tweets of old

not to be confused with, or maybe it is…

omg. i should be posting, pasting, whatever.  I can’t stop watching this.

brb, and I’ll give you some wordy shizzles. pai’10’ts.

ok, here it iz:

Tweets of old.

Well, I mean they’re “tweeted” the old way.  I wrote on a piece of paper with a pen, and now I shall transcribe them to you.  Flies b beggin’ fo death.

“Nobody ever called, but I miss being able to tweet. (10/12/2010, 5:55 pm)”

“Watching Amelie.  Can’t tell if I wish I had friends, or if I’m glad I don’t. (Wed, 10/13/2010)”

“(3:33.33 am) Roommates being noisy as fuck.  I love being broke. (Th, 10/14/2010)”

Ok, kickstarter sounds about right. Maybe I’ll work on a script to go beg there.

LazyAssWasteoid is sort of a union of independent contractors.  We have a lot of artists, from landscapers, artisans, architects, and handyfolk to singers and dancers and even a few porn stars.  Look, it’s a legitimate business.  There’s plenty of demand, or don’t you pay any attention to what, ever, has made money online.  The internet is for porn.  That’s not the main focus of what we do here, though.  We’re a self-sustaining intentional community, that we believe can work right along with the current state of the world.  We’re working on a win-win here.  We have plenty of labor, people, producers, and time, on our hands.  What we don’t have is a) a place to go or b) the necessary communication tools.  Frankly, I could set up the necessary infrastructure in a warehouse.  By myself, if necessary.  I don’t think it should be necessary, though, because if this is going to be an open-source beast, your hands-on participation will contribute greatly to the overall understanding of it.

Or, we go the programmer route.  If you want to just give me a small amount of money, enough for me to cover my rent and $10/hr for me and my slave-army/trenchcoat-militia/purr-honna-skool-kidz.  They’ll give themselves titles.  Those are just suggestions.  This is recruitment for them, too.

I can do both concurrently, too.  While y’all are gettin’ the word out on the warehouse/barn/block/project project, I can be ordering my little code switches about in merry little symphonies of finger wizardry.  I am an FDA approved pain reliever.  No, seriously, my brain is, can project healing waves, as can my hands.

One time, while drinking in Eau Claire, I was in the bathroom of my little sister’s favorite bar.  I lived in the college ghetto of the mini apple, as is traditional.  Anywhoozer, these weekend benders were a fantastic little tradition.  College towns like Eau Claire fucking rock.  Why do you think I’m here, asshole?  Anyway, in the bathroom at brothers, long line, I mean, cuz it was Saturday and they had $2 long islands.  I would suck one of those down and be headed for my second before less aggressive drinkers could get their first.  Yeah, I always got to the front of the mosh pit, if I wanted.  Sometimes, even if I didn’t.  Where the fuck was I?  Oh, so I’m waiting for a pisser to open up, and a girl, unable to hold it for the half hour it would have taken had she abided her gender and local regulations, stepped into the “men’s” room and told us she’d be quick.  I don’t know about the other “dudes” present, but when shit like that happens to me, heavenly choirs of angels sing in my brain.  Maybe that’s just me.  At this point, I believe, I noticed that there were no paper towels.  A plan was formulated.  After exiting the bathroom’s single stall, she went to the sink.  Am I gonna?  She washed, realized, I raised my denim-covered thigh.  She looked me in the eye, said “can I, really.”  I nodded, quickly and obviously approvingly.  She went to work.  Quick, gentle, efficient.  She used my pant leg as a towel, and I loved it.  There.  I could hear every guy in the room thinking simultaneously, a) did that just happen b) how? c) why didn’t I think of that?  They were happy, too.  I believe dry-hand girl prolly had her pick of the litter, that night, too.  That, my friends, is a win-win.

Is that porn?  It’s not even like a fetish.  It was just some stranger touching my leg for a few seconds in a drunken need-for-a-towel moment.  She prolly had a boyfriend anyway.  Don’t the pleasant, intelligent, hard-working/hard-fucking ones all have boyfriends.  I believe the proper phrase is, “a chick like that is born with a boyfriend.”  Ah, movie quoted distancers.

Ok, so I just printed the KickStarter FAQ.  I’d almost rather do this independent of an organization.  I am local.  Do we need a local trustee, overseeing board, or whatever?  Oughtn’t they be on the ground, working side-by-side with me and my crew to see that all is implemented as planned.  Wouldn’t they want to be?  And by “they,” I mean people.  Local people.  Neighbors who won’t speak to me because I wear skinny pants and a fierce beard.  And talk about sex.  All the fucking time.  Heh heh heh.  This is a legitimate fucking business.

Look, and if nobody from nobody is interested in any of this, just give me enough money to leave town.  That, frankly, would be fine, too.

Tyler Tavy is considering biking to Madison to join in a jug of wine.

Primary Responsibilities re: VD
Position will consist of a self-selected combination of: scheduling, vetting, sharing, helping, muse, cooking, cleaning, child-rearing, performing, production, distribution, escort, wing, consultant, technician, and grunt.  Pretty much, same as me.  That’s why there have to be a lot of us.  Nobody wants to shoulder this kind of thing all alone.  Look your guess is as good as mine, but it’s here now.  What are we gonna do about it?

What about me attracts flies?  Asks pigpen.

i am an FDA approved pain reliever. turned into:
i AM an ≈∞π approved pain reliever.

the rest is tweet-story.


~ by LazyAssWasteoid on 2010-10-14 (Thursday).

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