My Robot Is Pregnant theme song!

Kinda hard to read, but here’s the mock up for an important work regarding the collection of metal from city streets for profit and pleasure.

Mr. Tang won’t tell a soul if the drapes don’t match the carpet.

Blasphemy protects one from the moral majority within, while still insisting on the need for community.

Pizza Hut has a ten dollar pizza deal right now. Are you in? And for five bucks more you can add pepsi and breadsticks. That’s a lot to eat

How many of us have experienced diahhrea in an effort to save on food costs? Similarly, people won’t spend money on dental floss due to budget constraints. Is it worth it? The inability to snap into a Slim Jim after being fitted with premature dentures is an emotional costs too high to calculate – unless you are a blasphemer. Renounce meat, pro wrestling, and fast
food when you say no to Randy Savage.

5th street. Skid row. Someone is living in this box. Others set up tents, the less fortunate are sleeping in the smog with just a few dirty blankets. Imagine cardboard walls giving you a sense of safety in the city.

Please note the scraps of shrink wrap placed on the roof as a rain barrier. Saran-wrap shingles, so to speak.

Even the cockroaches can be found grooming in the mirror

It’s foggy in the west. Most of California is a dry dusty expanse with golden grass covering the summertime hillsides. At the tops of the sierras, a saw toothed range 100 miles inland, there is ice and snow, but the valleys that stretch out like a bright shadow are a place for cactus and lizard and thirst. Isn’t that the American conception of the wild west? Heat and high noon sun and a pistol shot that drops a man into the dust?

So what of San Francisco? The edge of the west here is a surprise. The dense fog rolls down the boulevards like floating rain, the air is simply wet without falling in drops.

It’s the heat of the entire west, Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado, Utah, a central furnace that expands out and hits the cold air coming down from the ice block of the northern pole, these two extremes collide and make fog.

The fog can hardly survive it’s trip across the city before the heat engulfs it. The western shore, therefore, can be a dark damp soup, while 7 miles in, at the edge of the bay, residents look out from their rooftops in the sun and see the misty fingers of the fog crawling towards them, vanishing at tapered ends somewhere near Divisadero street.

Its the orthodox Russians, the Jewish synagogue builders, the Irish workers and all stripes of Asian immigrants who make this shrouded end their home.

Sunny San Francisco is how the other half lives. City Hall, the Financial District, the old Gold Mining wealth avoid the gray “outside lands”.

Illegal cannabis production and unlicensed sex massage parlors hide behind stuccoed home fronts on residential blocks so tightly packed one can walk a block on rooftops.

Blame the fog. Streets are empty out here in “the avenues”. The wind is cold and mean as well.

The Hockey Haven is full of these bleak residents who drink quietly as the cars outside oxidize in the salty fog, parked parallel to the depression of this neighborhood we call The Richmond. Believe me when I say it. It’s foggy in the west.

Does a crime novel need a murder? Can something ephemeral like faith be killed? What is heroic about about hunting down negligent bookkeepers? Capitalism, or something larger, older, subversive, can create a Goliath that seeks to control wealth and information. Bill Gates of Microsoft was a Goliath, using deception to control a market. Our dipsomaniacal leading man, the drunk at the far end of the bar, Mr Louden, looks over at screams coming from the Golden Tee arcade game.

“We need a first person shooter in here, not a golf game.”

“I always liked Duck Hunt,” says the bartender as he dips a pint glass in the final bath of the wash rinse sanitize cycle.

“How genteel. Clay trap mode? I was thinking more along the lines of Area 51. I love the caterwauling of the dying aliens.”

Your narrator is taking a small vacation during which the Department of Justice’s anti-trust case against Microsoft will be reviewed.
It’s perhaps totally void of a single sex crime, but not to worry. The juicy bits involve our gumshoe, who’s crack habit brings him into The Lusty Lady and surfing the casual encounters section of a newly developed website called Craigslist.

Tried to take a picture through the glasses but no dice.

This was in LA, I may have posted it, but during that trip the wordpress app update made it impossible to post photos from the album – wait a minute – who cares? Just enjoy the well fonted yard sale sign.
I passed by another recently, too fast to catch it. It read “Dude! Yard Sale!”