Lee Jonitis: Professional People Watcher (6/365)

“Fine.Fine. I’m done there’s no dealing with You right now. I’m calling Lester and I’ll figure this out from the directly from the Director Himself.” said Shane indignantly before whipping out His Cell Phone with the speed of a Wild West Gunslinger.

Shane then left to Converse in Private in the Parking Lot. Glen now on His own loitered about wondering the Isle aimlessly talking shit under His Breath. It was blatantly obvious that Glen was Acting the Asshole Lee thought to Himself . Again it wasn’t hard to tell Glen was in the Shittiest of Moods it was Written all Over His Face in the form an seriously Sinister “Eat Shit” Scowl.

   

“Who the Hell buys all this Over Priced Perversion?!” inquired Glen in an Overly Demanding Tone to No One in particular as it seemed to be more of an actual Statement rather than an Honest Question.

“Everyone.” Lee quipped snidely as He was growing tired of Glen’s less than Stellar Asshole Attitude. Glen is Lee’s opinion was overthinking the living shit out of the Situation. Shane had the right fucking idea that when in Doubt (especially if Your job could possibly be on the Line) Suck It Up, say fuck it, and Go to the Source Itself.

   

“I don’t need Your two goddamn Cents worth You Cock Jockey.” Snarled Glen through His clenched Teeth looking Madder than ever.

Lee considered that comment was rather Homophobic Sounding, BUT He did get the reference to Him being a Porn Shop Employee. Lee also got a Laugh out of the Fact the Insult had a direct Correlation with Glen and Shane’s Purchase of a Dildo. At this point Lee opted begrudgingly to bite His tongue because there was no point arguing with an Asshole. Glen was Shane’s fucking problem let Him deal with the all of Glen’s pessimistic bullshittery.

   

Luckily for Lee it was then that Shane returned from His Parking Lot Conversation with Lester with His head hanging Low. Shane also seemed to now be in a real Rush it appeared to Lee since Shane was walking hurriedly in a very determined stride. He looked like a dejected Child to Lee like a mischievous Kid who just got Scolded for some Small Indiscretion.

” So I talked with Lester, well I talked while He was Yelling at Me like a motherfucker and a half.” lamented Shane before informing Glen that in spite of the in suing  Creative Chaos that was the making of a Lester Sane Movie He had managed to get an Answer.

“Thank fuck.” sighed Glen wearily,”What pray tell then is the Solution for Our Severed Schlong dilemma ?” Now that The Duo had a definitive answer this somehow stopped Glen’s Asshole Tirade in its tracks. Glen’s Hostile Attitude was suddenly replaced with an Exasperated Sarcasm as if He had run out of Shit Spewing Steam, and was finally Accepting the Situation.

   

Tune In Tomorrow for the Next Installment of Lee Jonitis: Professional People Watcher (7/365)

Thank for Reading,

  By Les Sober

1/365

All through out My Life I’ve heard various People parrot the cliche “A Writer Writes” which is a pompous way of saying Never Stop Writing. I mean it sounds like something that a pretentious asshole like James Lipton would fucking regurgitate in an attempt to look Intellectual.

Also I never fails to astonish Me that People can’t seem to wrap Their fucking heads around the Fact that it doesn’t matter how fucking creative someone is CREATIVITY CAN NOT BE TURNED ON AND OFF at will like a fucking Light Switch for fucks sake. No to mention the ominous and every present Writer’s Block lingering over every writers shoulder just waiting to strike.

I know it’s called Writer’s Block but thats kind of bullshit. Writer’s Block is like being asked a question You damn well know You know the answer too, BUT Your mind goes completely Blank. Writer’s Block only gets worse like fucking Quicksand. Once You fall in the Harder You try to think/create Your way out of a Battle with Writer’s Block the more amnesia like it leaves You feeling.

Thats wasn’t My point though. My point is that this temporary creative paralysis can happen to EVERY TYPE OF ARTIST in the World NOT just Writers, but Painters, Sculptors, Graphic Designers, etc. Unfortunately They don’t make a Medication for Creative Impotence.

