overheardinmyhead

Black Devil Doll

"If the thought of a wayward white woman having sexual relations with a demonic jive ass black puppet offends you, DO NOT SEE Black Devil Doll." Oh, I'm sold.

The trailer for Black Devil Doll is completely NSFW. I'm surprised YouTube is actually hosting this clip. But then again, have you ever read the comments on YouTube? Maybe it's not really a surprise. Update: Well that didn't last too long. It was taken down because of a terms of use violation. No worries though, I found another site that has the trailer.

I can't believe this movie was shown in SF a few months ago. I had no idea. Hopefully it makes it to DVD soon.

BTW: My sister and I had a similar puppet when we were growing up. He wasn't a jive ass, didn't have a facial hair or an afro. He certainly didn't go around killing. His name was Lester. Friends also had a Lester, but their puppet was Lester "the Molester". Ours never did any molesting, to my knowledge. At least, he never molested me. Story of my life. In fact the poor thing had his feet amputated due to diabetes. I think my sister or mom might still have him.

Talk about being hung

Obviously it was a warm day.

Choke on this

Dawn had just broke and I was parking in front of the grocery store. As with most mornings a man was power washing the sidewalks of the shopping center and I was taking care not to get wet. As I jumped over a puddle I heard a gruff voice yell at me. "You jump like a fuckin' fairy!"

"Duh shit," I replied. "I am a fuckin' fairy!" I looked over and saw a man sitting on a bench, in his late fifties, with a scraggly salt and pepper beard. He was obviously homeless. He was tooth-free but had a wolf's grin.

"I could turn you into a stud!" his eye lit up and he manhandled his crotch. "Come over here and let me choke on your meat."

It was too early in the morning to get cruised by an actual tramp. I can handle advances post-10AM from any sort of person. He stunned me. I had no witty comeback so I offered up a boisterous "Ewww!" which made him laugh.

I shuffled into the store to gather my groceries for the day. Maybe it's because it's Pride weekend, or maybe because I'm not a total asshole, I thought I should give my could-be hobo lover a little something to eat. I took extra time picking up things for him as well.

Back outside the man was harassing a pigeon until he saw me. "Hey sweet-cheeks! Why don't you come on over here and let me do what I do best."

"The mind reels," I said reaching into my canvas shopping bag. "I got something for you."

"And I got somethin' for you!" He opened his mouth and started flicking his tongue.

I handed him a kielbasa sausage. "This is the only meat I'm letting you choke on."

He laughed.

"Here this is for you too." I handed him an egg salad sandwich, because seriously, what can a man without teeth really gum, besides sausages.

The hobo turn soft all of a sudden and looked like he was going to cry. "I love you," he said.

And all of a sudden, I felt something. Kind of like in the cartoon when the Grinch's heart grows two sizes bigger. But I was feeling something physical too. The hobo was grabbing my crotch.

I jumped back. "That isn't going to happen!"

He chuckled. "Just want to thank you."

"Words are enough. Have a good day, mister."

I turned and walked away.

"Hey," he called out. "Jump one more time!"

I jumped across a puddle and as I landed did a pirouette.

"FAIRY!"

The Wheel to Exercise

Last night a friend and I saw a little woman, of the little person variety, in a tiny electric wheelchair, using a treadmill at the gym. The wheelchair was literally on the conveyor belt with the wheels spinning around as she barked at her trainer to punch the treadmill up to 10.

Has anyone else ever seen something like this? It was very confusing. I wanted to stand around and gawk some more hoping they were heading to the ellipticals next. But I didn't want to be rude. Everyone else at the gym didn't seem to be nonplussed.

The whole thing reminded me of this wheelchair story from several years ago if only because it features a wheelchair and crazy.

Beauty Secrets

Me: I just read that BOTOX® has helped people regrow hair. I'm going to get my scalp shot-up. It's going to look so young and surprised.

Abai: I heard hemorrhoid cream gets rid of wrinkles.

Me: It does! My asshole looks like it's ten.

Nymph's got wood

"A heavy numbness seized her limbs, thin bark closed over her breast, her hair turned into leaves, her arms into branches, her feet so swift a moment ago stuck fast in slow-growing roots, her face was lost in the canopy. Only her shining beauty was left." --The Metamorphoses

Bummed

 

This what I saw on my way to Trader Joe's. A homeless man had pooped his pants. By vigorously shaking one leg, imitating peristalsis, he evacuated a turd which came out at his ankle. Obviously this man had performed this bathroom ritual before. This kind of deft defecation doesn't happen without practice.

I tweeted the scene and went about my own business: grocery shopping. I only needed a few things like arugula, smoked oysters, nuts and chocolate. As is the norm at all SF TJ locations, the place was buzzing. That meant there would be lines at the checkout. Indeed, when I walked up to check out, every register was engaged and the queues were three and four people deep.

