If I may make a small statement, "That's a hella' lot o' words."
Now, a small quote:
"I am not altogether on anybody's side, because nobody is altogether on my side, if you understand me."
(That's Treebeard from J.R.R. Tolkien's book The Two Towers)
This is how I feel about politics. I'm a proud registered non-affiliated voter in the Republic of California, and that was done for a particular reason. And before I go into that reason, I'd like to make a point. As a student of politics, so much that happens (may I say, all that happens) is reported in exactly the same format as the entertainment industry, which makes it extremely hard to stay informed on what your elected Representatives are really doing.
With the archaic rules of the Congress, and the back room dealings so impossible to follow by the average person with even a smidge of curiosity of the political realm (not a lot, I gather) only the largest of storylines can be grasped, which so misinterpret the actual actions of the ruling class that it's impossible to tell who's in bed with whom, and what the hell anything really means.
I am, not altogether on anybody's side, because nobody is altogether on my side.
(P.S. I AM TOTALLY NOT MAKING THIS UP, I JUST GOT A CALL FROM "OPINION ACCESS" WHO WANTED TO KNOW HOW I GET MY NEWS AND INFORMATION! I asked the woman who owned the company and where my information was going to go, she didn't know, but since she was clearly just doing her job, I bid her a pleasant, good-day.)
As much as you want people to be on your side, sometimes it just doesn't happen. Presidents, Senators, Congresspeople, they might get your email, and they might get your phone-message, (if they're really good, super-impassioned, or just something for the office to make fun of,) but when the CEO of Lockheed shoots an email or calls up, even to vehemently disagree, with said President, Senator, or Congressperson, you're damn right they get a response back toot-sweet.
We all know this exists in our space too. Bosses, co-workers, friends, they all operate on very similar principals. Who gets the callback? Who gets the immediate response? Is it based on friendship, performance, personality, connections, attractiveness, skill? Well, I suppose it's a combination of those, and others I've failed to mention. However, I would like to pull out another quote...this one from Miller's Crossing, (Still my fave of the Cohen Bros. films)
"Nobody knows anyone that well. Nobody."
Even your best friends can betray you because they're doing something that's actually good for you, or an action they take to fjuck you will be straight-up good for them, or they're just so damn surrounded by the chaos of their world that they can't see what they are doing will have any impact on you whatsoever, they're just thinking about themselves, and their situation, period.
Not that there's a whole lot wrong with all of that. It's life, and living in/on this stupid planet, it's what we as humanids do. It's just being thrust into a world of, "What side are you on?" over and over becomes awfully dumb after a while.
You have allies, and you know who they are...and sometimes they change. You have hopes and dreams that other people can help you towards. And there are roadblocks and people who wish to see you fail, and there are active interests that systemically try and keep you in your place. When even a few of the things I've just mentioned move across one line to another...I'd just like to bring back the quiet dignity of the first quote.
"I am not altogether on anybody's side, because nobody is altogether on my side."
Well, hope that helps. And if you need any further encouragement, please know that I'll be rootin' for yas!
-Tusnami-
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Monday, February 25, 2008
What Does Tsunami Read?
Well, here's a list of all the places I visit every day. It's been put together over years of crappy job internetting, and I'm totally positive there's something on this list for everyone who thinks the internets are cool as fjuck.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/ (Best straight-up news site on the net. Plus their links never die!)
http://boingboing.net/ (duh)
http://www.darkroastedblend.com/ (cool as fjuck posts about...kinda everything that's cool)
http://seehere.blogspot.com/ (A link-blog that'll fill in huge chunks of stuff you've missed)
http://www.neatorama.com/ (riiiight)
http://www.futilitycloset.com/ (a stupidly super-good blog with astounding stories)
http://bldgblog.blogspot.com/ (Buildings, urban stuff, and their impact on society)
http://cuteoverload.com/ (Straight up cute animals 24-7)
http://kfmonkey.blogspot.com/ (Kung-Fu-Monkey...a T.V. writer's blog. Totally fun)
http://minortweaks.com/ (A super entertaining family-friendly personal blog)
http://www.warrenellis.com/ (He's the Fjucking internet Jesus.)
http://presurfer.blogspot.com/ (Presurfing, so you don't have to)
http://thinkorthwim.com/ (An interesting blog for smart peoples.)
http://blog.wired.com/defense/ (Wired's mil-blog, fun place if you like military/tech stuffs)
http://www.oddee.com/ (A bunch of fun, amazing things.)
http://overcompensating.com/ (My favorite web-comic)
Some of these I have gotten away from (thru disinterest or lack of rapidly appearing new content) but have come back to, simply because of strength of their material. Hope this helps.
-Tsunami-
http://news.bbc.co.uk/ (Best straight-up news site on the net. Plus their links never die!)
http://boingboing.net/ (duh)
http://www.darkroastedblend.com/ (cool as fjuck posts about...kinda everything that's cool)
http://seehere.blogspot.com/ (A link-blog that'll fill in huge chunks of stuff you've missed)
http://www.neatorama.com/ (riiiight)
http://www.futilitycloset.com/ (a stupidly super-good blog with astounding stories)
http://bldgblog.blogspot.com/ (Buildings, urban stuff, and their impact on society)
http://cuteoverload.com/ (Straight up cute animals 24-7)
http://kfmonkey.blogspot.com/ (Kung-Fu-Monkey...a T.V. writer's blog. Totally fun)
http://minortweaks.com/ (A super entertaining family-friendly personal blog)
http://www.warrenellis.com/ (He's the Fjucking internet Jesus.)
http://presurfer.blogspot.com/ (Presurfing, so you don't have to)
http://thinkorthwim.com/ (An interesting blog for smart peoples.)
http://blog.wired.com/defense/ (Wired's mil-blog, fun place if you like military/tech stuffs)
http://www.oddee.com/ (A bunch of fun, amazing things.)
http://overcompensating.com/ (My favorite web-comic)
Some of these I have gotten away from (thru disinterest or lack of rapidly appearing new content) but have come back to, simply because of strength of their material. Hope this helps.
-Tsunami-
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Friday, February 22, 2008
If You Lived Here You'd Be Home By Now
Friday is Friday.
Friday is Monday, Friday is Tuesday, Friday is Wednesday, and Friday is Thursday.
Yea friends, for nearly the next four months, every day for your pal Tsunami is Friday. His position at the Casa Aloha H.Q. has been outsourced and the end is nigh! YEA, THE END IS NIGH!
