My Robot Is Pregnant theme song!

here’s a photo of Mr. Ahern. More of his story is coming soon. In the meantime
I hope you enjoy some random bits of my writing I found in a folder of handwritten stuff dated 2004. I’m cleaning out the trunk of writing I’ve saved up over the last 20 years.

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He said, “I don’t understand why they can drive a robot across Mars from somewhere in Houston but i get at least six dropped calls a day in San Francisco.”

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I’m writing in English at the height of America’s power.

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“I’ve accepted Jesus Christ as my savior.”

“Did you save the receipt?”

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I could go to the police station and try and sell’em poems and roses.

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We drank while the others suffered.

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Sin. God needs work.

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It’s sunny outside, but cancerous. Some research into plastics has revealed cases of gential deformity on the rise as a result of dioxin, a by product of plastics production and incineration. Weird vaginas. Peeholes in the wrong place. Plastics don’t bother the grown so much. We just pack it away and pass mutations on to the kids. Aquatic life is changing. Aggressive lesbian fishes, male alligators with no sex drive. What if environmental pollution caused an increase in human homosexuality? Shouldn’t that spur Republicans and Christians to fight for a cleaner environment? These sins are man made! What if I’m getting gay as the dioxins slowly build? How long can I fight it? I’ll donate my body to art and the autopsy will reveal my true desires. But we don’t know for sure right now. I’ve promised to stop eating and drinking things packaged in plastics. Which has left me on a diet of wine and bananas. This made me mad at the whole packaging industry, because I can’t grow/hunt/fish my own food – I work fifty hours a week! Where’s my freedom of choice? Where do I log my complaint? Please stop making penises come out wrong, dear Plastics Council.

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He said it “res-trunt”. That’s where they went to eat. At the res-trunt.

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If Mr. Bush would allow research on cloning, if he supported stem cell research, if he got behind science, he could have himself kept alive long enough to be cloned and he could lead us into eternity. (Would term limits apply?)

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breaking up on valentines day…it’s like scheduling your abortion for christmas.

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Rus told me, if you’re planning on dancing out there, knock the chickenshit off’n yer boots first.

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She asked, “You’re a Christian? Is that with three K’s?”

They don’t make stamps with these positive messages anymore. The U.S. Post Office issued this in 1974.

Most people want to be successful. Respect is tied up in that. I’m getting older and haven’t been a success in business. I make money, pay my bills, but I never built a business up. When you live far from your family, sometimes you wish you were a big success out here so your parents could brag about you. When I was younger I left home and traveled the country. I was looking for a place to live and a way to make a living. I settled in a trailer in Woodside and watched an old man named Rusty Sunshine make money driving tractors and building fences. So that was that.

It’s a life without success. No celebration, just an occasional sense of accomplishment when the job gets done and not too many things went bad. But I still have daydreams about success. Success in the sense of making a lot of money. Which is why I drew that picture up there. Sometimes I get carried away by dreams of success and come up with a cockamamie plan – like this one where I borrow my neighbors gas grill and take it downtown to sell hot dogs for three bucks apiece.

I put a lot of thought into it. I’d go to Polk Gulch, the tip of the Tenderloin around 11 pm and serve the hungry drunks until after last call, when the cash would really roll in as impressionable dipsomaniacs caught a whiff of grilled onions and hot dogs as they stumbled out of the saloon hoping to sober up for the ride home. Easy money.

These backwards ideas have plagued me my whole life. Hatching get rich the hard way plans as I wash dishes in some degrading soup kitchen. Wondering why a smart guy like me bounces checks. Shouldn’t I have made it by now, I ask myself. Where do i keep going wrong?

We all feel like that I suppose, and it’s odd. But when you meet a character whose given up on success, or never really wanted it, that’s so darn refreshing. You can sense it right away, they aren’t judging you. They don’t judge themselves by those standards of success either. I think that’s the allure of Charles Bukowski’s persona. He didn’t care. He drank and wrote and went to work when he had to. But he was a success in the end. So the mythos isn’t quite accurate.

