Presidential Hootenanny

So I was driving Pico Blvd today and saw some guy riding a mechanical bull outside an old warehouse. I looked a little closer and to my surprise that guy was former President Richard Nixon. So I pull in, take a picture, and yell "Hey Tricky Dick, what's up?"

Apparently there is some annual shindig in LA every year with all the former President's going wild. Nixon said I could go in and that's when things got weird. First thing I saw was America's original sweetheart First Lady Dolly Madison rubbing her booty up on the junk of the Father of the Constitution James Madison.

And then I look to my left and Eisenhower was doing shots with Woodrow Wilson. While on my right I saw George Washington and Thomas Jefferson doing body shots off some woman they met on the bus - they had pregamed heavily and chose to be responsible because they are two responsible dudes being president's and all.

Then I went into the back room and Harry S Truman (The S stands for 'S') was holding a beer bong for Franklin Roosevelt. FDR did three beers without a break - it was sweet.

But then John F. Kennedy decided to one up the New Dealers. So he grabbed Martin Van Buren, Theodore Roosevelt, and Ulysses S Grant (The S stands for Ulysses) for some assistance. They held him up and he did a keg stand. I don't know how much was in it when he started but it was empty when he was done.

Later on I was talking to Andrew Jackson about how much Kentucky sucks. Well Old Hickory was thoroughly inebriated and a little animated which caused our conversation to lead to him getting into a fight with Abraham Lincoln. Honest Abe got in a few good licks, but as this picture shows - Jackson humiliated him.

All in all it was a crazy night. I saw some cool things but there was one image I could not get out of my head. Damn Reagan.

Caveat Venditor Machina

The sun had just crept over the horizon a few hours earlier. As unabashed as a European man in a Speedo - I boldly plunged into the fire that is the law library in late morning of a Saturday. Why might a man of such dignity and self-respect put himself through such self-flagellation that could cause even the most vigilant, wrathful, and hell-bent of deities to recall a plague on mankind? Simply put - I felt like getting some work done before the football game came on and unfortunately being on the West Coast means the game comes on in the early afternoon. Damn you East Coast - damn you to a hell more vile than the stench in a port-a-potty. For you shall pay dearly for the cruelty you put me through - a cruelty that exceeds the torture meted out by Stalin or that of other children on the playground. East Coast, you may win the battle in the field of hip-hop music, but you shall not win the war. I will show you. Today will be moderately productive like a Tuesday or perhaps a Wednesday.

The law library was about as popular as a Justin Guarini concert and as silent as deadly flatulence. In the unbroken silence of the book depository, I was able to quickly and diligently progress through a section of text by Ayres and Speidel like a Monday crossword puzzle. But upon the completion of assigned reading I realized I had been confronted by twin specters more menacing than sandpaper prophylactics - eye strain and carpal tunnel syndrome. Not wanting to succumb to the demons of prolonged computer use, I had to take a break. But given the barren condition of the library my choices were as limited as the reach of a guy with little arm disease. My cell phone was at home, no one was on skype, and I didn't feel like walking very far after having walked all the way to the library from my apartment. I had but one choice (well if there is only one it isn't really a choice; and to describe as the only one would be an exaggeration - the other choices were present but not viable; but I digress) - I had to go to the vending machines and get a soda.

Thus, I packed up my things and ventured down to the vending machines. I opened up my wallet and was surprised to find a one dollar bill as crisp as a leaf in autumn and as flat as a fashion model. It appeared as if luck was on my side but I would soon learn that irony was just building up my hopes to crush them like reality does to the hopes of children from low-income families. The vending machine was out of order. "Damn you vending machine for treating me like Tantalus with no provocation," I cried. "Fulfill your purpose! That is why you are here, to serve man!" But there was no reasoning with it; for it was inanimate. I then mercilessly slammed into the vending machine and I let out a loud wailing cry. Thankfully the vicinity was nearly vacant so the crowd of onlookers was minuscule at best.

I picked myself up from the pool of tears, despondent and broken, I proceeded to LuValle. I grabbed a soda but knew that misfortune would be on the horizon. And when the cashier rang me up he gave me that most tortuous of messages - this soda would cost a full ten cents more than the soda from the vending machine. I fell to my knees and let out another loud wailing cry - for this my struggle - mein Kampf.

The Darkness

Suddenly I find myself in this aphotic room,

With no guiding light it may very well be my tomb.

Peering intently into the nothingness, the absence of light,

Terror strikes me; I panic; I fill with fright.

Confused and paralyzed whilst facing a caliginous Medusa

Sadness fills my heart like the mother from Thing v. La Chusa.

In my stillness, I ponder my unpropitious lot

I must go on, Calamity will greet me not!

I grope the walls and floors of undifferentiated sable

Effortlessly navigating the darkness (except for bumping my shin on the coffee table).

I reach the cabinet imprisoning that for which I strive

A fresh light bulb of watts seventy-five.