i dreamt of a factory, where they manufactured what i needed

I went into the grocery store and stole a toothpick this morning; it was one of those fancier ones. Not with the plastic hair. The kind with the bevelled end. I think an adze is involved. I don’t have anything particularly pungent or fungible or mordant or ad rem (there’s some adjective ending in -nt that i can’t think of — i think it sounds sort of like trungent — never mind. i meant trenchant.) RESUME I don’t have anything trenchant to add as an unpaid biased observer of the Red Sox-Yankees series but feck off then. About the toothpick thing: I was going to think about the various misdemeanors I’ve committed in the past four months (stealing an envelope, stealing that toothpick, stealing six half-copies of the sunday paper to get a crossword puzzle, downloading music illegally, abducting pets, whatever. Instead i bring you half-baked thoughts about baseball.

This morning some woman who seemed awfully drunk to be on the train at 8 am (especially considering she was on her way to work in what looked like nurses clothing) got on my nerves, and i found myself mouthing the words “shut up. shut the fuck up. shut, the, fuck, up” to the pole i was leaning on. this in and of itself is not rare, wishing death on fellow commuters. but i was getting upset because she was crowing about being a Mets fans and that she was glad to see the Yankees receive their comeuppance. mostly because she was obviously about to get run up on by the rest of the occupants of the car, and that meant i might receive an umbrella stab to the back in the bloodbath. and because i don’t give a shit about it anymore. the outcome of game 7 doesn’t fucking matter: it’s already the best fucking series ever. and i think most people have accepted this. Except for yankees fans, who are too busy howling and shitting themselves in protest of fate.

I could really give a shit about Yankees fans’ psychological well-being. I will grant that they are, in theory, human beings, and are in fact emotionally affected by whether or not their team wins or loses. (Don’t make the mistake of overlooking what a large concession we’re making here). That said, you are in the same boat, in fact you built the boat, that Patriots/Angels/Marlins fans are sailing the sea of relative satisfaction. it doesn’t suck as much to have things go wrong, when you’ve won the World Series 4 times in the past decade. i hadn’t ever really considered that they had feelings, until i went outside after the game last night and there was some kid who lives in the front of the building with a bombed-out face who had just thrown a glass into the brick wall and told me that he was normally very social but was not at all interested in talking about the game with me. so, yankees fans, check out your probationary 24 hours of humanity, enjoy game 7, and trynot to destroy anymore stemware. have a coke and a smile and shut the fuck up.

One thought on “i dreamt of a factory, where they manufactured what i needed”

  1. WHO ARE YOU? i found your dribblings while looking to win an argument with my brother-in-law (what is the ethnic heritage of johnny damon? – i fucking lost)and was compelled to comment. i like what you say, and how you say it, and i like what you see, and how you see yourself. so i’m intrigued, who are you, and can we get married?

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