RIP Robert Merrill 

Ronan Tynan can't hold a candle to you, Rob.


When I have nothing to say I just need to go to the laundromat. Where there are suds and quarters there are weirdos to describe.

Last time I was confronted by an angry recently released self proclaimed religious muslim brother (oh, coolly cool, aki! You mean "muslim brother" like the brothers that hate me for my blue eyes or muslim brother like the brothers that are lopping heads off the innocent and working feverishly toward uniting the umma under a global caliphate that can put a knee on the neck of the western infidels?). He scolded me for trying to get "all hard" with him when I pulled my hand away from his so that I might reach in my pocket for a Pochahantas coin with which to temporarilly purchase the freedom of my ears and space. I hate getting hit up for change when I'm doing the laundry. Hard to say no when you got a pocket full of quarters.

The most recent trip to the laundry placed me side by side on the bench outside with a Marilyn Manson doppelganger whose black leather portmanteau never left his side. A white cross was emblazened on the coffin-shaped carry all. Apparently i did not stare or pay enough attention to him, so he joined me on the bench and started talking to me while I was on the phone with my sister. It was rude, but my sister was on a tirade about some stupid meeting she had to go to (from what I can tell her presence is rarely, if ever, required at gatherings that are not stupid and useless), but I welcomed the request for a cigarette and handed one over to Marilyn, who seems to have spent more time applying kabuki white face paint, black nail polish and black eyeliner than he spent ironing his Hot Topic goth teen wardrobe. We exchanged niceties as my sister continued to rant and rave about the sutpidity and uselessness of the meeting.

I have been trying to call my siblings more regularly lately, but this sister seems intent on making every call tedious and painful. Telling her to relax and chill spurs more ranting, so I have taken to ignoring the rant and responding with inane uninteresting talk of the progress of the Yankees. This always works. I pretend I'm Dubya and I ignore the preceding comment or question and say things like "Jeter" "Sheffield" or "Nettles" instead of Dubya's catch phrases "hard work," "making progress," or "mixed messages." Then she moves on to another topic or gets off the phone.

When I hung up, Marilyn wanted to inquired as to the reasonableness of my cellphone plan. He actually asked if it was a "reasonable plan." I said I think so, but that I don't really pay attention. Then we had a tedious discussion about cellphone options that made me yearn for my sister's high-pitched useless rants about useless meetings. It is tough to sit their and keep a straight face and discuss cellphone plans with a pierced Geisha powdered freaktar who decided to sit down next to you on a small bench to try you on for size as to how you'll react to him.

If he was a normal looking guy who sat next to me and awkwardly started to force a conversation about cell phone plans I would simply get up and leave the lonely nerd alone. Since this lonely nerd was in make up, I felt I had to stay there for a bit longer and finish out my smoke and wait for that natural lull in the awkward conversation before I walked off to check the progress of my laundry.

I eventually escaped and watched as the elderly lady wathced him speak to the he the girl from Canada about health care in the United States. Apparently, Medicaid won't cover the drugs that fuel his one month of sobriety. I bet if I started yapping at the cutey she would have ignored me figuring I was some creep looking for love in the laundry. But when faced with conversation from somebody who dressed up in a creep costume, she chatted away politely just like me.

I guess the creep you can see is less creepy than the possibility of unseen creepiness or something.

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