Fast forward to a few Days ago. I was driving around completing a list of Lives more mundane tasks (such as buying fucking Dog Food) and found Myself pondering the Principle behind the saying “Writers Write”. I started playing with My perception of the subject at that current time to see if I could get a better understanding. Then it suddenly occurred to Me perhaps that it wasn’t an Egotistical Statement but rather a Piece of Advice.

What if I simply took the saying Writers Write at Face fucking Value, and didn’t try to read shit into it (something have NO GREATER MEANING They are what They are and thats all They are) to find a deeper meaning or intellectually analyze it to the umpteenth degree?!

    

I believe as of now that the Point of this particular saying is You don’t have to Write a fucking Novel, or fucking Shakespearian Sonnet or a Super BlockBuster Screen Play on a Daily basis just because You’re a Writer. Basically don’t Pressure Yourself as Pressure Crushes Creativity.

Thats why I could never write for a Magazine or Newspaper (online or otherwise) because the Dead Lines would inevitably destroy the quality of My work, and more than likely My Health and Remaining Sanity as well.

Getting back to the Point that You don’t have to be Shackled to Premeditated Creative Ideas/Concepts (Large or Longterm Writing Projects) A Writer can just Write for the shear sake of Writing and the Enjoyment of doing so.

   

It also helps fight Procrastination since the number one cause of Creative Procrastination is Not having a /any Creative Subject Matter to work with. If You don’t have proper tools it makes Building something  not Impossible Yet it DOES make it Insanely fucking Harder as well as MUCH MORE Time/Soul Crushing for the Artist/Writer (I thinks its fucking Stupid that People “And Or” Writers and Artists. Writers are Artists and Artists can Tell Stories Through The Visual Art Mediums. They’re the SAME.)

I found this New view of the cliche saying “A Writer Writs” to no longer being a constrictive load of crap, and now found it quite Freeing. The idea of Writing again without the bullshit Drama like Deadlines, Writers Block, Assorted Outside Pressures, Continuing Creative Concerns, and all the other annoying/troubling  Hullababullshit.

   

So here’s the Deal I will be writing a Complete Story 1 Page a Day for the following Year. I have NO IDEA what it will be about or how it may or may not Evolve over the Span of a Year BUT, that’s the fucking Point isn’t it.  I’m just going to sit down, and start writing with NO FORETHOUGHT WHATSOEVER . The Literary equivalent to Throwing Paint at a Blank Canvas with Your Eyes Shut.

I will Start this Little Acid Test Tomorrow Wednesday March 27th 2019 as it is 2:23am as I’m writing this.

Thanks for Reading,

  Les Sober

For Shits & Giggles: The Low Country List

Here is a list of a few things I personally find endearing and welcome as part of a simpler way of living. Yet most people it is safe to say would have a rough time adjusting to.

  1. No Night Life by 10:00pm EVERYTHING is closed including Gas Stations.
  2. Its a little more half hour drive to find a Fast Food Restaurant.
  3. Having direct access to Killer BBQ thats only Available 2 days a week (Friday and Saturday 11am to 9pm)

4. There is No Trash Pick Up. You have to load your trash up in your car/truck and drive it to the Local Dump (Closed on Sundays and Wednesdays)

5. You can drive 60 mph where ever you need to possibly go.

6. There is not a single Traffic Light in the tiny town I live in, 1 Street Light in a near by neighboring town, and the town directly next to us holds the record for Traffic Lights at a grand total of 2.

7. There is No Food Deliveries. Not even the token Pizza Place or Chinese Restaurant will deliver so whatever you order you have to pick up so you need to keep your eye on the clock like I said shit closes here early.

8. There No Street Lights. When your driving its PITCH BLACK the only things you can see are the stars and your head lights.

9. Hospitals are not local nor near by. The Hospital ER I had to visit while down here getting married was an hour and a half away from town.Luckily for me my Wife is an Insanely Smart and wildly Intelligent RN.