As per the dream, the Casa Aloha H.Q. is moving to...THE CASA ALOHA! I can wake up and my commute is rolling out of bed onto my floor! I can leave work and be at my home in milliseconds. I can wash my dishes and clothes and chalk it up to "a business expense!" My Gjod...it'll be beautiful!
Anyhoo, I hope to leave you with a good impression in a zen-like state.
A state which would be something like this.
Wherever you are, and whatever you do, and whenever you do it...just do it like it was the last thing you had to do before closing time on Friday rolls in.
Because we all infuse our actions with positivity on Friday...I think it comes knowing it'll probably be the last time during the week we'll haveta' do the dumb fjucking thing. Well, there's no telling when the last time you're going to have to do the dumb fjucking thing. Ever. Hell, your first time could be the last time. So do your shit like that, and maybe you too, one day, (which might be tomorrow...err, Monday) might be in the spot that I'm in...rolling in eternal Fridays until the cows come home.
Happy Friday.
-Tsunami-
Friday is Monday, Friday is Tuesday, Friday is Wednesday, and Friday is Thursday.
Yea friends, for nearly the next four months, every day for your pal Tsunami is Friday. His position at the Casa Aloha H.Q. has been outsourced and the end is nigh! YEA, THE END IS NIGH!
As per the dream, the Casa Aloha H.Q. is moving to...THE CASA ALOHA! I can wake up and my commute is rolling out of bed onto my floor! I can leave work and be at my home in milliseconds. I can wash my dishes and clothes and chalk it up to "a business expense!" My Gjod...it'll be beautiful!
Anyhoo, I hope to leave you with a good impression in a zen-like state.
A state which would be something like this.
Wherever you are, and whatever you do, and whenever you do it...just do it like it was the last thing you had to do before closing time on Friday rolls in.
Because we all infuse our actions with positivity on Friday...I think it comes knowing it'll probably be the last time during the week we'll haveta' do the dumb fjucking thing. Well, there's no telling when the last time you're going to have to do the dumb fjucking thing. Ever. Hell, your first time could be the last time. So do your shit like that, and maybe you too, one day, (which might be tomorrow...err, Monday) might be in the spot that I'm in...rolling in eternal Fridays until the cows come home.
Happy Friday.
-Tsunami-
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Time for a 1st Quarter Checkup!
"Tomorrow will be the most beautiful day of Raymond K. Hessel's life. His breakfast will taste better than any meal you and I have ever tasted."
- Tyler Durden, Fight Club
How's your day? Beautiful?
How'd yer breakfast taste? Astounding?
How close are you to livin' The Fjordian Dream?
"Oh, I get it. That's very clever."
"Thank you."
"How's that working out for you?"
"What?"
"Being clever."
"Great."
"Keep it up then."
- Tyler Durden, Fight Club
How's your day? Beautiful?
How'd yer breakfast taste? Astounding?
How close are you to livin' The Fjordian Dream?
"Oh, I get it. That's very clever."
"Thank you."
"How's that working out for you?"
"What?"
"Being clever."
"Great."
"Keep it up then."
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
If things seem a little off lately
That's because they are. Please be aware you're sharing this with many others as we speak.
Perhaps this little yooo-tube video will help.
Perhaps this little yooo-tube video will help.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Well, here ya go...
A little something I was workin' on tonite.
“Not that I’m hiding or anything,” the voice said through the phone on a connection that made it sound like he was talking through a tin-can.
“But…” I answered slowly, drawing the word out as long a possible.
“There are a few people I’ve learned, who wouldn’t mind inconveniencing me, umm…physically.”
“You’ve got a fucking armored Bentley and two South African special-ops guys on your bodyguard staff. You’re worried about being physically inconvenienced?”
“They’re pretty aware of that, I’m sure.” He replied.
I took about six steps down the wide and nearly empty sidewalk that edged the park near my crappy apartment. My throat had a bunch of crap in it, so I cleared it without apology in my cell, and spat. I finished my thought. “You know what I’m doing right now, yeah? I’m walking home from the drug store with two Miller Lite tall-boys, and I’m about to drink ‘em, and forget my day.”
“I’m sure, however,” The tinny voice said. “I’m in a bind, and I need to ask you to do a thing for me.”
“Why.”
“Because nobody I know, knows I know you.”
That was true enough. The guy was just some dink I’d had a conversation with at a bar, and had stupidly given my card. It wasn’t even the business card from the last gig I’d been fired from. It was the one I’d made up in fun. That just had my name on it in 18 point font, so I could say, “Howdy, I’m Dario Tsunami. Here’s my card.” And it would reiterate in print, on an otherwise blank card, “Dario Tsunami”
The dink’s name was Walter Bruthers, and he kept on buying me drinks that night, and making pleasant conversation and impressing me with his bar tab and funny stories about important people about town until I happily gave over my real numbers. I didn’t even remember doing it the next day. But a week later it had come back to haunt me.
“Dario, this is Walter.” The conversation had started. “Enjoyed your company the other night, and was wondering if you’d like to swing over for a little thing I’m having tonight?”
“Okay.” I stupidly answered.
“Great! There’s a car outside right now.”
And that’s how I learned about his armored Bentley. His bodyguards, I learned about during a most uncomfortable series of conversations with his other guests at his mansion that night. I was doing my best to overcome the stereotype that it’s not what you do, or what you have, it’s who you are that matters. I failed miserably.
“Not that I’m hiding or anything,” the voice said through the phone on a connection that made it sound like he was talking through a tin-can.
“But…” I answered slowly, drawing the word out as long a possible.
“There are a few people I’ve learned, who wouldn’t mind inconveniencing me, umm…physically.”
“You’ve got a fucking armored Bentley and two South African special-ops guys on your bodyguard staff. You’re worried about being physically inconvenienced?”
“They’re pretty aware of that, I’m sure.” He replied.
I took about six steps down the wide and nearly empty sidewalk that edged the park near my crappy apartment. My throat had a bunch of crap in it, so I cleared it without apology in my cell, and spat. I finished my thought. “You know what I’m doing right now, yeah? I’m walking home from the drug store with two Miller Lite tall-boys, and I’m about to drink ‘em, and forget my day.”
“I’m sure, however,” The tinny voice said. “I’m in a bind, and I need to ask you to do a thing for me.”
“Why.”
“Because nobody I know, knows I know you.”
