Pablo Dunbar to set up a meeting. We are having trouble reaching him.

Best Regards,

Bill”

So I finished crying and called Pablo. When he answered the phone, I heard some screaming followed by gunshots. Then silence.

“This is Pablo,” he said.

“Hey! Bob Oglesby has been trying to reach you. Where the hell have you been?”

“Sorry I’ve been in Thailand on the set of the new Paul Schrader film. I’ll reach out to Bob soon.”

That week, Pablo and me drove out to Burbank. When we arrived at the studio, the doors were locked. Out of the third story window, Bob yelled: “Sorry, I’m the only one here. Everyone has COVID.”

Bob threw down a rope and we climbed up. Then he offered us a Bloody Mary.

“No thanks,” I said. “I just got my one month chip.”

Bob shrugged and downed the drink himself.

“Now boys,” Bob said as he sat down behind his desk. “Let’s get down to brass tacks. We all want to make money. A fuck ton of money. And the only way to do that is to give the audience what they want. And they want sex. They want violence. They want full on sexual penetration. They want erect penises. They want sopping wet vaginas. They want tits. They want ass. They want to see EVERYTHING.

Unfortunately we can’t give that to them. We have to abide by what they call ‘rules’. Plus we have to consider the Chinese market. So we looked at your screenplay and said that this is the next best thing. Therefore, after all the sexual harassment lawsuits are settled, we are fully prepared to give this thing the green light. What do you boys think about that?”

Pablo and me looked at each other.

“Sounds good?”

“Good,” Bob said. “But we have a few notes for you. First, gay sex. There’s a lot of it.”

“I assure you that it’s all in service to the plot,” I replied.

“Oh yes, I noticed,” Bob said. “What I mean is that I want more of it.”

“For the film?”

“Yes”

“So you want more gay sex in a martial arts film set in outer space?”

“Yes”

“Anything else?” I asked.

Bob stood up from his desk and looked out the window. “Boys,” he said, “Hollywood is dying. Too many kids on YouTube drinking cat piss for a laugh. Too much internet pornography. Too much competition from the streaming services. The days of good storytelling, of compelling performances, of sweeping scores, of looking at the silver screen in awe and wonder…they are coming to a close.”

Bob paused and looked me in the eye.

“I’m counting on you to save my job,” he said.

I looked over to Pablo, then back at Bob.

“In that case,” I said. “I’ll have that Bloody Mary.”

occupational burnout

They say that rewriting is the actual art of writing.

Thank god I’m not a real writer.

Writing is homework. I’ve never liked homework. I enjoy the immediacy of art, the spontaneity. Unfortunately writing is the only medium I can do.

Let me be real for a sec: I’m suffering from burnout. Not just from this blog, but from things in general.

Life’s too short. We can’t spend our entire lives looking at a screen. But we’re headed in that direction.

Rarely do we stop and think how amazing it is that we can experience anything. Consciousness is an extraordinary phenomenon.

I watch my son experience the world for the first time. I’m envious. It’s beautiful to watch. He appreciates life far more than I do.

Children understand something that we don’t. They aren’t burdened with the baggage of cynicism and jadedness that life hands us. They see the world for the miracle that it is.

It sounds naive, but we need to see the world as a child does: it’s beautiful, it’s sublime. Words are merely an approximation of what can be described.

Why waste this brief time being a cog?

Why waste it on hate and loathing?

This is just pointless meandering on my part. I’m just a day dreamer. Not a writer. Not anybody important.

I just need a break.

Maybe I’ll be back tonight. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe I’ll never come back here. 🤷‍♂️

But thank you for reading. 🙏

put an end to my misery

I’m always tired.

So, so tired.

I was playing skee ball at Chuck E Cheese when Ed started hootin and hollerin.

“Don’t make me drop your ass kid! I’m packing my 9mm,” he said. Ed was getting the tables ran on him by a 2nd grader.

“Pipe down Ed,” I said.

“This is bullshit!”

I went back to minding my own business when a father confronted Ed.

“I will shove this skee ball right up your ass if you talk to me like that again!” Ed said to the man.

“Say, let’s settle down and have another beer Ed,” I said.

So we went back to our table, enjoyed some pizza, and watched the animatronics. Then Ed pulled out a pipe.

“Wanna do some crack?”

I reluctantly agreed, but it turned me into a beast at air hockey.

“Aren’t you guys too old to be at a Chuck E Cheese?” some mom asked us.

“Shut the fuck up bitch!” Ed replied as he threw the hockey pusher at her face.

The manager told us to leave.

“The problem with today’s kids is that no one beats the shit out of them anymore!” Ed yelled at the top of his lungs.

He then went on stage and pissed all over Munch’s Make Believe Band.

“Fuck this place!” Ed said. “We’re going to Dave & Busters!”

Oh, You’re Into Politics? How Embarrassing!