When I have to wait in line I succumb to the impulse buys. I'm quite impressionable and a marketer's dream. Despite the fact I'm buying a bag of Tempting Trail Mix (so good) I start staring at the chocolate bars. The Lumpy Bumpy Bar stood out. I had to have it. So I picked one up.

Upon getting back to work I unwrapped the bar. Do you know what it looked like? Almost identical to the hobo's turd.

And I'm sad to say, it tasted like it too, I mean what I imagine it would taste like. I'm so bummed. Bummed? Haha. Bummed indeed.

House Sails & Tea Levity

Many weekends I find myself starring off into cyberspace. But this past weekend I had to get out of the house. My place is being painted, finally. No longer will I be able to play the paint peel game where I look at the shape left by flaked paint and come up with a corresponding like image. This looks like Korea, well kind of. I'm actually a little sad to see the derelict facade go away. Partly because my rent will go up and partly because I have no faith in the impending paint job.

Scaffolding, tarps and nets shroud the front of the building occluding the view from my bedroom bay windows. My room is filled with an eerie blue hue as light filters through the tarp. The scaffolding is tethered to the windowsills, eyelet screws driven into wood I assumed was dry rotten, heavy gauge coated wire threaded through looping back to the scaffolding to hold it in place. When the wind whips, the tarps fill with air like sails on a ship and with each blast the scaffolding pulls against the house creating a dooming cacophony of creeks and rumbles. At times I become irrational. I'm afraid the front of the house is going to be sheared off like one would see in a cartoon. I needed to flee the house. I needed to get dressed. Because seriously, if the front of the house rips off I don't need to be sitting there naked wearing just slippers, sipping on a glass of pinot gris, wasabi peanuts in hand, looking at profiles on Match.com.

I ended up going to a used bookstore. I love used book stores. It's something my mom, sister and I share. We all have too many books even though I don't believe one can have too many books. Then again, I don't necessarily subscribe fully to the Unclutter Movement. Too many people are obsessed with minimalism without the discipline to live that lifestyle. But I digress. I ended up purchasing two books Janna Levin's A Madman Dreams of Turing Machines and Karen Armstrong's Muhammad: A Biography of the Prophet.

On Sunday Courtney and I met up to have tea at Samovar and to read books. I enjoy meeting up with a friend, having dialog over food and then spending time with each other where we are engrossed in separate novels but still sharing space and time together.

After we were seated our server came over and squatted down at our table. She looked at me and her face turned white. In a somber voice she said, "You remind me of an old friend."

"I hope that's a good thing otherwise I can leave." I joked.

"No, it's comforting" she said with a sigh forcing her lips to curl up ever so slightly. "It's been a long time. What's your name?"

"I'm Eric."

"His name was Pete."

Thankfully Corks piped up, "I'm Courtney and you are?"

"Danielle."

It was all very maudlin. I felt strange. Mostly because someone else out there looks, or rather looked, like me. Poor fellow.

We placed our tea orders and Danielle left. Courtney and I looked at each other holding back the giggles that follow awkward situations. I whispered, "I wonder if he passed himself away?" which opened the flood gates of full on laughter.

Irreverence is served best as levity with a side of green tea.

Rorschach Test for Hilariously Evil People

My sister sent me a scan from a Home Depot circular and asked if she was the only one who sees a problem with the image they used.

I knew exactly what she was writing about. If one has a dark sense of humor, or any latent sociopathic tendencies, they too know what's wrong (or absolutely right) with this picture.

Some times my eyes play tricks on me. While out for a walk in my work neighborhood, I saw the following Ad Council billboard. I had to do a triple take before realizing I wasn't seeing what I thought I was seeing, a terrified boy running away from a would be kidnapper, which I recreated in the top portion of the picture below.

Another image that made me do a triple take was part of the 1930's WPA mural by Lucien Labaudt in the Golden Gate Park Visitor's Center at the Beach Chalet. Yesterday, while waiting for friends who were using the bathroom downstairs, this image jumped out at me.

Some of you will know why.

It's so wrong.

I'm related to me

My sister Melissa is my family's genealogist. Our paternal grandmother was one as is one of our maternal aunts. Getting any information about my heritage is easily ascertained from my sister as the aunt tends to be secretive about her discoveries. Apparently to her genealogy is a competitive endeavor.

Today I received an email from my sister detailing a conversation she had with our youngest nephew. He wanted to know what one of Melissa and my cousins was in relation to him. She explained our cousin was his cousin once removed. The cousin's children would be his second cousins.

The talk got her to thinking. In our paternal line there were two first cousins who married and had children. So what does that mean? I am not only myself, but I am my 31st cousin once removed, 33rd cousin once removed and my very own 34th cousin. Funny, since I always did feel related to myself.

And yes, several generations of our paternal line were from the South. So feel free to make the requisite incest jokes. I know I will at the next family reunion I attend.