10. There is only a single Veterinarian there are No other Veterinary options as there are no Animal Emergency Hospitals either. Our Local Vet is a tough as nails 82 year old man who’s mind is as sharp as his wit, but just like the Wild West once he is no longer practicing then the question is Who Will?

11.There is a VERY SMALL Police Presence so Owning (and knowing how to use) a gun or several Guns is considered the logical thing to due in these parts. When We first moved here our extremely rural town of 344 residents spread out through the Southern Country had on 1 Police Officer. Think about that for a minute its mind bending. Our town now as of 3 months ago hired a second Police Officer. That math means only one Police Officer is on duty at a time. Again take a minute to wrap your mind around that little ditty. There are surprisingly more Cancelled Weapons Permits issued here as there are in The Great Souther Swamp, but the attitude here on the subject are in direct contrast to one another. Here people keep Gun Ownership (including Shot Guns and Rifles not just Handguns) to themselves they don’t broadcast it to the fucking world. In The Swamp its a bunch of moronically macho cowboys running around with assault Rifles and shit bragging none stop trying to trick the world into not finding out how small his dick actually is.

12. Everyone has Well Water as the Public Water Works won’t extend their services to remoter areas.

13. People talk and interact with each other, when your out you won’t see a single Lap Top or Tablet. You won’t find people stumbling around with their heads buried in the Smart Phones, in fact its hard to find someone just making a phone call on a Smart Phone.

14. Here Cash is still King, Paying with Plastic is not the norm by far.

There are no Fire Hydrants. This is something you wouldn’t even actually notice until it was pointed out to you by your Insurance Company. Its an Insurance issue because if your house is remotely located (the County doesn’t extend their Fire Hydrant services that far),and the small Fire Station is going to take quite awhile its safe to assume if your house catch on fire theres a HUGE RISK of it burning to the ground.

15. If you need other certain services such as say an Exterminator you ay have to wait a bit because if you live in a remoter location they don’t want to come all the way out for just one call so they bundle them if you will.

16. Lastly, and this I have come to HATE is due to our remote rural geography the Major Internet Providers like Verizon, Adelphi, Comcast, At&t etc. don’t provide service because they aren’t enough people to cover costs and make what they deem as a good profit margin. So what the hell does that mean, well I’ll tell you. It means you have to take a technology specific time machine back to fucking 1982 by which I mean SATELLITE SERVICE. Its pretty fucking safe to say that since 1982 there have been few to none improvements in technology and thus service. Its the same bullshit now as it was then if it rains the service gets sketchy or just cuts out. Now back in the day it was just your cable that went out but with the greedy bundling bastards of today now you Land Line (cell phone service is shady at best, here calls get dropped on a daily basis) Cable AND INTERNET go out. The part that irritates me the most is not only do I have to rely on OUT DATED Technology with Sub Par Service(s) because there is only one Satellite Provider is costing me 3 fucking times more than it did in The Great Southern Swamp.

Thats All For Now Folks, Thanks For The Read

Les Sober

Amazon Reviews are for Assholes: My review of Worthington’s “How to be a savvy restaurant Reviewer

I used to be just another average Joe who’s idea of fine dining was eating in at a McDonald’s. That was until I stumbled across Sam Worthington’s book How to be a savvy restaurant reviewer one day tooling around on Amazon killing time before my gastrointestinal doctor’s appointment. This book changed my life transforming a fast food schlub into a refined food critic that is revered and feared in my home town. After reading Worthington’s book I developed an intense ego to a point that I felt almost god like. I started dressing in expensive 3 piece suits, bought a brand new Mercedes and started saying things like “This dish has a nice mouth feel” and started using descriptive words for dishes like acidulated, gastropod, omakase, and salmagundi for example. I developed a french accent out of the blue as well. I started walking in a slow stride with my nose pointed to the sky. For the first time in my life I became overly opinionated, arrogant and pompous. In just a couple of weeks I had built a reputation around town that preceded me wherever I went to dine. Cooks quivered when they were informed I was in the dining room. Restaurateurs waited in angst for my reviews to be published. One bad review from me had the power and ability to cause a restaurant to go bankrupt the same day as the review was published. Nowadays when I order the waiter/waitress comes running to take my order upon bended knee and fawns over me like royalty. The Food Channel offered me a 25 year contract this morning and every celebrity chef such as Anthony Bourdain or Gordon Ramsey are blowing up my phone 24/7. I only urinate Fine Wine, crap Caviar coated Kobe Beef and wipe my ass with Foie Gras nowadays thanks to this 62 page powerhouse.