That was true enough. The guy was just some dink I’d had a conversation with at a bar, and had stupidly given my card. It wasn’t even the business card from the last gig I’d been fired from. It was the one I’d made up in fun. That just had my name on it in 18 point font, so I could say, “Howdy, I’m Dario Tsunami. Here’s my card.” And it would reiterate in print, on an otherwise blank card, “Dario Tsunami”
The dink’s name was Walter Bruthers, and he kept on buying me drinks that night, and making pleasant conversation and impressing me with his bar tab and funny stories about important people about town until I happily gave over my real numbers. I didn’t even remember doing it the next day. But a week later it had come back to haunt me.
“Dario, this is Walter.” The conversation had started. “Enjoyed your company the other night, and was wondering if you’d like to swing over for a little thing I’m having tonight?”
“Okay.” I stupidly answered.
“Great! There’s a car outside right now.”
And that’s how I learned about his armored Bentley. His bodyguards, I learned about during a most uncomfortable series of conversations with his other guests at his mansion that night. I was doing my best to overcome the stereotype that it’s not what you do, or what you have, it’s who you are that matters. I failed miserably.
You haven't forgotten the Jellyfish, have you?
I guess the good thing is we've advanced from spotters on ferries to...
scientists who managed to place tracking devices on the jellyfish
Yaay! We're now using that human inginuity to GPS those motha'fuckas! Oh, wait...
proved that they were not drifting on the ocean currents but heading determinedly - and at the speed of an Olympic swimmer - towards the coast.
Aaah, crap.
scientists who managed to place tracking devices on the jellyfish
Yaay! We're now using that human inginuity to GPS those motha'fuckas! Oh, wait...
proved that they were not drifting on the ocean currents but heading determinedly - and at the speed of an Olympic swimmer - towards the coast.
Aaah, crap.
Monday, February 18, 2008
In order to clense your palate after that last one...
I'd like to provide you with this link to a whole bunch of reasons David Banner gets turned into the Hulk.
Friday, February 15, 2008
It's Friday...890
Yeah, it's Friday. And it's dark, with the blanket of night that's turned The City into a place full of malice in every alley, and every sidewalk, and every space between parked cars. Only small pools of streetlights give the illusion of safety, but with the passing cars insulated by doors and locks and speed, no one is about to give tonite over towards good-samaritanism. Tonite, Friday is distinctly noir, and 2Pac floats down, flavoring the scene with a more honest modernity.
Let me welcome everybody to the wild wild west, a state that's untouchable like Elliot Ness. The track hits your eardrum like a slug to your chest.
Friday wore a long trench coat, and a fedora, and he carried what looked like a violin case under the crook his arm. Fanning out behind him in a pyramid formation were the assembled weekdays, dressed in suitable attire. They all carried black cases too. Monday had the handle of a guitar case in his left hand, and his eyes sent out waves of malice. Tuesday held over his shoulder the huge case of a stand up bass like it was a rocket-launcher. Wednesday, his suit and overcoat ill-fitting over his hunchback, carried a flat black suitcase and was constantly looking behind the crew. Thursday carried a square trumpet case, and looked at ease in a flashy black suit with a white tie (and black tie-clip), and when his overcoat blew back in the breeze revealed a square folded handkerchief in his breast pocket.
They walked until a driveway off the street crossed their path, and carried a dark river of asphalt up into darkness, into the park. There, two lamp posts lit the entrance - an open gate between an unscaleable fence that guarded the park. Against the left pole leaned a black man, dressed in black Nike shoes, black baggy pants, and a black hoodie which didn't quite cover the white L.A. stitched on a black baseball cap. He eyed the weekdays with barely concealed contempt.
Let me serinade the streets of L.A., from Oakland to Sac-town, the Bay area and back-down, Cali is where they put the mack down Give Me Love!
Friday and the weekdays pulled to a stop, noticing a Latino leaning up against the other pole. He was thick, young, and full of tough. He wore khaki brown boots, loose-fitting blue jeans, and a red hoodie, that likewise couldn't cover the white L.A. logo stitched on his red baseball cap. He flicked things out of his fingernails with a switchblade knife, and looked over at the gang of pulled up weekdays.
"You're late." He said.
"Word." The black man in black clothes responded.
"Traffic." Thursday responded without hostility, and a slight shrug.
"Ss'Aiite." Said the man in the black cap. "Still gots an hour to do dis."
The Latino in the red cap folded his knife and put it back into his pocket. He stared at the weekdays, but with a touch of irony said,
"Word."
He peeled himself off the lamp post, and walked up the road. The man in black turned his back on them and followed.
"Are you sure we should do this?" Said Tuesday.
"Well fuck, we came this far..." Wednesday responded.
Monday spoke with a hard edge...
"Only live once. And by Gjod..." His tone changed to something more friendly, "in it, is a lifetime of mistakes. C'mon."
He walked forward, and reached Friday's shoulder as he started moving too, not about to loose his place as the leader.
"Are you sure about this?" Monday asked Friday as they walked up the hill, following their black-and-red clad guides.
"Sure as shit." Friday spoke. "We're armed to the teeth. It'll get ugly, but there's nothing saying we can't hold our own like we always do."
With his free hand he opened a chrome cigarette case, slipped out a smoke, stuck it in his mouth, folded the case closed, slipped it back in his pocket, and produced a lighter which, in a brief moment of windless dark, he struck to life. It lit the cigarette with a bright light-blue flame blown back towards him in the breeze his motion produced. He drew a drag, and blew it out of his lungs.
In less than the time it took for Friday to finish his smoke, they had walked between trees and walked up a staircase, still following their guides. The formation of five weekdays had slowly gained a crowded following behind them, as people emerged from the darkened park in an ominous mob that began to follow them. Wednesday looked occasionally and tried to bring it up to the group.
"There's a few people behind us." He said at first. No one cared enough to respond. "There's about a hundred people behind us." He said next. Not one other weekday looked back. "There's about a thousand people behind us." Was the next thing out of his mouth. Not one other Weekday looked back. Monday responded.
"Wedneday," He said, "Shut up."
Deep in the park with a mob behind them the five weekdays followed the road till it came to a small outlet, where a small bowl-shaped depression peeled off to the right. There, a number of people gathered in two large groups. Words were hurled like weapons between them.
"I was busy fucking your mom in the ass last night!"
"What the fuck did you just say?!"
"It sounds like you have a cock in your mouth!"
"Yeah, your mom's cock!"
The two men they had been following, split off, to the left, the man with the black cap, to the right, the man with the red.
"Shut this shit down." The black man with the black cap said. "You know it's crap, and it's about to get serious!"
The Latino in the red cap replied in kind to his mob.
"Get your shit together!" He threw his arms out on a glorious display of bravado to his mob of people. "We're gonna' do this!" He threw his arms down as emphasis as he shouted, "Right now!"
