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Hammer + Sickle Vodka. From Russia. How appropriate. Comrade X took this picture in his humble proletariat kitchen which he couldn't sell right now if he wanted to (and he does), but that isn't the more pressing problem, the pressing problem is that he can't seem to stop typing or make any sense at all because this vodka seems to be laced with crystal meth (how Pacific Northwest!) and he's listening to this crazy-ass music about shooting people or something (he thinks someone is singing "She's daaaaayyyyy-ed, she's daaaaayyyyy-ed," but he can't be sure because it's all moving waaaaaay too fast like in the old days and -- oh, wait, they could be singing "Cheeeeese daaayyy, cheeeeeeese daaayyyy" -- and what's with this Pandora anyway? It doesn't make sense. So capitalist! You can bookmark a song but can't listen to it again -- you can only go back to a page that allows you to BUY it, oh sure, "free" Pandora [and didn't the mythical Pandora really fuck up humanity?], just a big fucking clearing house for selling music from iTunes and don't they have enough money anyway?). Okay, okay, Comrade X realizes that this post is quickly getting out of control and that it needs some kind of unifying idea to keep it on track but he keeps thinking about how he was assaulted AGAIN at his gym the other day by this crazy-ass big fat guy with these impossible horse teeth (can teeth really be that big?) who starts taking to him out of the blue -- again with the unsolicited conversations! -- and he (Crazy Tooth) has two pairs of shoes for some reason and he looks at Comrade X and says, "Which of these is more stylish?" and Comrade X looks at him and says, "Uhhh ... " and the big fat crazy-tooth guy says "This one?" and holds up a backless sneaker, you know the kind, the kind people too lazy to actually PUT ON their shoes buy, and Comrade X says, "Yeah," and then the other guy says "Cause this other pair looks like kids' shoes, right?" and he holds up a completely nondescript, laceless white sneaker like he works at the Foot Locker and Comrade X says, "Yeah, uhh ... " and sort of does that laugh you do when you're trying to defuse a really potentially volatile situation with a crazy person and then Chomper Charlie goes into this completely incomprehensible monologue ostensibly about his shoes and walks over to the mirror on the other side of the row of lockers, talking the whole time, and Comrade X is a little stunned because he doesn't quite know how to handle the situation, and then the dental nightmare comes back in his backless sneakers and says something like "I look like I'm going to the beach, right? Right?" because he's wearing a sleeveless t-shirt and Bermuda shorts (and I swear -- a rope belt like fucking Jethro!) and the backless sneakers and Comrade X says (yet again) "Uhh ... " and Big-Tooth Billy goes, "Ha! Like I'm goin' to the beach, right! Yeah, you know, these bitches around here, they all sleepin' around," to which Comrade X can only respond with a nod and a blank look and all the time running flight scenarios through his head and picking weak points in Jiggle Gut's defenses when he hears, "Yeah, they all sleepin' around, even the white bitches!" to which Comrade X feels compelled to reply, "You know, they probably don't really sleep around -- everyone around here is rich or married to someone rich, right? Wouldn't sleeping around be risking a lot?" which of course was the ABSOLUTE WRONG THING TO SAY because Bermuda-Short Billy Bob goes into a HUUUUUUUUGE diatribe about the "bitches" to which Comrade X can only add, "Yeah, but, hey, they aren't sleeping with YOU, are they?" to which he responds "Heeeeeeyyyyyylllll NO!" and then turns and laughs, at which point Comrade X sneaks out of the locker room, not quite fully dressed, but that's okay, better to dodge a bullet half-naked than catch one fully clothed.
Fucking hell and oy!
Damn, Comrade X needs another drink. Where's that Hammer + Sickle? Das vedanya, Comrades!
