My Robot Is Pregnant theme song!

tough guy poetry and manly stories of loneliness
all contents copyright Jon Rolston 2004, 2005, 2006

January 18, 2007

Adult Content Warning

psst… click on this link …i posted a video interview with a young guy who works as a mop jockey…a janitor…but a special kind of janitor…a jizz mopper…down to the lusty lady…he mops out the peep show booths…

he’s italian…hard to understand…and i’m not a great editor…and it isn’t as long as it seems…somehow all the jumbled up audio and video clips i cut out ended up in the movie…

after you see me put the quarter in the video booth…then you know it’s over…

i hope to re-edit it…make it shorter…but it’s taken me weeks in imovie…had to finish…

7 Comments

  1. i thought joe coronati told me he had become a civil engineer. i knew that was suspicious. engineer… you mean jism engineer.

    Comment by sean-o — January 19, 2007 @ 10:06 am

  2. where is the link???

    Comment by dastard — January 19, 2007 @ 9:34 pm

  3. sorry Alina, i put up a permalink for people now…

    this version is an awful edit. But I don’t understand computers. This morning I was on a kubota tractor spreading horse manure. On a cold day, when the bucket digs into the pile, steam billows. Poop steam. I sit six feet off the ground and the steam swirls into my nose. But I come home at night and try to make imovie work. It takes forever. I fall asleep on the couch while my movie digitizes. Maybe you don’t understand what that means. It means computers are stupid. they are slower than you want them to be. I’m in a field spreading animal shit, it is cold, so cold white ice forms on the top rails of the fences, Rus has a cement hoe to break the ice so they can drink, the horses have jackets on, this is just south of san francisco and I don’t understand shuttle shift. Fuck this kubota, put me back on a new john deere, with automatic everything…
    hydraulic rams…
    turbo diesel…
    water buckets frozen over…
    steam from an animal…
    horse manure…
    hay won’t spread easy…
    it’s the urine that smells, not the poop…
    I’m going to final cut pro, i want you to meet these people.

    Comment by jon — January 20, 2007 @ 12:20 am

  4. Oggy Bleacher sent me this note. He’s an old friend from a little state back east…

    “I recall the lusty lady. good times.

    My favorite was the 24 hr. XXX theater where very trashy porn was shown all day. I once spent 14 hours in there. Maybe more. I actually left and got lunch and went back. THey stamped an icon on my hand that could only be seen
    with black light. clever. So people on the outside wouldn’t know I had just been wacking off while people got high on crack next to me.

    IT was less interesting than I plan to make it out to be in one of my stories. But there was drama. Yes, lots of drama. Human suffering. Thirst. Pain. Struggles. A whole microcosm of life there at the XXX theater.

    It’s closed I believe. It was on Market st. with all the preview booths where I know you have lurked. By the city hall. God bless that theater. I was gripped by fear and loathing there. Sometimes I was thrilled and excited and other times I was grossly embarassed and harassed by the creepiest people on earth.

    People who don’t see the light of day because they watch porn 24 hours in a row and jerk people off for $5 and whatever change you they can lift from you while you cum.

    Those people are in a different world and I respect them for it. I shared that world for a while and got a glimpse of
    it. Like an astronaut.

    I wanted to leave many times. I wept at the humanity. Obvious snuff films. Women being raped on film. No one cared. “Hawaiian Honeys” sad. so sad. Thai teenagers chained and brutalized by thugs. But I forced myself to watch. They would tap on my shoulder.

    “Want a tug?”

    I’d say no and shuffle off to be alone. But it was their house. They were trying to teach me something. It was their world and I wasn’t respecting it.

    The whores in that theater still thought it was 1987. They had no idea about history or world events. It was freakish. They could survive on crack and fast food left behind by the perverts. What’s wrong with that?

    I scrubbed and scrubbed that stamp on the back of my hand but it never came off. It’s still there. Under the right light, I can see the radioactive glow of the secret stamp.”

    Comment by jon — January 22, 2007 @ 11:06 pm

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