The slacker attitude back in the 90′s was another manifestation of anti-success. I’m not built that way. I’m always looking for ways to make money. Just this morning I was online looking for jobs in Iraq. I could go over there and drive a truck in the green zone and make $100,000 a year. On top of that, it’s a war zone. I could smuggle Afghani opium onto base and make another 100 grand. And all the looted artwork from Iraq’s museums is floating around out there to be picked up for a song…the corruption I could tap into with military equipment…give me a year over there and I’d be a success.

It’s either that or sell those hot dogs. That sounds fun too.

Big Jim is the only white guy on his block over in West Oakland – not a great part of town. He’s a bit of an anomaly in many aspects. He carries a knife and walks everywhere he goes. No tools and no vehicle, but he knows how to do everything and moves fast so he never worries for work. We can’t say he is in the normal nine to five work world. Turns out he’d never eaten a Whopper, so the guys on the crew chipped in and bought him a Double Whopper with cheese yesterday.

My Robot Is Pregnant: What have you heard about the Whopper that got you ready for this experience?

Big Jim: It’s flame broiled. Grill taste. Actually I don’t like Whoppers. It was heavy. I’ve had a Whopper Junior before. Whopper Jr tastes totally different.

MRIP: What? We all thought you’d never eaten at the King before!

Big Jim: That blows that whole deal.

MRIP: Well, tell us about it anyway.

Big Jim: Nothing there…something to eat. It filled me up. No magic there. Nope. No magic there.

MRIP: Think back on it and describe the experience.

Big Jim. I wish I hadn’t eaten it. I was thinking as I was eating it ‘I gotta get that cook stove.’

MRIP: What cook stove?

Big Jim: I gotta get the gas turned back on at the house.

MRIP: How long’s it been off?

Big Jim: 3 or 4 months.

MRIP: Why?

Big Jim: I’m trying to get Quanette out of the house. But she’s getting used to the cold so I might as well turn it back on.

MRIP: Or smash out the windows so it gets really bad. What would you rather have eaten besides that Whopper?

Big Jim: Some pasta with olive oil.

MRIP: How many people in America do you think have never tasted a Whopper?

Big Jim: It’s like how many vegans are out there? I don’t know. Probably a million people’ve never had a Whopper.

MRIP: Why did it take you so long?

Big Jim: I had better things to eat. Or I’d get chicken if I went there.

This chart comes from the state along with my vehicle registration. It shows that I’m able to have three drinks an hour and still be under the legal limit. This is fantastic news. Gimme a sandwich and I can probably have six.

can’t get enough of this. is that a musical note coming off his spin?

This is the weirdest one. It is published by Goodwill (the thrift store). It features four rats, each with a different disability – blind ,deaf, epileptic, and the one in the flying chair has had his legs amputated. Plus they use yo-yo’s as weapons.

This one is hard to describe. There is a space ship that builds toys for the universe, and the only competitor is a toy company on a planet run by an evil clown. The evil clown has killer clown robots attack the space ship and kill the chief toy maker in order to gain control of the toy market. Meanwhile on earth a super hero raccoon is called to sort the crime out and punish the evil clown. It gets weirder too.

So often the ads in comic books are comics themselves. What a totally bizarre ad. I love in the second panel, the guy says “He’s taking stuff off our hands without even bargaining.” Did this make any sense to kids?

I saved the best for last.

That last post really needs to get buried a bit down the page. Here’s something I found in an old journal. Just the outline of a story.

Goliath

It was the life of a monster for me. I couldn’t stop growing. I was twice as tall as the tallest man in my village, and the village had no use for me. They sent me to Ashkanon, where they enlisted me into the military. It was hard for me to march, my knees hadn’t grown properly and were weak. My size alone is what the captain wanted.

I was a living scarecrow. My giant body would fill men with fear on a battle field; only I knew how clumsy I was. The enemy wouldn’t know that my body hurt all over, my spine was weak, my joints all in pain. I even had trouble seeing, another affect of my wild growth. I didn’t want to fight, but I needed to eat. My appetite was large. I was a giant.

I was sent out to challenge the Israelites to battle. They sent a young boy. How could I fight a young boy? He wore no armor! He didn’t come very close to me and my eyesight didn’t allow me to understand what he was doing at that distance.