I don’t Know What I Am, But I Know I’m Great

I live in live in the back right corner of the Cardboard Neighborhood with its four tall walls and retractable ceiling located in the Southern territory of The Closet.

I’m not Alone, though I wish I was.
My neighbors are a bunch of troglodytes to say the least.
Who are my Neighbors you ask? Well, fine I’ll tell you though it’s a waste of both of our time.
The first of my neighbors is a rather large pocket knife. PK as I call him because I don’t know or want to know his actual name.
He’s a bore. He never talks. He just periodically blurts out military slogans such as ‘Death before dishonor” and “Remember the Alamo”.
There is a gang of condoms that while still attached to each other like siamese twins are without a proper box like a bunch of savages.
All the condoms want to do is talk to the small army of naked women in the large stack of magazines where apparently clothes are forbidden.
The magazine girls and the condoms just hit on each other all day in an endless string of “Ohs” and “Ahs” .
I don’t know any of the condoms names, or the army of naked ladies names, but if I had to make an educated guess I’d say that they all appear to be called “Baby”.
I can survive my asinine neighbors because I am special.
Those outside the cardboard confines of the neighborhood call me The Big Bad Boy.
They claim I can take your head off like a shotgun.
Thus I think its safe to assume I am in fact royalty.
Yet if you’re not convinced of my awe inspiring greatness then you can choke on this.
I’m the only one in the neighborhood who gets invited to the land of giants.
At least twice a day the giant named Tim comes and collects me.
I believe Tim is the leader of this particular group of giants.
Once in a while it’s just me and Tim hanging out, this again proves my greatness as I’m the only one the giant Tim consults in private behind the curtain of his court.
Most of the time though when Tim comes to collect me he is surrounded by his fellow giant friends who play second fiddle to Tim.
Tim lifts me out of the cardboard neighborhood and carries me to the bathroom, as it is called, yet I have not seen a single giant taking a bath in all these long years.
The Giant Tim turns on a metal appendage protruding from something called a sink.
Tim then fills my belly full of cold, crisp, clean water.
The cool water flows directly down into my awaiting belly via my mouth which is always agape.
Then Tim takes me back to the land of giants which I like to refer to as Timsland.
Tim places me on a low circular table which his friend giants are sitting around so that they may admire me.
I’m the most stunning centerpiece these giants have ever known.
After a few minutes of idle chit chat the giant Tim along with his friends take turns filling my belly button with various exotic and quite aromatic plants with names like “Grape Ape” or “OG Kush”
I suppose these are gifts paying tribute to me and all that I am.
Then the truly grand party begins.
Giant Tim lights sweet smelling sticks called Intense I believe due to the pungent trails of smoke that drift from its end when exposed to fire.
Tim then plays the music of other giants I’ve never met with strange and exotic names like Metallica, Slayer, and Anthrax at a rather high volume.
Tim then sits down with his fellow giants around the table.
He takes a small combustable device and creates a small flickering flame.
He then holds the small flame up to my belly button and sets the exotic plant, given to me as a tribute, on fire.
As the plant smolders in my belly button Tim inhales the smoke through my entire body and out through a rather large hole in my head.
After I make my rounds the giants are pleased with me and agree I am something referred to as “Cool as shit” which is obviously another dubious title for me affirming I am royalty even more so.
The giants then lounge around Timsland eyes half closed in satisfaction.
They giggle, laugh, smile and thoroughly enjoy themselves in my company.
Still, things are not always so copacetic in Timsland.
Timsland is under constant threat by an even larger female giant known as an Adult.
Sometimes during the parties the Adult summons Tim and Tim makes a frantic exit while the other giants look on anxiously.
But it can get even worse I tell you.
Sometimes the Adult storms into Timsland and crashes the party she wasn’t invited to.
When the Adult invades Timsland Tim immediately hides me from view.
I believe this is because the larger Adult wants to capture me for my endless greatness and take me far away from Timsland to serve only her.
Tim being the smaller of the two giants would not fair well in a physical confrontation so he must hide me so I can’t be confiscated by the Adult threat.
One day the Adult found where Tim was hiding me.
The Adult was enraged at Tim keeping her from me and she then kidnapped me.
I was thrown into a prison known as The basement were I was confined to an old luggage trunk.
I spent my days longing for Tim to come and steal me back and take me to Timsland to be properly celebrated.
Days turned into months and I was convinced I was abandoned or perhaps exiled by the angry Adult.
I had given up all hope as my days of glory were far gone.
That was until the Adult came to collect me and fill my belly with cold, crisp, clean water.

