Awl--
Was going to make the subject Fellatio-ing the Rich, or Spread-eagled in Yer Own Shop, but ahm tryna keep it clean....er, at least in the subject line. Or the subject coulda been Embittered Musings, ekc
The reason, btw, for my apparent incessant profanity and proctologically-oriented vulgarity is, well, cuz it just seems fitting that language be consistent with its environs, and there is, in my mind, no more an obscene or vulgar environs than Modern Merkin Cultchuh. At one time, said vulgarity was of the cloying blinking neon variety, where at least you could close yer eyes for some respite. Now, there is no respite. Now, with Modern Technology hard at work, to make our lives ever more miserable/meaningless or just plain idle, closing yer eyes don't help much, cuz said obscenity/vulgarity is now emitted via physiologically painful laser-like LEDs--there is no optical escape. Or, in some cases, emitted via an electric welding arc. Yer eyelids are just not thick enough.
Inyway, so ahm tryna get one of my more pedestrian Follies to market, and it seems it just ain't gonna happen, at least not in *this* country. The guy who is perfecting my prototypes is in my Machining Family, an architectural sheetmetal guy, so I know he's not tryna PV me--well, at least not any worse than any of his other family members.
He makes his living making one-off haute couture for the Manhattan Very Rich, and hates it.
16 foot bronze effing doors, columnless 60 foot glass solarium roofs, $5,000 stainless sinks, ekc. Work comes and goes, so he's pondered actually moving into his shop, located in a dreadful part of Brooklyn, notorious Bushwick. He tells me he w***es hisself regularly, making perfect protos for china, who he says is so good, the replicas come back even with what he thought were hidden flaws.So I tell him, Yo, instead of fellatio-ing all these people you despise, let's get a Shop Product going, fer some steady predictable income, yo, so's at least you can stop grabbing yer ankles, or swallowing, ferchrissakes.
He says he can only stay afloat by swallowing. And grinning, afterwards.
My other Machining Bruthuh has really got his haute couture fellatio groove goin on, yo. He is now making payroll by fabricating very very very expensive vent grills for some big-assed development project of some big Social Rapist, aka real estate developer.
And his kids' Tuner Buddies got him a gig with one of them Pimp Yer Ride homeys rahcheer in Westchester, making $500 machined aluminum license plate brackets, custom Ferrari pulley sets, super-priced machined company logos in varying diameters, ekc. Assholes gotta have dey Escalades, yo...
My sheetmetal guy suggests making a letter-perfect prototype, and giving it to his china connection. I still have a few other shots here locally, so we'll see what happens.
I too have shit ready for the Very Rich, but, goodgawd, it's one thing to be snatched off a sidewalk and sodomized, against one's will--Big Pharm, Big Oil, Big Insurance, ekc, and of course, the Biggest Sodomizer of Them All: Congress. It's another to streetwalk wearing an A-frame placard, with a rate: Come and get it, $100 per thrust.... or whatever.
But, at least with a placard, you take yer gain$, shmooze with fellow Sodomize-ees at yer local sidewalk Cafe/Starbucks, trade notes, stories/lies, and KY formulas, and pretend everything is OK.
On Fifth Avenue, headed down toward the Washington Square Arch (donated by France, iirc--Man, weren't they in Fellatio-Mode for a while, eh?) there is a popular watering hole/bar type deal, with a big-assed lizard/alligator atop its roof, and huge letters, which dee-clare: Too Much Is Not Enough. Indeed. And let the other muhfugguhs eat cake--and get their shit from china.