Saturday, July 30, 2011

Dear concerned citizen...

HI THERE! Sir Buzzsaw here! I welcome thee to my brand new domain on the online kingdom of internets! A vast and rich land of grapes and stuff. Please, check me out. Visually. Do you like what you see? Does it "turn you on"? ? ? I bet it does. Not to brag but I have had at least one lesbian tell me she would "go straight" for me. Have you? I didn't think so. Anywho, is here. And it is NOT going away. Also, if you want to sup at my round table, please, be my guest. And I have counted the silverware so don't even think about trying to steal it!

With love, the one and only, Sir Buzzsaw, and please, you can just call me "Sir"! Really, I don't mind at all.

Thursday, July 28, 2011

Work: A little piece of Hell, right in you own back yard!

Jobs. I have had lots of jobs. Official and unofficial. From working on a trash truck with the legendary Bob Verbeek, to the never ending home remodels of Randy "The Beastmaster" Listd and "Uncle Ronny" Rowe. When I worked for Uncle Ronny I also used to drive him to and from court appointments due to the DWI he incurred from driving slowly into a dentist office while sauced. The Beastmaster tended to make me collect vast amounts of grilled cheese sandwiches from the leftovers at the nearby summer camp, which I presume he used as a rudimentary form of insulation or weather proofing. That American "cheese" is one hell of a long lasting product! Work is fun. Or it can be. Often it is just a test of pain tolerance and a masochistic desire to become a "good American" the latter of which I gave up on many years ago.

But if you do get the chance, some of the things I have done on the clock are quite fun, and I highly recommend them. Such as: jumping off the roof of a kitchen into the cardboard collection bin!

One of my first "real" jobs was working as a dishwasher at Sambica summer camp on lake Sammamish in Issaquah WA. My friends Kris, Scott and Eric were all around the same age and we made up the dish washing crew of the small camp kitchen. Aside from exterminating rats by varying means, we had a couple other forms of "entertainment." The first was very simple, and involved tormenting the customers. The door top the restroom led everyone down a sort of outdoor hall right past the dishwasher, which thankfully had a screen window which let in a slight (non-existent) breeze. One day while Eric was operating the sprayer, and I was putting the dishes away, the door opened. As we saw the top of a head move past the screened window, Eric aimed the spray nozzle at the shape and let a blast go. Resulting in what must have seemed like to the customer an accidental shot of water. Of course as they say, you can lead a horse to water but cannot make him drink, unless like me that horse is thirsty as hell and a fast learner. The tradition of spraying paying customers with water was carried on long after Eric left, and I sure hope that I passed it on to all the dishwashers that I trained. So if any of you readers are in a similar situation and have never taken the opportunity to dowse you paying customers in the face with water, you should damn well try.
This cat could be your customer. If their entire body was covered in a soft, silky, delightful fur pelt.
As for jumping off the roof into cardboard boxes, it is fun as hell and I have no time to tell you about it this moment.

See ya, King Buzzsaw the Great (I have decided to increase my already out of control delusions of grandeur every day until my head explodes or the world ends).

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Return of The King!

I decided to call this piece "Return of The King" for several reasons. The first being that I am a huge nerd. If you don't believe me ask me who my favorite harmonica players are and listen for the next hour as I gush about Mickey Raphael, Greg "Fingers" Taylor, James Cotton, Roger Crabtree, Little Walter, Big Walter Horton, Sonny Boy Williamson, Toots Thielman, Kim Wilson, Howlin' Wolf, Sonny Boy Wiliamson II, Grant Dermodee, etc.

Another reason I decided to title it ROTK is because I am in Forks, and this place just might kill me. So I declared myself king, and I am going to make myself a key to the city. In normal situations I would wait until I was given the key, but in Forks it is sink or swim, and I am not waiting. I need to get out of here my friends. In fact, on Friday I am going to go so far as to shave my hair off into a nice summer hair cut and if anyone mentions Twilight to me in a way that is not sarcastic or totally disrespectful (of Twilight) I will punch them in the face. I am OUT!

If you want to understand a bit more about why I have finally snapped. Look at this picture:
This is me as a woman. It is called "stress"!!!
The woman in the picture (who is me) is displaying the externally what I go through internally all day when I am in Forks...

 [I interrupt this piece to tell you that I just overheard the following: "and then he married a lesbian. Who was attracted to men." I am currently in the obscenely difficult to say quickly JT's Sweet Stuffs on the main drag of Forks. I will attempt to find out more about the lesbian, but it seems that they have moved on to talking about ice cream with their kids. Shit. I was VERY curious.]

Anyway, when I am not eavesdropping on ludicrous conversations, I am either getting ogled by Twilighters, talking to the cool oldtimers, or getting called a faggot by future Nobel prize winners in giant trucks. This all happens within minutes. I am on an emotional roller coaster that is unlike anything I have ever heard. And since I am terrible at charging people the amount of money I should, I am quite poor at the same time. At least the guy who was actually in the critically panned Twilight movie made 27 million reasons to make up for his lack of privacy. And I personally doubt that he gets called a fucking queer when he is spotted walking around. He also probably does not have people talking about how they should beat him up when he goes out for a drink. As for me, I take it in stride because I do things like capture on film the rednecks who are harassing me when they stick their genitals inside novelty foam hands and simulate sodomy with their buddies (they had been calling me a faggot all night).

Anyway, the fact of the matter is this. I have gone almost as far down the road as I need to go. The truth is that I have never in my life read a worse series of "books" than the Twilight Saga. I read a lot. In fact I have previously mentioned that not having a TV forced me to read pamphlets when my mom took away the books for bad behavior. So here is what is happening:

After I entertain the ladies of the Older Women's Group (Twilight group) at their prom tomorrow I am shaving off my hair. From that day on I will only speak of Twilight if I am making fun of Stephenie Meyer's crap writing. Of course I still think a lot of the fans are awesome so I will probably leave them alone. But when it comes to those shitty books, I am not holding back. My next entry will be about the overlooked reasons why the Twilight books are worse than garbage.
                                                  Love always, King Barnes of Forks