on friday afternoon somewhere in the midst of four forty five and five oh clock, i roll the windows down and blast guns and fucking roses on the drive home from work. its loud as shit, and all the little soccer moms and vice ceo's in their nazi sleds give me funny looks every time i pass in the right lane doing just a little over double the speed limit. they squint and crane around tan leather flip down sun visors, but all i see through dark tinted shades is an open road and a couple days off. ive never been scared of looking at the sun, but when youre behind the wheel its necessary to focus on whats important. this car is five and a half years of paper bags and clean ups on aisle six. the apartment to which i am driving home is eighty hours of making moves wearing a headset and a smile. this suit doesnt belong to me, it has some italian guys name on the inside. all i can do to promise i will try not to spill beer on it tonight.

somewhere in between west tyvola and fairview i come to the realization that this is my life, and that ive earned every inch of it. ive worked my ass off just for this day, this single, sweaty, end of summer night and million more coming up just beyond the sunset. worked, just for this cush job, for this cush city, for these cush ladies and for this cush money. i walk into places and say things like keep the change and gimme that on the wall without a second thought anymore. imagine me doing that two years ago and you might hurt your brain.

if that doesnt work, try to figure out why your girlfriend is getting in a cab with me. oh i think they like me, better yet i know. its lights camera action when i walk though the door. hell, even the girl who cuts my hair cant keep her hands off me. lets just say that she cuts my hair for free now. on the side, if you will.

somewhere in between when we were younger and where we are now, you wonder how things would turn out, how the real world would be, how living life would actually feel. now i never slang crack rock or had a wicked jump shot but this, this, i have to say, feels pretty damn good.

cant sleep. must blog. a ten minute freestyle post in two verses.

readysetgo.

I.

clothing designers have a lot in common with gun manufacturers. yeah, i said it. tshirts and tech nines, if you will. it makes perfect sense. because either product can be used correctly or incorrectly, and people usually dont know the difference until someone gets hurt.

for example, smith and wesson wants as many people to buy as many guns as possible from them. at the end of the day, neither smith nor wesson gives two shits what those people do with those guns. the company will always claim ignorance and deny deny deny responsibility for any wrongdoing til the day they die. plausible in some cases, beyond a reasonable doubt in others.

II.

designers and other rulers of the fashion world hold the exact same position. lacoste claims no responsibility to the completely idiotic use of their idiotic embroidered animal logo. go ahead, misguided fourteen year old frat boy imposter, wear your hundred dollar pastel polo shirt with the dirtiest underwear length shorts you can find. throw your collar up. throw your croakies and let em fight with the collar, even though you never take your sunglasses off. the saddest part of this tragic opera is that big fashion rakes in their dollars while racking up their victims.

when pressed, both industries will hide behind the bill of rights. incorrectly, of course. the second amendment is prefaced by the phrase "a well armed militia, being necessary to the defense of the nation..." well, i dont know where you have been for the last hundred years, charlton heston, but a well armed unorganized, untrained domestic force of citizens is no longer necessary to the defense of the nation. consider your amendment null and void and, on another note, just cuz you made a movie about ancient times doesnt mean you have to live in them.
fashion victims will cite the first amendment's provisions for freedom of expression as their right to fund the unending river of high fashion blood money. this too is a bastardization of our Constitution. choosing clothing without the least bit of understanding or thought of what is 'stylish' or what is 'fashionable,' or the complete lack of creative contribution to these concepts disqualify the fashion victim's selections as ideas or theories or thought that could be protected. what you, the fashion victim, "express" in your clothing falls somewhere between headbutting a beach at high tide and screaming fire in a crowded movie theater.

strange bedfellows indeed.

one year ago i got a letter back:

dear mr mobert danger jones,

i want you back. i dont want you to leave yet. id be a shame, after all those years, that things would have to end like this. i dont want to do the just few months a year only when you feel like it routine anymore. it does get old after a while, you know.

