Make ups to break ups

 Dearest Comrades!

After a long twenty year relationship, my neighbor Samarra Harlem broke up with her life-long love. I'm unsure if any of them had been unfaithful, but there he was, on the couch, outside in the middle of February in Pittsburgh. He was too proud to beg, but I could hear him, late into the night, the late night national anthem as the public broadcasts died out followed by the eerie call of his white snow, bleeting like a sheep in the night."Please! he called out, the Fresh Prince of Bel Air is on! Don't you want to see Saved by the Bell?"

Samarra Harlem I could see from the window. That sad look in her eyes, I had seen it before, the look a woman makes when a man she has stopped loving, because he was a mega asshole, writhes on the ground like an even bigger asshole thinking his caterpillar movements will somehow win her back. I saw pity in her silhouette. He never brought himself to go, nobody took him. There he sat. I mean it was kind of Samarra to leave her couch under him. Eventually the rains came to wet him and snow made him chatter, and all at once he was covered in the rubbish of her new paramour. A flat screen HD, plasma with a whopping girth and overall screen size.

Sometimes I can still see him. Under everything, moaning lightly to himself, "Seinfeld!"

I guess he was wrong, not every problem in life can be solved by a Saved by the Bell episode.

En Plein Air: The Ballad of the Pittsburgh Toilet

 Dearest Comrades!

Today we ask the question, does someone always have to die in a ballad? What if the object is not living to begin with? What if it's a toilet? What then?

Now some of you may have heard of the Pittsburgh Left, the Pittsburgh Chair, or even the Pittsburgh perm. The Pittsburgh Toilet was born in the clouded depths of February, where the morning sun, is no brighter than the inside of a muffler at dusk. It was the year when men and woman wore no shoes, marched back and forth three miles to shuck oysters, or lift giant wooden logs, and the snow really reached their waists, like they all tell us it did when we bitch or complain about how high the snow is this year. Basically it was a shitty time!
Well, in the Squirrel hill neighborhood there was a man named Maxwell Ardilla, a Magnate who grew his fortune from a walnut company. He was the owner of the first car in the Burgh. However he was a chronic antagonist to his sworn enemy, and neighbor Gregory Tejon Johnson. Their fervent hatred went back and forth. The cause, unknown sometimes even to themselves. Historians trace this family conflict back as far as the 18th century over a packet of Kool Aid strategically placed in Ardilla's riding boots. Staining the man's toes purple and thus foiling his attempt to gain the hand of the French duchess and ambassador to the Iroquois. Gregory Tejon Johnson was the second to purchase a vehicle in the city of Pittsburgh, but he was the first to steal a parking spot. Ardilla woke one morning to find his vehicle entirely covered, after an early morning snowstorm. With a shovel, he cleared the vehicle off, and left to work. When he returned home, he found that the space he cleaned out was stolen, by his nemesis. The next day, he awoke, cleared off the car, and left. When he came back he found the same car in his spot. The feud rekindled! Maxwell Ardilla found himself sitting out on his porch day and night waiting to catch the man stealing his spot. Until one day it was confirmed. Maxwell, woke, cleared off his parking spot, and drove the car around the corner. Parking it out of view. Gregory Tejon Johnson saw no wrong in his actions, he saw a spot and took it. They both waited on their porches. Seeing if the other would make his or her move. It got so bad, that they each had their own toilets installed, so they would never have to leave! Eventually the walnut company was run out of business; bought out by a largely unknown businessman who wanted to use the space to fabricate porch commodes!

The Heart is a Lonely Rocking Horse

Dearest Comrades!

After Publishing my last installment I went to the Garfield neighborhood on the Gallery Crawl. Stopping off at the various art galleries and whatever ever else you find there along Penn avenue. You know where Pittsburghers go to look at things they don't care to understand, drink PBR, and finger paints or take place in a happening titled: THE BIRTH OF MY PAIN!
Well to say the least, I passed by every art show, since everything was either the photograph of a flower or a beach landscape and I continued on until I came across this handsome looking rocking horse with a sign in the window that said JOIN US...>>> You'll never guess, comrades, what happened when I went inside. I found forty to fifty grown men and women rocking back and forth on these elaborately adorned playground rocking horses. It was magic, in unison, they moved and swayed. I tell you not even Michelangelo himself could create such unity. There was a free chair and I began to rock. But the horse would not obey. It moved left to right, right to left, never in sync with the others. Then the video turned on....

