Part One
I hate spam. Not the delectable lunch loaf that is worshipped in Hawaii but the stupid email that fill's up our inboxes. I know we all hate it but sometimes they can be funny. I never even look at the shit unless it tricks me into reading it. This one was disguised as an email from a reputable online store. When I opened it it was just some bullshit for CHEAP SOFTWARE!! But at the bottom of some Spam is where you find the funny stuff. All these keywords jumbled together, some kind of spammers code I guess. Here is the CHEAP SOFTWARE's one:
Use both say together what round. Serve live, farm began say.Side, industry, right point. Wheel receive, earth. Don't tradeforce. One bird hear. Milk mountain, far came cat part. Inchvoice but. Vary hunt allow forest, job boy. Turn, port home run.Degree to, friend each, add. Them, power paint. Thought governsoil measure, word. Lie ship fight space ball, heard.
What the fuck?? Haha. I love it. I think for now on I will post random Spam codes. Hopefully these are not some kind of CIA or NSA special hidden communications between undercover agents deep inside enemy territory. If I disappear seek out Dr. Gonzo in the desert. When you find him tell him the password is "Schnecke!". He will know what to do.
More later.
posted by juststained @ 11:19 AM
1 Comments:
The following uncalled-for jibberish is in answer to four quesitons posed me by Senor Beeflog:
1-How long are you going to be at the bunker?
A: Until China frees Tibet. Until George W dies of syphilis in a cave in Afghanistan. Until being this close to the border and all of its queer dead zone energy gets the better of me. Until I decide that I owe it to (and what to do to help) my oldest friend Danny to get my ass back east and into your snowy hell to save his suicidal ass (boy 51/50'd a week ago, been in psych ward lockdown ever since). Maybe I'll fly him out here. I dunno. I know and am known by half this fucking town, with partial celebrity status thanks to the town's art Queen diva, my friend Kathleen. It's intoxicating, and feels like home. The Mojave was the best, tho. Too bad the cops drove me outa there, despite my assurances that I was a location scout and script writer and we were going to film the place. Ha. Revenge WILL BE sweet, as we probably will someday very soon.
2-How often do you get to town?
A: Daily almost. Very solitary out here and in town just 12 miles away they have loads of hot SSI crazy money chicks and bars and Wifi access for my laptop everywhere. And I've recently become friends with Bill Carter (see Miss Sarijevo). DEFINITELY read his book "Fools Rush In." The guy's a god, my age, and if he started a church tomorrow I'd be first to sign up.
3-You met Mccandless? What was he like and what was
the situation? Do you think he killed himslef?
A: Shock, at the latter. The whole thing came to me like a backwards deja vu, seeing the news blurb somewhere, reading Krakwhores article in the New Yorker, and then going, "Whoa?! I met that dude." But my recollection of Chris himself is alas, very vague, blurred no doubt by hashish and home brew. But I know I met him, and later confirmed it with a mutual friend up in Humboldt. I couldn't tell you from my memory of him, but intuitively, and having climbed the mtn myself, yes, he rode that white wolf right to the end, snuggled up in the bus and said, "Amen," and went to sleep with pretty sugarplums dancing in his hypothermic head. There are some journeys that have but one logical ending. Ask Colonel Kurtz.
4-What do you plan on doing when you leave the bunker?
A: I'm gonna hurl a grappling hook up to Orion's belt and ride that fucker around the planet. Why not? No passports, no checkpoints manned by pubescent dinks with Uzis, no war, no trespassing violations. And I'll take along a lead pipe and take a swing at every passing GE-sponsored mega-media transfer satellite, just for sport. Honestly, I'll probably sell the BMW as a Billy Howerdal (sp?) relic (I now have DMV proof), hand over a coupla of manuscripts that I am obviously mentally incompetent to stand editorial trial with to a professional editor, cut em a check for whatever they want to fix em, throw a little dough in the sailboat fund in my mom's safe, and take the rest, buy a new tent, and hit the PCT. Truth is, I'm not getting Jack Shit done on "honing" the AT megatext into anything, and have no idea how to sculpt it into a story with a powerful message about America and freedom and the value of patriotism, but not blind patriotism, with the Green Tunnel of the AT as a metaphor, and the blood-soaked ground of civil war times, and bringing it current. And though I care, I DO REALLY CARE, I can't do this on my own and no one's steppin up to the plate to help, even when money is offered, and I have the boat fund. I'm not an editor, I'm not an agent. So for all the praise I get from so many readers (and my stats are way off the charts lately on jigglebox, have you seen? http://www.jigglebox.com/webstat)
its just fluffing. I live on faith and eight bills a month in crazy money from the gov. I'm going back into the woods. Fuck it. Maybe. I need an investor, just like a film needs investors. I'm learning a lot about how films REALLY get off the ground, watching Bruce produce and stand nose-to-nose with mega-HOllywood lawyers and filthy rich real estate moguls eager to invest in an independent with a $800 million distribution deal (toys, tshirts, video games, etc). Famous line, really happened: All these fuckers assemble on the 30th floor of some huge downtown LA building in some plush leather office and a dead silence ensues as everyone waits for someone to start. Bruce with his Minnesota honesty just blurts out, "I hate Hollywood." Everyone laughs, is suddenly at ease and negotiations get under way. I'm telling you, I'm starting to believe this one's gonna pop. And when it does, they're gonna cut me a check for 25 grand to rewrite a script about Bill Graham, all expenses paid and five up front. IF.. no.. WHEN this happens, I'll give up my McCandless PCT walk. I like money, and one thing I CAN DO is edit other people's shit. I just can't do my own. I can't see it. I can't hear it. It all sounds fine to me and I just wanna gift wrap it and send it to Faluja for toilet paper.
Whatever. God bless the foliage girls from Victory Day in Millinocket Maine, October 8, 2004 (attached). T-bird on the left, lives in Fryeburg and Gaia (signing my back on summit night) is waiting for me in Crawford's Notch at the Highland Center where she's working.
Belly Button Snorkling? Too much snow.
Smooches.
-Klonipin Horker
ps: I could have guests here in the bunker. I say this because your manner of questioning left me with the faintest glint of "ooh, he might come visit" which I know is absurd, but jetblue to phoenix, cheap, i pick you up there, or to lax cheaper still, then you get to meet the media moguls and it's only an eight hour drive back there for me.
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