you the only one who ever understood me, who ever gave me the proper props. you always wrote about how everyone back in high school took me for granted and you were right. all the kids would sit by the pool and get tan and run around and try to be as crazy as they could be for three whole months out of the year and not once did they ever realize that their best years would be soon behind them and that i would be gone sooner then they thought.

people only miss me when theyre forty and stuck in a cubicle somewhere and daydreaming cuz they are bored. i heard theres a scientific term for it. i think its called computer screen depressive epilepsy, or something like that. but, you miss me even when im still here for you, and i can never thank you enough for that.

im the perfect companion. im warm, fun, easy on the eyes. i give you all the time and space in the world and dont ask for anything in return. what more could you want?

hell, throw and egg out on the street and ill fry it for you.

i know you have a job now, mobert, but that doesnt mean its more important than your life or your happiness. the money wont always be there, you know, and who wants to be the richest stiff in the graveyard anyway? i want you to know that no matter what happens, ill always be here for you, whenever you need me. just wait til the months start starting with jay and yoo and thats where youll find me.

love,
summer.

one year ago i wrote a letter:

goodbye summer. i cant hang out with you anymore. its not allowed. i have to be grown up now and work and make money and shit like that. sorry.

job? yes summer i have a job now. if you wanna be so picky about it, it involves used cars and selling them. no, it doesnt pay well and no, i dont care.

yes, i know that you are the fucking shit summer. ive already blogged about that, a whole bunch of times. the only real cure for the aches of the world could only be a few months of you, summer. so many times that the old folks that dont get to hang out with you in june july and august anymore.

to be honest with you, i dont even know what im doing selling cars. ive never done it before, but after i turned in my application, sid's preowned vehickles called me back and said i was hired without so much as an interview or a care in the world. it was kinda weird, but i took it anyway.

i just need some energetic people who really wanna turn it up on sales, sid said. at the staff meeting he and the other managers were jumping up and down and being really silly in the hopes of looking like those energetic salesfolks. they didnt pull it off.

sid called the company goals 'non negotiables.' maybe its me, but that doesnt sound very positive and energetic and shit like that, but hey, ive been working here for two days and theres no way in hell im rocking the boat already. the discount is too damn good.

the job itself shouldnt be that hard though. i would imagine that its a lot like selling jeans or ice cream at the mall. get in the customers face as much as possible and ask open ended questions. at least thats the impression i got from orientation. i guess we'll find out.

so, again, im sorry summer. i have to put in a lot of hours in the next few weeks, so that means we're pretty much over.

goodbye.

greg thinks doing these survey things make him a fifteen year old girl. he is wrong. clearly, he does not have a myspace and doesnt know any better. apparently neither do i.

BASICS

[my full name is]: Mobert Mosephus Danger Jones The Third

[my birthday is]: November Fif

[my age is]: wes miller, but bout to be michael jordan.

[my birthstone is]: something orange i think

[my horoscope is]: Scorpios fucking rule

[my zodiac is]: Scorpio. they fucking rule.

[my grade in school is]: 8th year senior.

[eye color]: Brown

[hair color]: Brown

[height]: bout 5'7 post haircut.

[weight]: thirty seven short.

[in the morning I am]: tired as fuck, but still well dressed.

[marital status]: gods gift to women. hows that.

[all I need is]: hbo

[love is]: all you need.

[if I could see one person right now]: the fine girl at the pool today. shiiiiiit.

[i dream about]: milk and cookies.

[could you live without the computer?]: sophomore year in college, i went for a full two months while my gateway was in the shop. when i moved into my apartment, i pulled another three week stint with no internet. go figure.

[my favorite color is]: Black

[my favorite animal is]: yo momma in the sack.

[my favorite food is]: whatever pops out the foreman grill.

[my favorite fruit is]: apples

[my favorite vegetable is]: lettuce. as in salads.

[what hurts the most? physical pain or emotional pain?]: Emotional

THIS OR THAT

[me/you]: who the fuck are you?

[Coke/Pepsi]: red bull

[day/night]: nocturnal like a damn owl.

[jeans/khakis]: the days of casual pants are over. suit pants + blazer

[car/truck]: cars with big engines and trucks with big rims.