Friday set down the violin case, and cracked it open. Inside were the component pieces of a tommy-gun. He began to remove the stock, and the barrel, which he affixed together, then he grabbed the wooden barrel handle, set that in it's place. He looked back at the assorted weekdays.
"You guys ready?" He asked hopefully.
"Fuck yeah Friday." Said Monday. The others nodded in agreement.
As Friday placed the firing pin into the barrel, members of both groups on their left and right moved forward to see what he was doing. As they moved forward, those behind them in the two mobs began to fiddle with cases, their jackets, and then, two trailers of searchlights kicked on lighting the scene with un gjodly light. Thousands of spectators had gathered around the shallow bowl where they were gathered.
"That is so fucking cool." Said a member of the black-clad mob, looking at Friday's tommy-gun.
"Mang..." A member of the red-clad crew said. "Word."
Friday put his weapon to his shoulder, and grabbed the cylindrical magazine out of the case, and fitted it to his weapon.
There was a moment of silence, which spilled out around him like a wave, and with the searchlights, everyone was riveted. Behind him, the weekdays frantically opened cases, and tried to get themselves getting ready for the battle about to begin.
"I've come here to make a point! That point will not be denied!"
Friday yelled.
From his left, the sound of a bass beat began. It was thick, and heavy, and fucking solid.
"we have come here tonite to bring this to a conclusion!" He shouted, just as a backbeat began coming from the right. Then he raised his tommy gun to his shoulder, he pointed at the sky, and began to fire!
Rounds spilled out in staccato, an amazing snare-drum rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat that lasted far longer than anyone in the crowd could have believed. In fact, it was still going after everyone in the crowd believed such a weapon was done firing its projectiles moments before. Friday looked back to the people from each group who had moved forward to admire his weapon.
"Just blanks." He said, taking the smoking barrel of tommy-gun down from his shoulder, and dropped the weapon at his feet.
"Shootin' real slugs is dangerous!"
As the audience had been blasted by the staccato sound of his gun, it took a few moments for them to realize the battling beats behind them had coalesced into a perfect mesh of driving force, and accents that revealed skilled DJ's, who had fought each other, and reached an agreement.
Behind that, a bass line appeared from nowhere. Tuesday, standing precariously on his angled stand-up-bass ripped a rock-a-billy vibe off his instrument, as Wednesday adjusted a washboard hanging from straps around his shoulders, and began running spoons across it, filling the space between the throbbing drumbeats with a soft scratchy rhythm that was echoed from the right, where maracas and castanet’s kicked in.
From the left came three men armed with microphones blaring the non-subtle, attention-getting words, "YO! YO YO!" Then one man came to the forefront, who exploded,
"We came to this place to make a mess of this place! And that's why you came too!"
Behind him, from the right, three trumpet players followed the melody of his eighteen words, and brought it into a grove. It swelled up and down and then cut out, only the throbbing beat, and backbeat were heard. Then Monday's guitar cut a swath through the beat. Echoing the best five notes in the repetition of the horn section following the rappers from the left, cut up a razor groove, where then the rappers blasted in perfect sychopation with each other.
"It's true it's hard!"
"It's true it's bad!"
"it's true it's never gonna be right!"
And just then a DJ (impossible to tell which side decides to kill this at the moment) just kicked in with a sample from the Prodigy song "smack my bitch up" at the bridge, where the woman is singing her gorgeous part, and everyone is transfixt. Like, even the guys running the beat, and backbeat, and percussion are shocked that something like this can be run over their their work.
Thursday waits until the sample of the woman has played out, then repeats the performance, only in trumpet form...a solid backbeat with one of the best, and most powerful melodies ever written, only repeated with tender skill and power forced through a fjucking trumpet. The crowds gathered are weeping even before he rips further emotions from them.
Then Friday reaches into his overcoat, and pulls out a small case. He cracks is open, and sets a Honer harmonica between his teeth, then from his other pocket on his left hand-side pulls a mic, and begins to echo the strains. It's sheer beauty, and it's sheer madness. It's a fucking harmonica.
Those from one side and the other are overwhelmed. There's just too much grove going on to stop. The trumpets kick in, along with another shot of chest-crunching bass, and Monday's shearing guitar...which has been joined by axe-players from both sides, combining only the best of notes and the best of space between them.
Friday took the harmonica from between his lips, and held the mic close to his face.
"I came here tonite to prove a point." He said in perfect time to the beat.
"And that point will not be denied!"
*the beat continues*
The trumpets kicked in to emphasize the moment. Then the rappers reiterated, echoing in unison, like the trainers of Ali.
"That point will not be denied! Fourteen things you gots a problem with, and ten solutions...
The mob gathered was stupid, following like a dog on a leash. They yelled back as loud as they could in agreement!
"We're stronger together!" Friday yells over the beat, "Than we ever could be alone!!"
The rest of the shit that happens is not worth my time to describe.
Happy Mothafjuckin' Friday!
Let me welcome everybody to the wild wild west, a state that's untouchable like Elliot Ness. The track hits your eardrum like a slug to your chest.
Friday wore a long trench coat, and a fedora, and he carried what looked like a violin case under the crook his arm. Fanning out behind him in a pyramid formation were the assembled weekdays, dressed in suitable attire. They all carried black cases too. Monday had the handle of a guitar case in his left hand, and his eyes sent out waves of malice. Tuesday held over his shoulder the huge case of a stand up bass like it was a rocket-launcher. Wednesday, his suit and overcoat ill-fitting over his hunchback, carried a flat black suitcase and was constantly looking behind the crew. Thursday carried a square trumpet case, and looked at ease in a flashy black suit with a white tie (and black tie-clip), and when his overcoat blew back in the breeze revealed a square folded handkerchief in his breast pocket.
They walked until a driveway off the street crossed their path, and carried a dark river of asphalt up into darkness, into the park. There, two lamp posts lit the entrance - an open gate between an unscaleable fence that guarded the park. Against the left pole leaned a black man, dressed in black Nike shoes, black baggy pants, and a black hoodie which didn't quite cover the white L.A. stitched on a black baseball cap. He eyed the weekdays with barely concealed contempt.
Let me serinade the streets of L.A., from Oakland to Sac-town, the Bay area and back-down, Cali is where they put the mack down Give Me Love!
Friday and the weekdays pulled to a stop, noticing a Latino leaning up against the other pole. He was thick, young, and full of tough. He wore khaki brown boots, loose-fitting blue jeans, and a red hoodie, that likewise couldn't cover the white L.A. logo stitched on his red baseball cap. He flicked things out of his fingernails with a switchblade knife, and looked over at the gang of pulled up weekdays.