A bald man appeared on screen and explained to me how to rock. Back and forth, back to forth. I even got an awesome pair of Nike tennis shoes. I really enjoyed the meeting, they invited me back next weekend.

Help a Comrade out!

Dearest Comrades!

There are cracks in the pavement, everywhere we go, we must always keep present in our minds that nothing remains as it was. New is the most vulnerable state of being, because decadence follows new like death follows old. 

Keep this in mind while I ask you to stop reading this section and click on the link next to my words.

It is that way.>>>>>>>>> or downward depending on how this damn blog formatted the video.

When you are done, please continue reading.

Are you horrified? Do you think this man belongs in prison? Helmut Eichelberger is a good man! I don't think there was an overabundance of malice in his actions, I honestly believe he as the victim of the xenophobic policy of brand switching.  Many countries are beginning to switch products harmless in one country to poisons in others; to bait foreigners into committing heinous acts such as the one you have seen above. 

Example 1: A Mexican man was taken into custody and deported from yet another country when he pulled out a bottle of Cajeta, and offered it to his host Argentine family. (Cajeta is the Mexican word for a Caramel-like substance made from goat's milk. Cajeta is also the Argentina word to refer to the Vagina in the pejorative. Like the C word in the UK or the V word in the US) Needless to say, his host family vomited at the table, when the jar touched the cloth. Subsequently the police were called in to investigate, and as I said he was deported. The Federal police are still unable to determine exactly how he got the Cajetas into the jar, but a  dossier is set to come out at the end of month. 

Example 2: An American man moved to Suriname after living in New York for fifty years. He was madly obsessed with cleanliness. Often found unconscious after fumigating his house with Raid to point that even his pet fishes were diagnosed with anoxic brain injury. The man heard that Suriname was somehow the place on Earth with the least cockroaches; so he moved. Once there and settled he went to the store and purchased a can of raid. Oddly, it took him hours to find a single can, and finally when he did, it was at a bakery not at a supermarket. He got home sprayed the entire house and went to bed. The next morning when he awoke, the floor was covered in roaches. Not dead, but live ones. He went back and he bought more, he tried again, and again there were more roaches. This continued on until one day the baker refused to sell him anymore raid. When the American was arrested, the police charged him with causing the cockroach epidemic. You see in Suriname Raid is a brand sugar glaze, comrades. 

Please be sure to show your support for Helmut Eichelberger, a bank account and facebook page has been set up in his name to assist with legal fees. 

      

The Discrete Charm of Burgling

Dearest Comrades!




Jaime Decano came home one night, like he had done every other night in Pittsburgh for the past twenty-nine years, to find his entire apartment pitch black. He rattled the first lock loose and reached in with his hand. He flicked on the living room light, set down his briefcase, and scanned the room. Empty! He walked to the lamp, and clicked on the living room lamp. He scanned the hall, kitchen, and first room. All were empty, like the previous twenty-nine years worth of nights.  He entered his room and set his briefcase on the bed.  Jaime Decano heard a RUMBLE* RUMBLE* RUMBLE* 
Suddenly a man exited the closet. He stood before Jamie Decano, and his Elton John, and Peter Gabriel posters.  Burglar was obviously upset, he pleaded that he was taking only something that was his. He begged for Jaime Decano's help. The Burglar was on his knees, crying. HELP! He went on, explaining the tribulations that had since passed in his life. You see the Burglar, we'll call him Hamilton Burglar . Hamilton Burglar used to live in that exact apartment. The kneeling man seemed harmless, and Jaime Deacon put his guard down. Well just then, Hamilton Burglar pulled out a revolver. "Get in the closet."Hamilton whispered. Jaime switched spots with the burglar. Hamilton went on, "I used to own a pair of Cufflinks made from Brazilian coins bearing the likeness of José Maria da Silva Paranhos Júnior. When a man wore said cufflinks he possessed the uncanny ability, to simultaneously seduce all the women on the planet, walk through walls, and even turn into a candle on demand." Unfortunately Hamilton had lost one of the pair while moving to his new place off of Butler street. He had been searching ever since. "Now search!" The man shouted. Jaime Deacon got down on his hands and knees, searching frantically. He could find nothing. That is until, in the far corner of the closet he saw a tiny Silver glow. The tiny face of a Brazilian baron. Is it this, sir? Jaime Decano, reached up. The man snatched it from his hands and immediately placed it on his cuff. While he celebrated his victory, Jaime tossed a sneaker into the man's face, and ran off. He called 911. Before he could find, and dispose of Jaime, the police arrived. Hamilton turned into a candle. "What seems to be the problem, son?" Taking the candle in his hand and lighting it, Jamie Decano responded, by telling him that he thought there was a man in his closet. After the cops left he let the candle burn down to the wick. Hamilton Burgler, and the cufflinks were never never heard from again.  

