obfuscated.org

Dear Cashier at the In-N-Out in Barstow,

I’d like to apologize for the incident on Friday. The whole thing was completely unintentional. You really do seem like a nice girl, and I truly hope that I didn’t give you the wrong idea.

You see, I picked up a Marvin Gaye album ("Gold," a double album best-of sort of thing which I couldn’t recommend enough) before my trip to Vegas. It’s been a while since I bought a truly quality album, and I figured that a four hour drive would be as good a time as any to treat myself.

While I was waiting in the drive-through line, "Trouble Man" came on. Now, that’s one of my all time very favorite Marvin Gaye songs. It isn’t my theme song, but sometimes I wish that it was. Needless to say, I’m compelled to turn the stereo up when it comes on. Way up.

I was as surprised as you were that "Let’s Get It On" was the next song on the album. It was the first time I had listened to it, and I simply had no idea that such an easily-recognizable and suggestive song would come blaring top-volume out of my car at the exact moment I pulled up to your window.

The next part I’ll admit was sort of my fault a little bit in a certain way. When you looked back at me with shock and surprise, it probably would have been best for me to turn the music down or off or apologize or something. Ask about the fries, perhaps check in on the availability of extra salt or catsup or whatever, change the drink to a diet. Something along those lines at any rate. I just sort of froze up. It was an awkward situation. Winking at you was the first thing that came to my mind, so I ran with it.

Anyway, thanks for making the burger and what have you happen. I really enjoyed it. You guys make a quality product, and the courteous service really is the icing on the cake. Also, I’m sorry for any sort of misunderstanding regarding the song and the winking and the getting it on. You were a good sport about the whole thing, and I do appreciate that.

Thanks for understanding,

Corey

Dear Vegas,

See you in a few hours!

Yours,

cp

I couldn’t find my copy of Play The Piano Drunk Like A Percussion Instrument Until The Fingers Begin To Bleed A Bit today, so I wasn’t able to post my favorite Bukowski poem earlier on. Lo and behold, it was returned to me just this evening. Without further interruption, I give you Charles Bukowski.

the souls of dead animals

after the slaughterhouse
there was a bar around the corner
and I sat in there
and watched the sun go down
through the window,
a window that overlooked a lot
full of tall dry weeds.

I never showered with the boys at the
plant
after work
so I smelled of sweat and
blood.
the smell of sweat lessens after a
while
but the blood-smell begins to fulminate
and gain power.

I smoked cigarettes and drank beer
until I felt good enough to
board the bus
with the souls of all those dead
animals riding with
me;
heads would turn slightly
women would rise and move away from
me.

when I got off the bus
I only had a block to walk
and one stairway up to my
room
where I’d turn on my radio and
light a cigarette
and nobody minded me
at all.

Dear Bulk Mail Addressed To Current Resident,

No thank you. Seriously, no thank you. Whatever it is you have to sell, odds are that I simply don’t want it. Whatever service it is you have to offer, quite frankly I could do without. I’m sure that you are quite proficient at trimming my trees or steaming my carpets or investing my bonds psychoanalyzing my childhood, but really, I’ve got it covered.

With Love,

Corey

Yesterday was Charles Bukowski’s birthday (which I would have missed if Tony Pierce didn’t point it out). He would have been 85. He was America’s greatest poet despite spending the overwhelming majority of his life drunk at the track. Here’s one of my favorite Bukowski poems:

born to lose I was sitting in my cell and all the guys were tattooed BORN TO LOSE BORN TO DIE all of them were able to roll a cigarette with one hand if I mentioned Wallace Stevens or even Pablo Neruda to them they’d think me crazy. I named my cellmates in my mind: that one was Kafka that one was Dostoevsky that one was Blake that one was Celine and that one was Mickey Spillane. I didn’t like Mickey Spillane. sure enough that night at lights out Mickey and I had a fight over who got the top bunk the way it ended neither of us got the top bunk we both got the hole. after I got out of solitary I made an appointment with the warden. I told him I was a writer a sensitive and gifted soul and that I wanted to work in the library he gave me two more days in the hole. when I got out I worked in the shoe factory. I worked with Van Gogh, Schopenhauer, Dante,   Robert Frost and Karl Marx. they put Spillane in license plates.

Dear Coffee,

Hi! I know we’ve been buds for a long time and you’re one of my best friends and I remember those times when I use to brew up a pot of you every morning and take it in to work because I thought the coffee at home was so much better because they had Starbuck’s coffee at work and I’m some sort of snob and I don’t drink the corporate coffee and I’d put the whole pot in my totally awesome thermos and bring it in to the office and I had a carton of half and half in the fridge and a box of sugar cubes on my desk that my boss brought in because we had this arrangement where I would take care of the half and half and she would take care of the sugar because neither of us really got in to the funny chemical creamers that probably have all sorts of alien technology in them to make them last unrefrigerated for so long and that sort of stuff is really bad for you so I didn’t like to drink it but sometimes I did anyway because I’d be out of half and half and I’m a pansy and I can’t just drink black coffee like a real coffee drinker and sometimes that made me question out friendship and I’d drink Dr. Pepper for a day or two but then I’d miss you and I’d be right back there with a new carton of half and half and the times would be good and I’d polish off the entire pot before lunch and wooooooooooo those were fun days especially when I had a meeting because I’d talk and talk and talk and talk and talk and pace around the room and everybody thought I had so much energy and they didn’t know my little secret that was drinking an entire pot of coffee before lunch and those were good days because you were such a good friend. In spite of all the love and all the good times I sort of think that maybe we shouldn’t be friends any more because I can’t seem to stop talking once I start and I can’t seem to sit still for more than three minutes at a go and I can’t seem to stop vibrating every time I stop moving or typing or walking around or playing foosball and sometimes it’s hard to get to sleep at night because my mind is racing and racing an racing because there’s so much to think about and you sure can get to a lot of it when your brain is moving at seven times the speed of light and you’re supercharged in general by your good pal coffee who maybe isn’t such a good friend anyway and maybe is trying to kill you or at least use you to bore a hole straight through the earth’s crust to some system of caves where the aliens live and are waiting for the opportunity to escape and make us all drink even more coffee because that’s what the aliens want really when you think about it they want us to drink more and more and more and more and more coffee they really do.