"You're late." He said.
"Word." The black man in black clothes responded.
"Traffic." Thursday responded without hostility, and a slight shrug.
"Ss'Aiite." Said the man in the black cap. "Still gots an hour to do dis."
The Latino in the red cap folded his knife and put it back into his pocket. He stared at the weekdays, but with a touch of irony said,
"Word."
He peeled himself off the lamp post, and walked up the road. The man in black turned his back on them and followed.
"Are you sure we should do this?" Said Tuesday.
"Well fuck, we came this far..." Wednesday responded.
Monday spoke with a hard edge...
"Only live once. And by Gjod..." His tone changed to something more friendly, "in it, is a lifetime of mistakes. C'mon."
He walked forward, and reached Friday's shoulder as he started moving too, not about to loose his place as the leader.
"Are you sure about this?" Monday asked Friday as they walked up the hill, following their black-and-red clad guides.
"Sure as shit." Friday spoke. "We're armed to the teeth. It'll get ugly, but there's nothing saying we can't hold our own like we always do."
With his free hand he opened a chrome cigarette case, slipped out a smoke, stuck it in his mouth, folded the case closed, slipped it back in his pocket, and produced a lighter which, in a brief moment of windless dark, he struck to life. It lit the cigarette with a bright light-blue flame blown back towards him in the breeze his motion produced. He drew a drag, and blew it out of his lungs.
In less than the time it took for Friday to finish his smoke, they had walked between trees and walked up a staircase, still following their guides. The formation of five weekdays had slowly gained a crowded following behind them, as people emerged from the darkened park in an ominous mob that began to follow them. Wednesday looked occasionally and tried to bring it up to the group.
"There's a few people behind us." He said at first. No one cared enough to respond. "There's about a hundred people behind us." He said next. Not one other weekday looked back. "There's about a thousand people behind us." Was the next thing out of his mouth. Not one other Weekday looked back. Monday responded.
"Wedneday," He said, "Shut up."
Deep in the park with a mob behind them the five weekdays followed the road till it came to a small outlet, where a small bowl-shaped depression peeled off to the right. There, a number of people gathered in two large groups. Words were hurled like weapons between them.
"I was busy fucking your mom in the ass last night!"
"What the fuck did you just say?!"
"It sounds like you have a cock in your mouth!"
"Yeah, your mom's cock!"
The two men they had been following, split off, to the left, the man with the black cap, to the right, the man with the red.
"Shut this shit down." The black man with the black cap said. "You know it's crap, and it's about to get serious!"
The Latino in the red cap replied in kind to his mob.
"Get your shit together!" He threw his arms out on a glorious display of bravado to his mob of people. "We're gonna' do this!" He threw his arms down as emphasis as he shouted, "Right now!"
Friday set down the violin case, and cracked it open. Inside were the component pieces of a tommy-gun. He began to remove the stock, and the barrel, which he affixed together, then he grabbed the wooden barrel handle, set that in it's place. He looked back at the assorted weekdays.
"You guys ready?" He asked hopefully.
"Fuck yeah Friday." Said Monday. The others nodded in agreement.
As Friday placed the firing pin into the barrel, members of both groups on their left and right moved forward to see what he was doing. As they moved forward, those behind them in the two mobs began to fiddle with cases, their jackets, and then, two trailers of searchlights kicked on lighting the scene with un gjodly light. Thousands of spectators had gathered around the shallow bowl where they were gathered.
"That is so fucking cool." Said a member of the black-clad mob, looking at Friday's tommy-gun.
"Mang..." A member of the red-clad crew said. "Word."
Friday put his weapon to his shoulder, and grabbed the cylindrical magazine out of the case, and fitted it to his weapon.
There was a moment of silence, which spilled out around him like a wave, and with the searchlights, everyone was riveted. Behind him, the weekdays frantically opened cases, and tried to get themselves getting ready for the battle about to begin.
"I've come here to make a point! That point will not be denied!"
Friday yelled.
From his left, the sound of a bass beat began. It was thick, and heavy, and fucking solid.
"we have come here tonite to bring this to a conclusion!" He shouted, just as a backbeat began coming from the right. Then he raised his tommy gun to his shoulder, he pointed at the sky, and began to fire!
Rounds spilled out in staccato, an amazing snare-drum rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat that lasted far longer than anyone in the crowd could have believed. In fact, it was still going after everyone in the crowd believed such a weapon was done firing its projectiles moments before. Friday looked back to the people from each group who had moved forward to admire his weapon.
"Just blanks." He said, taking the smoking barrel of tommy-gun down from his shoulder, and dropped the weapon at his feet.
"Shootin' real slugs is dangerous!"
As the audience had been blasted by the staccato sound of his gun, it took a few moments for them to realize the battling beats behind them had coalesced into a perfect mesh of driving force, and accents that revealed skilled DJ's, who had fought each other, and reached an agreement.
Behind that, a bass line appeared from nowhere. Tuesday, standing precariously on his angled stand-up-bass ripped a rock-a-billy vibe off his instrument, as Wednesday adjusted a washboard hanging from straps around his shoulders, and began running spoons across it, filling the space between the throbbing drumbeats with a soft scratchy rhythm that was echoed from the right, where maracas and castanet’s kicked in.
From the left came three men armed with microphones blaring the non-subtle, attention-getting words, "YO! YO YO!" Then one man came to the forefront, who exploded,
"We came to this place to make a mess of this place! And that's why you came too!"
Behind him, from the right, three trumpet players followed the melody of his eighteen words, and brought it into a grove. It swelled up and down and then cut out, only the throbbing beat, and backbeat were heard. Then Monday's guitar cut a swath through the beat. Echoing the best five notes in the repetition of the horn section following the rappers from the left, cut up a razor groove, where then the rappers blasted in perfect sychopation with each other.
"It's true it's hard!"
"It's true it's bad!"
"it's true it's never gonna be right!"
And just then a DJ (impossible to tell which side decides to kill this at the moment) just kicked in with a sample from the Prodigy song "smack my bitch up" at the bridge, where the woman is singing her gorgeous part, and everyone is transfixt. Like, even the guys running the beat, and backbeat, and percussion are shocked that something like this can be run over their their work.
Thursday waits until the sample of the woman has played out, then repeats the performance, only in trumpet form...a solid backbeat with one of the best, and most powerful melodies ever written, only repeated with tender skill and power forced through a fjucking trumpet. The crowds gathered are weeping even before he rips further emotions from them.