He was loading a sling-shot, and in an instant he had struck me dead.

I want to warn you, you are about to see photographic evidence of a post-op tranny. That means, last night in a bar, a man showed me how he became a woman. It’s not that expensive if you can get to Thailand he told me. She told.

Her name is Billy and she smelled like a busy hooker who hadn’t bathed by the way. But she was really good at pool. We all have our quirks.

Dave, my producer, has been busy lately. He’s into this whole scene that revolves around 80′s synth music and a guy in Japan runs a website called Ohh! Crapp that keeps people up to date on the sound. So Dave did an interview with him and of course needed some promo shots to upload . We did a photo shoot in my bedroom and Dave took the photo of himself and shopped it into that hallway. (you gotta click on the link to see it) I mention it as a reminder not to assume anything on the internet is real.

Sean Ahern’s continuing prison saga:

One report documented the strange case involving a Physicians Assistant who walked around the prison in hospital scrubs, including the mask and booties. He would walk through the greasy chow hall in his aseptic gear, sterile mask hanging from his neck as if he’d just scrubbed up for a double bypass. This on it’s face was strange, but the rabbit hole got a lot deeper. This aide in the germ-free garments had a surreptitious secret lurking in his past – he had been arrested for impersonating a medical doctor.

According to reports he had gone to certain homes where it is suspected he knew males between the ages of fourteen and seventeen years of age resided. Upon arrival he would introduce himself as a physician and obliquely mention the names of the young man’s parents. Upon gaining entry to the residence he would further deceive the teens by administering a cursory “physical examination” in which he would fondle the young men’s testicles and then insert his finger in their rectum. He was only discovered when an alert sixteen year old boy noticed he was not wearing a glove during the rectal exam and called the police. A struggle ensued and the police arrived shortly after. The case was still pending in court.

Another report detailed the doings of a nurse who was charged with prostitution. The narrative of a confidential informant recounted his visits to the nurse where she would manually stimulate or perform oral sex upon the inmate according to a pay scale.

According to the snitch the rate was one hundred dollars for “hand release” and three hundred for oral copulation. The informant detailed that other carnal acts were available, but were out of his price range. Payments were made when an inmate would call a benefactor from the phone in the nurses office so a wire transfer could be set up. A sting operation was rolled out.

The confidential informant was wired and the phones were monitored. As he had in the past the informant arrives at the nurses office complaining of “groin pains”. Once inside he called for a wire transfer of three hundred dollars. The FBI monitored the transaction, but the money was sent to an account with a fictitious name.

The informant began acting strangely and according to him the nurse became suspicious and abruptly stopped performing fellatio and ordered the informant to remove his shirt. When he refused the nurse opened the office door and ran screaming “Rape! He was trying to rape me!”
Officers rushed to the scene to find the informant pulling his pants up. He was then subdued. The case is still under investigation.

“I shot the sky so it will fall on your head.” He was a little kid, pointing a plastic green gun at me. Bang bang. Ha ha.

I swung a backhand that knocked the gun to the floor.

“Don’t pull a gun unless you intend to use it, kid.” His mother started to protest.

I pulled a small .38 with mother of pearl grips out of my pocket and shot her.

“Here’s another tip. If people know you carry a gun…” and I pulled a SigArms 9mm out of my other pocket and cocked the hammer, “…carry a second one.” And I shot the kid dead.

A woman at the bar was telling her friend she was graduating college and will be making $25 an hour drawing. So I pulled out $25 and asked her to draw me whatever came to mind when she heard the phrase (now immortal) “my robot is pregnant”. She took the money and said she’d email it to me. That was five months ago and I never heard a thing, so I tried to stop giving strangers money after that.
Then last night I got this image in my mail box. I can go back to giving strangers money.

Check Raya out at her site.

Stuck in bridge traffic. This wrecked old late ’70′s Ford is next to me. There are live fish swimming in the tank and foam pouring out the top of it. It’s hard to see, bad photo.
The young kid on the passenger side yelled at me for taking the picture.

“I oughtta charge your ass!”

I’m just trying to get to the city.