Sorry that I’m plugging another Medium article. Especially one about politics.

Yuck!

But gotta get some eyeballs over there.

Good luck!

And apologies!

link.medium.com/FsyuxhYa1ib

“It’s a tale as old as time: man has fallen from Grace, Creation has been cursed, but God will restore Order in an apocalyptic Revenge.

Chaos will be no more, and mankind will forever live in Peace under this coming Kingdom.

It’s a powerful idea.

It’s also fantasy.

But we are sold this fantasy outside of the religious institutions. This eschatological mentality has infiltrated the supposed secular realm of politics.”

Randy Returns II: Returning Again: Part 2: Returning With A Vengeance

While sitting around the fire, Dale was free style rapping like a shitty 90s PSA.

Then the first explosions went off. A booby trap was tripped. Dale and I threw on our bandoliers, our machetes, and our AKs.

I tossed an AR-15 over to Nicky. “When in doubt, just spray bullets indiscriminately across that tree line,” I told him. “If they catch you, go ahead and use the weapon on yourself.”

Both Dale and I penetrated deep into the woods, deep into the cold of night. Another explosive went off. Someone, somewhere was close.

“Drop your weapons,” we heard.

We dropped them.

We obviously made shitty commandos.

Dale and I were surrounded by men in black uniforms and state of the art technology. They patted us down and escorted us through the dense woods to a large, portable, tank-like structure that resembled something out of Avatar.

How this structure moved undetected through Southern California is a mystery.

We were brought up to the bridge of this mega tank, and just like when Dale and I faced Honda, we were placed on our knees and presented with a series of theatrics that culminated in a villain presenting himself.

“Cut the bullshit, Randy,” I said. “We know it’s you.”

“Damn,” he replied. “But this tank is pretty cool, huh?”

“What are you and the dumb syndicate up to now?” I asked. “Poison the world’s food supply? Creating a race of super humans for world domination?”

“How did you know?” Randy replied.

“Just leave me out of it,” I said.

Then the black shirts brought in Nicky and placed him in front of Randy.

“We found this asshole with a rifle in his mouth. He didn’t even put up a fight,” one of the soldiers said.

“Damn it dad!” I said. “You were supposed to at least get off ONE shot before you offed yourself!”

“Sorry son,” Nicky replied. “I’m just not very good in firefights.”

Randy spoke up.

“Son? Dad? What’s this about?” he asked.

“Nicky’s my dad,” I replied. “I may die today, but at least I’ll die knowing who my family is.”

“Nicky’s not your dad,” Randy said. “I am your dad.”

“Bullshit,” I replied.

“It’s true! I thought I told you. Guess I forgot 🤷‍♂️. Anyhow, your mom and me were partners in another syndicate before we joined TOILET (Terrorism Or the International League that Engages in Terrorism). Unfortunately it was the 80s, so we were coked up and fucked, then you were born. So she left the syndicate.

Years later, the syndicate wanted to cover up its tracks, so I deployed my other son, Nicky, to kill you and your mother. But then the FBI shot the fuck out that strip club and Nicky got amnesia. After realizing that you were just some loser, the syndicate decided it wasn’t worth spending resources to kill you.

So Nicky, I’m also your father.”

I felt the world disappear beneath my feet. My heart sunk. I knew it was true.

“So what do we do now?” I asked. “I know the truth.”

“Excellent question,” Randy said.

Out of the shadows appeared Anthrax in full battle rattle. “I say we finish the job,” she said.

“Great idea!” Randy said.

“Traitor,” I said to Anthrax.

The soldiers grabbed Dale and placed him up against the wall. Randy took out his flame thrower and began taunting us.

“This has been quite a reunion,” Randy said. “You thought that Anthrax was your friend. You thought that you could stop me. But your plans just went up in flames.”

Randy then unleashed the full wrath of hell onto Dale. There were no screams. Dale just danced around as a gigantic flame before falling to the ground. What was once a man was now just charred, smoldering, remains.

“Was that supposed to scare me? Because I just shit my pants,” I said.

Just then the structure began to violently shake. Then there was a massive explosion and soldiers began to man their stations.

Honda launched her attack.

TO BE CONTINUED…

I’d Rather Die A Horrible Death Than Do Tiktok Again

Because this blog is sacred ground, I won’t sully it by posting my real opinions.

Instead I will post them to Medium.

But if you’re interested in reading them, please click the link.

Or don’t!

Can’t say I’d blame you.

link.medium.com/oSRwI4hwXib

“Perhaps there’s a species in a higher dimension. Perhaps this species is what we commonly refer to as ‘God’.

Perhaps this species has given us free will, creativity, and logical thinking as an experiment…to see how we might use these gifts to bring about peace, justice, and equality for all in a universe that’s seemingly indifferent to suffering.

Perhaps it’s time to reboot that experiment.”