Then Friday reaches into his overcoat, and pulls out a small case. He cracks is open, and sets a Honer harmonica between his teeth, then from his other pocket on his left hand-side pulls a mic, and begins to echo the strains. It's sheer beauty, and it's sheer madness. It's a fucking harmonica.
Those from one side and the other are overwhelmed. There's just too much grove going on to stop. The trumpets kick in, along with another shot of chest-crunching bass, and Monday's shearing guitar...which has been joined by axe-players from both sides, combining only the best of notes and the best of space between them.
Friday took the harmonica from between his lips, and held the mic close to his face.
"I came here tonite to prove a point." He said in perfect time to the beat.
"And that point will not be denied!"
*the beat continues*
The trumpets kicked in to emphasize the moment. Then the rappers reiterated, echoing in unison, like the trainers of Ali.
"That point will not be denied! Fourteen things you gots a problem with, and ten solutions...
The mob gathered was stupid, following like a dog on a leash. They yelled back as loud as they could in agreement!
"We're stronger together!" Friday yells over the beat, "Than we ever could be alone!!"
The rest of the shit that happens is not worth my time to describe.
Happy Mothafjuckin' Friday!
Thursday, February 14, 2008
The American Way
So lotsa' things is hapnin' down at Casa Aloha H.Q., that's been bringin' the noise. But I was gifted this, which I have'ta put up. Since it pretty much doevtails into my last post. This is what I remember America being.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
2-12-08-888. My Fellow American Fjordlings!
So I'm followin' the news about the FISA Bill which just passed the Senate with a 68-29 vote. This Bill (which has not passed the House, which has a difficult chance as the House Bill is much, much better) applies a blanket immunity to telecommunications companies for previously spying on everyone in the USA, and we won't even get to find out what they did...or who told them to do what, which also convieniantly insulates the Bush administration from any investigation into their own wrongdoing.
This means that 68 fjucking Senators of the U.S. of A decided that spying on you without a warrant was just fine, and in fact, even when they did spy on you before it was fine, is pretty okey too. Jeebus Christo! I'm as aware as anyone that fjuckling hi-skool Civics class was as much indoctrination as it was information. However, there were a few things I took to heart about our fair nation.
1) No man is above the law.
(Which means even the President of the US is held to the same standards as the lowest of citizens.)
2)Ignorance of the law is no excuse.
(Which means if you broke a law and didn't know you were breaking the law at the time, does not excuse you from punishment for breaking the law.)
It appears 68 elected Senators didn't get the same Civics class that I did, and it pisses me off!
I was thinking about a post in regards to the Presidential elections titled, "I'm Voting For Superman!" Which would have read something like,
"The reason I'm voting for Superman is because he stands for Truth, Justice, And the American Way! And those are three things I haven't seen for a while."
I'm not writing that post today, or any day apparently, as 68 elected representitives in the highest legislative branch in the United States of America, clearly have a different opinion of what "The American Way" is, and it fjucking sickens me.
I used to think the American Way was a good thing...sadly, I wonder now, if it ever was.
-Tusnami-
This means that 68 fjucking Senators of the U.S. of A decided that spying on you without a warrant was just fine, and in fact, even when they did spy on you before it was fine, is pretty okey too. Jeebus Christo! I'm as aware as anyone that fjuckling hi-skool Civics class was as much indoctrination as it was information. However, there were a few things I took to heart about our fair nation.
1) No man is above the law.
(Which means even the President of the US is held to the same standards as the lowest of citizens.)
2)Ignorance of the law is no excuse.
(Which means if you broke a law and didn't know you were breaking the law at the time, does not excuse you from punishment for breaking the law.)
It appears 68 elected Senators didn't get the same Civics class that I did, and it pisses me off!
I was thinking about a post in regards to the Presidential elections titled, "I'm Voting For Superman!" Which would have read something like,
"The reason I'm voting for Superman is because he stands for Truth, Justice, And the American Way! And those are three things I haven't seen for a while."
I'm not writing that post today, or any day apparently, as 68 elected representitives in the highest legislative branch in the United States of America, clearly have a different opinion of what "The American Way" is, and it fjucking sickens me.
I used to think the American Way was a good thing...sadly, I wonder now, if it ever was.
-Tusnami-
Monday, February 11, 2008
A little linkey?
DEATHBOT!!!
Then there's this super-duper microscope. Altho it's a full football field in size, from their actual home website, it doesn't seem like it's doing much of anything that's super-duper cool. Sad really.
Some Fujcking cool photos.
and mebby...a little about "the evil eye!"
Finally, this place is good for a lot of interesting tidbits.
Then there's this super-duper microscope. Altho it's a full football field in size, from their actual home website, it doesn't seem like it's doing much of anything that's super-duper cool. Sad really.
Some Fujcking cool photos.
and mebby...a little about "the evil eye!"
Finally, this place is good for a lot of interesting tidbits.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
A few brief statements from Yer Pal Tsunami
1)When you're here, you're not somewhere else.
2)Just because they haven't, doesn't mean they won't.
3)The very least you can do is nothing.
4)I believe cats and dogs are very, very smart. Back in the depths of history (or pre-history, I should say) they realized that humans were evolutionally superior, smarter, and stronger than any other species, so they allowed themselves to be domesticated. They traded their particular skills (cats-lethal hunters of small creatures and vermin, and dogs-their super heightened senses of hearing and smell, along with powerful jaws and loyalty that can reach fearlessness) for free food, and safety, knowing we would no longer be in competition as a direct threat to their survival. Now if, as I believe, humans one day leave this planet, and venture deep into space, cats and dogs will come with us, and thus ensure their survival and spread across the universe.
"Why?" You of course ask, of this preposterous hypothesis.
Well, when we go, we undoubtedly are going to bring stow-a-ways, mice, rats, roaches (I have a sneaky suspicion that there are a few "guests" on the International Space Station as we speak) which are the kind of things cats are super good at catching. Now, besides the fact that a dog was actually the first mammal humans shot into space (with sort-of bad results for the beast as I recall) once we get to a place where there is already life hanging out, ready to eat the fuck out of our intrepid explorers/colonists, we are going to need a hyper-aware sentry, or watchdog, if you will. A sentry that won't break down like an alarm system when the power goes out, or malfunctions occasionally like a smoke detector. And also a sentry that would alert us, then attack/distract a hostile alien until we wake up, throw on slippers, and grab a weapon big enough to shoot the thing to death.