[lunch/dinner]: Dinner

[silver/gold]: platinum duh

HAVE YOU EVER

[pictured your crush naked]: only with a camera.

[actually seen your crush naked]: only in the car.

[had sex]: only on the porch.

[imagined having sex]: only while having sex with another woman.

[been in love]: only wife of mine is a life of crime.

[fallen for your best friend]: nope, keep my enemies too close.

[been rejected]: rejection is for punks.

[rejected someone]: yeah, i just say "you got punked"

[used someone]: only women, but not all women.

[been kissed]: depends where

[been French kissed]: i got a french chick that loves to french kiss

[drank alcohol]: the judge said i shouldnt answer that.

[lied]: only when i talk.

[done something embarrassing]: my lawyer said i shouldnt answer that.

[skipped school]: my parole officer said i shouldnt answer that.

[wished you were someone else]: my mistress said i shouldnt answer that.

WITH THE OPPOSITE SEX

[what do you notice first?]: FBB. go watch alfie and youll know what i mean.

[what's the most you've done with a girl?]: you mean this week?

[what's the most you would do with a girl as of now?]: drink her booze and give her cab fare.

[last person you slow danced with]: my life size princess leia cutout.

[worst thing to say]: "You smell poor." One word: sorority. This wasn't said to me, but just comes to mind when i see "worst thing to say" (seconded, greg)

[tall or short]: short, like about waist height...

[scruffy or clean shaven face]: i want a woman who has to shave more than i do.

[hairy or smooth chest]: two words: areola fur

[eye color]: Any and all.

[hair color]: depends where.

[long or short hair]: again, depends where.

WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON

[you talked to on the phone]: parental unit.

[you hugged]: my life size molly ringwald cut out

[you kissed]: im sorry, i was really drunk. i dont remember her name.

[you instant messaged]: sarah.

[you laughed with]: the entourage from work.

HAVE YOU/ARE YOU/DO YOU

[have a crush on someone]: not sober.

[right/left handed]: right is might.

[smoke]: no, but ive been told my body does.

[obsessive]: nope, just compulsive.

[trust others way too easily]: trust no one.

FIRSTS

[first best friend]: my life size chewbacca cutout.

[first date]: went to see seven years in tibet starring brad pitt.

[first girlfriend]: my life size debbie gibson cutout.

[first kiss]: in the back corner of the snack bar at the skating rink.

[first job]: bagger at lowes foods. pretty soon, i was runnin that shit.

[first screen name]: fuckyoupayme1983

[first self purchased album]: skee lo "i wish." what you know aobut dat?

[first funeral]: brooks' mom.

[first pets]: dog julie.

[first piercing/tattoo]: upper ear in mexico. more coming.

[first enemy]: the kid in gym class that always called me names.

[first big trip]: Korea. news flash everyone: its just Korea. kim jong may have lost his damn mind, but officially, by declaration of the goverment, its just Korea. save all that north/south bullshit for the dakotas.

[first play/musical/performance]: in the shower with a bar of soap when i was eight.

LASTS

[last big car ride]: fifteen hour trip in thirteen hours to miami.

[last kiss]: my life size marilyn monroe cut out.

[last movie seen]: black hawk down.

[last beverage drank]: milk.

[last food consumed]: beef jerky and cheez itz.

[last phone call]: Think I answered this already.

[last shoes worn]: caramel johnson and murphy captoes. (better get yo shoe game up, greg)

[last item bought]: quiznos mesquite chicken sub.

[last soda drank]: red bull

[last ice cream eaten]: starbucks java chip.

[last shirt worn]: navy blue zoo york tee.

[last website visited]: the prosecutor said i shouldnt answer that.

FINAL QUESTIONS

[who has it easier-boys or girls?]: middle aged, married women.

[I want]: an xbox 360, dammit.

[I love]: paris in the springtime.

[I miss]: Carolina.

[I fear]: moths eating my suits.

[I hear]: my car alarm going off. fuck.

[I wonder]: when im gonna get that fixed. hmmmm...