Befuddled By The Bartender

Last night I went to my favorite dive bar which is a dark, smoke filled,tiny hole in the wall filled with all kinds of characters. This makes it my favorite place not only to drink with friends but to people watch as well. The bartender working last night is far from my favorite because she is too fucking odd to live (so you never know wtf your walking into) so best to stay off the radar as they say. Last night she was aggravated because for once it was almost a busy night. The first bizarre interaction was when I went up to the bar to get another beer at which point the bartender said and I quote “You drink too fast.” First off I wasn’t drinking any sort of cocktail as I said I was drinking bottled beer so all the bartender had to do was reach in a cooler, grab a beer, open it and serve it (how fucking easy is that?!) Also I couldn’t help thinking well if I drink fast then I drink a good bit before I leave and I tip putting money in the bartenders pocket. Let me take a second to explain the tip deal. This dive bar is also a private club were the patrons pay annul dues of a whole whopping $20 (sarcasm abounds) thusly they believe that they’re absolved from tipping ever. I’ve frequented this bar for 7 plus years and only saw 2 other people in all that time actually tip and they were newbies.

Fast forward a few hours during which time the people who had to work the next day leave followed by the elderly patrons and then by the heavy drinkers/alcoholics leaving only a handful of lingering local barflies. Now at this point in the evening I had switched from beer to Rum&Coke of which I drank 3 before ordering my final drink of the evening (which is a double Rum&Coke) and this led to an even more absurd interaction between the bartender and myself. I went ahead and ordered my double Rum&Coke. What happen next I don’t understand at all as not only do I tip but I wasn’t bitching about her drinks being weak nor in anyway talking shit to the bartender (i.e. giving her a hard time) With that said the bartender walks over to the bar, grabs a 8oz glass and proceeded to leisurely pour 7oz of rum into the glass and then stopped. She then turns her head to look at me and asked angrily “Is this OK?!” as if we were having some sort of altercation and now I’m stuck with a pissed off belligerent bartender. The bartender then tops of the glass with a slash of coke, walks it over to where I was sitting at the bar and again gets in my face like we’re involved in a non existent disagreement. This time she places the drink in front of me then leans over the bar and asks me snidely “Does THAT make you happy?” and I simply said “Yes” and that was that.

About time for some criticism

From time to time I will be posting reviews of other blogs. I utterly believe with the ever expanding field of blogging that a Critic is well needed, if not a necessity.

So I am happy as hell to announce that (As far as I’m aware. Just saying so some smug douche who’s waiting to talk shit in a know- it- all manner can calm the fuck down and not bother posting a response.) as off now

I am the first official blog Critic

and

May I say that the shit has now hit the fan, shit is about to get real interesting.