5)I am not a cat guy at all, but I have made the aquaintence of a few really super cool cats.
6)I'm a bad speller, and it seems as tho thru some "upgrade" blogger's spellcheck stopped working. I apologize for words posted that are incorrectly spelled for the last week or so.
That is all.
-Tsunami-
2)Just because they haven't, doesn't mean they won't.
3)The very least you can do is nothing.
4)I believe cats and dogs are very, very smart. Back in the depths of history (or pre-history, I should say) they realized that humans were evolutionally superior, smarter, and stronger than any other species, so they allowed themselves to be domesticated. They traded their particular skills (cats-lethal hunters of small creatures and vermin, and dogs-their super heightened senses of hearing and smell, along with powerful jaws and loyalty that can reach fearlessness) for free food, and safety, knowing we would no longer be in competition as a direct threat to their survival. Now if, as I believe, humans one day leave this planet, and venture deep into space, cats and dogs will come with us, and thus ensure their survival and spread across the universe.
"Why?" You of course ask, of this preposterous hypothesis.
Well, when we go, we undoubtedly are going to bring stow-a-ways, mice, rats, roaches (I have a sneaky suspicion that there are a few "guests" on the International Space Station as we speak) which are the kind of things cats are super good at catching. Now, besides the fact that a dog was actually the first mammal humans shot into space (with sort-of bad results for the beast as I recall) once we get to a place where there is already life hanging out, ready to eat the fuck out of our intrepid explorers/colonists, we are going to need a hyper-aware sentry, or watchdog, if you will. A sentry that won't break down like an alarm system when the power goes out, or malfunctions occasionally like a smoke detector. And also a sentry that would alert us, then attack/distract a hostile alien until we wake up, throw on slippers, and grab a weapon big enough to shoot the thing to death.
5)I am not a cat guy at all, but I have made the aquaintence of a few really super cool cats.
6)I'm a bad speller, and it seems as tho thru some "upgrade" blogger's spellcheck stopped working. I apologize for words posted that are incorrectly spelled for the last week or so.
That is all.
-Tsunami-
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
884
I just wanted to throw something up today.
Well, that's not quite true, I wanted to throw something up that would be penetrating, insightful, hilarious, and smart...all at the same time, without devaluing you as a single tick on my hit counter. I wanted to raise themes that transcend culture and values and nationality, and tie all humanity together in one unified chunk of text, that would bring tears to your eyes, and make you tap the dink in the next cube and go, "Hey, you should read this."
But, I got problems, and a lot of stuff to get done before the month gets much older, and I really can't reassure myself that I'm even capable of the first adverb on my list. So instead, I'll just throw this up, since I've loved it since I've seen it...and it appears the gods of the youtubes are fine with it being here.
Well, that's not quite true, I wanted to throw something up that would be penetrating, insightful, hilarious, and smart...all at the same time, without devaluing you as a single tick on my hit counter. I wanted to raise themes that transcend culture and values and nationality, and tie all humanity together in one unified chunk of text, that would bring tears to your eyes, and make you tap the dink in the next cube and go, "Hey, you should read this."
But, I got problems, and a lot of stuff to get done before the month gets much older, and I really can't reassure myself that I'm even capable of the first adverb on my list. So instead, I'll just throw this up, since I've loved it since I've seen it...and it appears the gods of the youtubes are fine with it being here.
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
SUPER FAT TUESDAY!
(They've also been calling it Tsunami Tuesday...which I really didn't grab ahold of until right now. Kickass! And now...back to the show...)
Tuesday was supersized! Tuesday was PHAT! Tuesday was in a 50's tuxedo, and his neck was draped with so many leis, and cheap necklace beads that Flava-Flave would be madly jealous. There was a strange scent in the air, vaugely like the air before it rains, only more electric.
Monday was there making an appearance. Nobody held it against him that he was sullen. After all, he was not only Monday, but also had just suffered the indignity of being a regular old hated Monday between Super Sunday, and Super Fat Tuesday. He held onto his drink like a life preserver.
Wednesday was there, hanging onto a telephone pole as a vixen dressed in what can only be described as a "super sexy election volunteer" costume ran a ballot repeatedly over his hump. A giant float passed slowly behind them in the street, where a thick-waisted gentleman was dressed as Baccus, trying to look like he was enjoying drinking wine from a cornocopia, and throwing trinkets to whoever noticed him.
Thursday was chatting with a Japanese businessman who was standing by the gates to the church that was the local polling place. Overheard were his words, "I thought he said - I'm going to the boat!"
Even Friday was there, working his way through the throng of press, women, hangers-on and assorted merrymakers.
"Friday!" Tuseday shouted with a slight slur, "Glad you could make it!"
"Wouldn't miss it for the world, Super Fat Tuesday. Say, looks like you gained a few pounds!"
"A few!" Tuseday laughed and smacked his gut. "Try fifty! I just hope after today I can take it off!" Around them the crowd laughed too. A float with numerous mermaids glided quietly behind them, following the wake of Baccus.
"Tuseday! Tuseday! a man in a fedora shouted. In the headband of the hat was stuck a piece of white paper with the word "Press" written on it. He shouted again. "Tuseday! Any predictions before the results are in?"
"YES!" Tuseday bellowed. "I predict, more rain this year!" The crowd roared! "I predict," he continued, "more jellyfish attacks," The crowd cheered less strongly, looking at each other. "I predict," Tuesday plowed on, "There will be no ice-cream sandwich shortage this year!" The crowd roared again, "And I predict a glorious night will be had by ALL!" The crowd broke into complete meyham. Glasses were emptied, strangers kissed and groped each other passionately! Just then a float carrying Venus trundled past, and the whole crowd swarmed it, jumping up, and finding precarious seats and handholds. The weekdays were swept up and found themselves riding slowly down the street, surrounded by throngs of people.
Tuseday, as chance had placed him in just the right spot, recieved the most passionate kiss from the goddess of the float, surrounded by nymphs and weekdays, and a mob of humanity. He pulled himself away from her delicious lips as the pressman shouted at the slowly dissapearing float of revelry.
"I ment about the elections...the president!"
Tuesday grabbed onto a trellace covered in beautiful roses, and swung himself off of Venus to look back at the receeding newspaperman.
"I PREDICT," he shouted, "THE FIRST CANDIDATE TO OFFER A FREE MONKEY WILL GET MY VOTE!"
"A MONKEY?!!" The newspaperman shouted back.
"YEAH, AND IT BETTER BE TRAINED TO DO LAUNDRY!"