So maybe I should stop at three cups today.

Yours,

cp

Dear Ace Tomato Co.,

I would like to apply for a position within your organization as a GLG-20. I have strong people skills, understanding of modern cryptography, and I’ve seen nearly every movie Chevy Chase has ever made. There’s one small problem that I’m sure you can find a way to work around: I’m allergic to ninjas.

I know that you use them extensively in your training program. It’s pretty standard procedure, and really a best practice that I can’t argue with. However, I break out in to the worst hives whenever I’m around them for more than a few minutes. It’s pretty sad, really, because they really can be so much fun (ninjas, not hives).

I believe that a ninja-free training course would likely be sufficient in this day and age. One can be relatively certain that the Soviets haven’t employed ninjas in any capacity for year. Unless you have field operations in Canada (the Canadians are well-known to employ ninjas for all manner of internal security), skipping the ninjas would likely cause no harm.

Thank you for your consideration, and I eagerly look forward to your response.

Sincerely,

Corey Porter

You know those stupid quizzes the that LiveJournal crowd love so well? Yes, I hate them also. Here’s what I got on a recent one:

Woody Allen Your film will be 64% romantic, 39% comedy, 30% complex plot, and a $ 32 million budget.

Be prepared to have your life story shot entirely in New York City – though lately Woody’s been loving shooting in London. Also, your music soundtrack is all jazz from before 1949. Filmography: Annie Hall, Manhattan, Stardust Memories, Everyone Says I Love You, etc. Woody has released one film per year consistently for the past 35 years. For the past 15 years he’s been trying to make films like his older, funnier ones, just like characters in his Stardust Memories film suggest throughout. Regardless of his personal life (btw, his current wife was never his daughter), his films are American classics.

Dear Two Thousand-Year-Old Mummified Corpses,

Hey there. We met today at the Bowers Museum in Santa Ana. I was there with my son (we were on the 11:00 tour) and I just want to say that wow you’re looking great for having been dead over 700 times longer than I’ve been alive. I sure hope I’m holding up as well as you are when museums are schlepping my corps about from exhibit to exhibit in the 41^st century.

So what’s your secret? Is it all about the organ removal? I know you kept your heart for judgement in the afterlife, but don’t you think you should have kept your liver as well? Any afterlife that’s worth the wait is certain to have an open bar; It would be a horrible shame to have to just give the free drinks a miss on account of not having a liver. Do you think I could get by with leaving mine in? Let me know if that’s key to the whole process, though, because I don’t want to screw things up.

I heard that you also pack your body cavity with salt and what have you. Does that really seem like a good idea given that you’re keeping your heart and all? I mean, I don’t want to second guess you. You are the one that’s still looking sharp after 2,000 years of death. I just can’t get over the notion that keeping the heart and surrounding it with all that salt would lead to high blood pressure or something. Isn’t there some sort of salt-free alternative? Maybe you could use some pepper and thyme instead? You mummies really should think about being a little more heart-healthy.

Who did you get to do the work on your sarcophagus? It’s really well done — especially the Eye of Horus you’ve got there. That’s quality stuff. Do you think they’re still working? Maybe you could give me a referral? That would be pretty cool. Do you think they offer some sort of friends and family or frequent-death discount? I’m a sucker for a bargain.

Well, I probably shouldn’t keep you any longer. I know you’ve got a busy schedule — what do you have, four, five tour groups tomorrow? That sounds brutal. Thanks again for all the tips.

With undying gratitude,

Corey

Dear Flock of Feral Parrots Living Outside My House,

Hi. I’m a little embarrassed that we’ve been neighbors for so long and haven’t talked. I’m Corey. I’ve lived here for the last few years — I was here maybe a year and a half or so before you moved in. Anyway, nice to meet you, and a belated welcome to the neighborhood.

I don’t know if you noticed this when you moved in, but this is a pretty quiet part of town. There’s not a lot going on, and honestly I think most of the people here rather like it that way. Sure, we’ve got the odd teen or two who likes to drive 1,000,000 miles an hour down side streets at midnight, but other than that it’s a sleepy, restful sort of a place.

This brings me to you and your constant squawking at 6:30 on Saturday morning. I’m sure things are different where you’re from, but some people around here like to sleep in a little on the weekends. You know, catch up on the shut-eye after a long week? That’s pretty hard to do when you guys are chatting it up at the top of your lungs.

Thanks for taking the time to listen, and I hope we can work this out like good, friendly neighbors. Hope to see you at the BBQ next weekend.

Sincerely,

Corey

PS: While I’m at it, do you think you could KNOCK IT THE HELL OFF WITH THE CRAPPING ON MY CAR???!!???