To talk to the stranger, flip to page 57

I don't recall how many of you might remember the hoodie debacle that happened two months ago(at the moment Im not checking my blog history, I'm just reaching) where I had my hoodie taken away and then it was returned after a friend, yes, inebriated, stuffed it away in his bag on account of thumb-to-nose-and-fingers-spread-eagle-ry. Now that the refresher course is over, it's time for today's entree.

Walking down the street, I break my nose away from the book and look up. My favorite bartender has just left the Tokyo Garden, next door to my second favorite bar in Seattle to walk back to his place of Ketel One and Word Dojo. Checking out a girl's ass. Then he sees me.
"WAGNAROCK. How the hell are you?"
"Fantastic, as one of my friends would say. How the hell are you?"
"Day just got ten times better."
"What's the business over at The Garden?"
"Trying to get some soy sauce, but they're busier than shit."
"Hold on to this, I'll go get you some soy sauce."
I hand him the book and walk next door. I make my way to the line and realize I'm the first one up. And then I realize. The guy that just waived me past.... he's wearing my hoodie. The one I'm wearing right now.
So once again the fact that I like having fun with people comes into play.
"Hey I've seen that before."
"Nice jacket."
Jacket? It's a hoodie. This is going to be a lot more fun than I anticipated.
Not a tall guy, but not a small guy. Guesstimation clocks in at 5'6", 160lbs, probably doesn't have a frightful posse. Dresses not too shabby.
"Yeah. Thanks. It's my hoodie."
"When did you get it?"
"About a year ago."
"Moksha?"
Nod.
"Can I get two soy sauces? How much is that gonna be?"
"Nothing. HEY. YOU TWO ARE WEARING THE SAME HOODIE!"
Really?
"It was my hoodie first. Thanks a lot," calling back as I'm out the door, "I don't want to see you again in my hoodie."

Probably lived the rest of his day in fear. I was just having fun.... but what if someone took my hoodie two months back and started rocking it around.... what if the timeline basically was the same? What if I ran into somone on the street hoodie-less facing my wear?

Wild stuff.

Now buying domain space

"What's up Gabe?"
"Mason, what's going on?"
"Hey I got something for you."
Last week I let one of my friends that works across from the Majestic Bay at the Subway borrow a TPB of one of the latest Ghost Rider mini-series. Frankly, I think if the whole thing just came out as a one-shot, it'd be a helluva lot more impressive. But the included covers are ridiculously cool.
"Yeah? Clay leave the comic?"
"Hold on it's in the back." He returns. "Here. ...and according to the note I'm supposed to call you Wagnarock."
"Fuckin' damn right you should. But did he spell it right?"
"R-O-K?"
One of the other sandwich artists looks up and says, "You don't know how to spell Ragnarok?"
"No, cause I don't know what it is."
The other guy, "You don't know what Ragnarok is? It's the end of the world!!" Jubilant in his jargon over his companion artist.
"I only know how it's spelled by the way my cousin spells Wagnarok," Mason complains.
What.
"You have a cousin that goes by Wagnarok?"
"Yeah. His name is (name deleted). Big tall Nordic guy."
Blank stare. Eyes like icicles ready to telekinetically kill. Relaxed.
"Tell your cousin he should stop going by that name. It's mine. I came up with it first."
Big fucking fat lie. Haskell said if I ever started up a one man guitar band, I should call it Wagnarok. I just added the C to make it more phonetically appealing.
And then adapted it. Then started throwing it up on high scores on Megatouch. Then I started rapping again. But I never picked up a guitar since.
Mason laughed. We talked about Ghost Rider and where the fuck Clay is and who he's trying to do or maybe he's just rocking out to Guitar Hero in his tighty whities. Who knew. I just ate my roast beef sandwich and read Suttree and went to work.

I think I've typed it enough to let you guys figure out the name of this post.

Two guys are sitting at table fifteen. A Mac & Jacks, and a Coca Cola. Maybe it was Diet. It wasn't yesterday. The motion for the check. The pick up for the tender. Swipe. Nothing. Swipe two. Nothing. Looks like another manual entry. Great, Gabe. Start preparing the blurb.
Excuse me, sir but here at our store we don't have any imprinters for a copy of your signature. So just give a quick scribble in the white space at the bottom of the merchant copy.
I'm walking towards the table. Three steps. I open up my yap.
Maybe I should call him by his last name.
Great idea Gabe.
"Excuse me Mr---"
You've got to be kidding me.
"THAT'S ME."
Yoink.
"Sir just sign on the white space down there. I entered it in manually."
So much for professionalism.
Did I read that last name right? It must've been. The way he reacted.... but maybe the pronunciation was off? No way.
His last name was Boner.
Boner.

To celebrate the release of The Dark Knight, I give you the gift of more boners.

Sorry I haven't been posting much. But I will give you THIS! And by that I mean, I'll pass one something Qwerty Z linked me but pass it off as mine.


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