The crowd exploded! People kissed, threw hats, and shirts and pants! Unspeakable acts of debauchery happened spontaneously afterwards. Then, like a dream, someone somewhere began to chant...
"Free Monkey!"
And more people took up the chant.
"FREE MONKEY!"
Suddenly moving slowly down the street was the float of Venus, covered like a chia-pet with half-naked humans, shaking their fists in unison, along with a likewise half-disrobed mob walking around and behind it, all yelling in perfect unison,
"FREE MONKEY!...FREE MONKEY!...FREE MONKEY!" The chant was taken up by spectators on balconys, people ran from their houses to join the procession until it reached blocks behind the float. Windows rattled with the synchronous voices yelling for a free monkey.
***
CUT TO: The Next County
An old man and an old woman sit on rocking-chairs on a rickety porch. The sound of "Free Monkey" drifts over the swamp and grove of trees.
Old Man: Do my ears decieve me, or do I hear someone calling for a free monkey?
Old Woman: Free Monkey would be nice, what with my bunions and all, 'specially if it could do the laundry.
Old Man: Guess that's where my vote goes then.
(the woman looks deeply into his eyes. He notices and looks back)
CUT TO: Their hands clasping
***
CUT TO: The Shouting Mob Around The Float of Venus
Friday has worked his way through the mass of humanity on the float, and stands next to Tuesday. He speaks in between defening shouts of "FREE MONKEY!" to say,
"I think I really like Super Fat Tuesday!"
"Yeah, me too." Tuesday says back, but has a knowing look.
"No. I mean, no, really." Friday looks at Tuesday knowingly. "This is all you."
"Okay." Tuesday says with a smile.
"Happy Super Fat Tuesday!" He shouts, grabs a handfull of rose-petals and throws them high above the chanting crowd.
Tuesday was supersized! Tuesday was PHAT! Tuesday was in a 50's tuxedo, and his neck was draped with so many leis, and cheap necklace beads that Flava-Flave would be madly jealous. There was a strange scent in the air, vaugely like the air before it rains, only more electric.
Monday was there making an appearance. Nobody held it against him that he was sullen. After all, he was not only Monday, but also had just suffered the indignity of being a regular old hated Monday between Super Sunday, and Super Fat Tuesday. He held onto his drink like a life preserver.
Wednesday was there, hanging onto a telephone pole as a vixen dressed in what can only be described as a "super sexy election volunteer" costume ran a ballot repeatedly over his hump. A giant float passed slowly behind them in the street, where a thick-waisted gentleman was dressed as Baccus, trying to look like he was enjoying drinking wine from a cornocopia, and throwing trinkets to whoever noticed him.
Thursday was chatting with a Japanese businessman who was standing by the gates to the church that was the local polling place. Overheard were his words, "I thought he said - I'm going to the boat!"
Even Friday was there, working his way through the throng of press, women, hangers-on and assorted merrymakers.
"Friday!" Tuseday shouted with a slight slur, "Glad you could make it!"
"Wouldn't miss it for the world, Super Fat Tuesday. Say, looks like you gained a few pounds!"
"A few!" Tuseday laughed and smacked his gut. "Try fifty! I just hope after today I can take it off!" Around them the crowd laughed too. A float with numerous mermaids glided quietly behind them, following the wake of Baccus.
"Tuseday! Tuseday! a man in a fedora shouted. In the headband of the hat was stuck a piece of white paper with the word "Press" written on it. He shouted again. "Tuseday! Any predictions before the results are in?"
"YES!" Tuseday bellowed. "I predict, more rain this year!" The crowd roared! "I predict," he continued, "more jellyfish attacks," The crowd cheered less strongly, looking at each other. "I predict," Tuesday plowed on, "There will be no ice-cream sandwich shortage this year!" The crowd roared again, "And I predict a glorious night will be had by ALL!" The crowd broke into complete meyham. Glasses were emptied, strangers kissed and groped each other passionately! Just then a float carrying Venus trundled past, and the whole crowd swarmed it, jumping up, and finding precarious seats and handholds. The weekdays were swept up and found themselves riding slowly down the street, surrounded by throngs of people.
Tuseday, as chance had placed him in just the right spot, recieved the most passionate kiss from the goddess of the float, surrounded by nymphs and weekdays, and a mob of humanity. He pulled himself away from her delicious lips as the pressman shouted at the slowly dissapearing float of revelry.
"I ment about the elections...the president!"
Tuesday grabbed onto a trellace covered in beautiful roses, and swung himself off of Venus to look back at the receeding newspaperman.
"I PREDICT," he shouted, "THE FIRST CANDIDATE TO OFFER A FREE MONKEY WILL GET MY VOTE!"
"A MONKEY?!!" The newspaperman shouted back.
"YEAH, AND IT BETTER BE TRAINED TO DO LAUNDRY!"
The crowd exploded! People kissed, threw hats, and shirts and pants! Unspeakable acts of debauchery happened spontaneously afterwards. Then, like a dream, someone somewhere began to chant...
"Free Monkey!"
And more people took up the chant.
"FREE MONKEY!"
Suddenly moving slowly down the street was the float of Venus, covered like a chia-pet with half-naked humans, shaking their fists in unison, along with a likewise half-disrobed mob walking around and behind it, all yelling in perfect unison,
"FREE MONKEY!...FREE MONKEY!...FREE MONKEY!" The chant was taken up by spectators on balconys, people ran from their houses to join the procession until it reached blocks behind the float. Windows rattled with the synchronous voices yelling for a free monkey.
***
CUT TO: The Next County
An old man and an old woman sit on rocking-chairs on a rickety porch. The sound of "Free Monkey" drifts over the swamp and grove of trees.
Old Man: Do my ears decieve me, or do I hear someone calling for a free monkey?
Old Woman: Free Monkey would be nice, what with my bunions and all, 'specially if it could do the laundry.
Old Man: Guess that's where my vote goes then.
(the woman looks deeply into his eyes. He notices and looks back)
CUT TO: Their hands clasping
***
CUT TO: The Shouting Mob Around The Float of Venus
Friday has worked his way through the mass of humanity on the float, and stands next to Tuesday. He speaks in between defening shouts of "FREE MONKEY!" to say,
"I think I really like Super Fat Tuesday!"
"Yeah, me too." Tuesday says back, but has a knowing look.
"No. I mean, no, really." Friday looks at Tuesday knowingly. "This is all you."
"Okay." Tuesday says with a smile.
"Happy Super Fat Tuesday!" He shouts, grabs a handfull of rose-petals and throws them high above the chanting crowd.
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