Texas is the End of the World

There was this man who had fallen madly in love with Texas. She was of a thin, fragile disposition, with eyes bluer than the brightest bluebonnet that state could offer. Yet, Texas believed she was obese beyond all belief. When she looked into the mirror she saw not her bony arms and shoulders, but part of her cheek and possibly the meat of her neck. When they made love she was gentle enough to avoid squishing the man, and all his manliness. The man tried everything to get the girl to eat, but she insisted upon her girth, and locked her self in her room on the second floor above the bakery.  "I'll not come out love. Never!" The man, we will call him Comrade Kraken was bewildered by her delusion.  He took action. First,  he purchased a gigantic mirror and reclined it in her bedroom, but with more reflection, she saw only more of herself. "I am bloated", she covered her face, and laid back in her bed. Second, Comrade devised a plan to have a seamstress come a measure her. 

No one is beyond logic, and measurements. When the seamstress appeared with her tape measure in hand Texas hollered, "Leave or I will crush you with my weight." Texas hopped on her hands and feet and called like a crow. When Comrade Kraken gave the seamstress the okay nod, the seamstress set to work. Texas warned her once more before rolling over on her. Eventually, and bewildered the seamstress gave up her suit. Comrade Kraken was ready to give up.

"Dearest, but is there anything I can do?" Texas crossed her arms abruptly and looked away.

"I may never leave this room, dearest" She replied, "For I cannot fit through that door."  Texas pointed. 

Comrade Kraken, fed up with her tomfoolery, attempted to drag her out by her tiny arm, but instead was met with a sharp pair of teeth. That next morning I found the dear Comrade on a ladder with a pick and hammer.  He sawed off the top of his house, until all that was left was his tiny Texas, and her tiny bed. When he called her, she refused. She was too big, she said, for the ladder.

"If I fall, I pray I will crush the earth's plate of molten magma, and it will be the end of us all." Texas pleaded with the man to let her remain above. The more Texas pleaded the more, Comrade Kraken pleaded. 

"I will catch you I promise." The good Comrade spoke. 

Again Texas refused him. 

"But if you do not come down now, I fear the house will collapse, and you will plummet into the Earth's core."

Just then Texas could hear the house creaking beneath her feet. It rumbled, and for fear she might crush the earth below, she leaped into the empty air below. 

She leaped into his arms.

Unfortunately, the ground below the good comrade's feet collapsed, and they plummeted into the earth's core. 

In the Shitsburgh, Texas is the End of the world.

The floating biker of Friendship

Dearest Comrades!

I saw a woman ride her bicycle topless around Friendship park. Although it was difficult to discern at first glance whether it was male or female, the obvious fact remains that topless bike riding is commonly a guy's thing. Let's just say it took me more than a general second. Oh no! I am not against this practice, not in the least. Bicycle nudity should be embraced on all levels. Bobby Ahogar embraced this principle, he was a knack of all trades, he welded, performed poetry at the nearest cafe, was a barista at the local crazy coffee store, but above all he was well crafted in the art

of thievery. He was not always such, larceny is not inborn, one must work hard to achieve even the slightest of talents, in fact it took over 1200 hours of deliberate practice to make him a level 5 thief. Even then, he could only purse-snatch with a two yard head start. On foot, his wind sprint was a, flaccid breeze, a jog for the oldest of women. Eventually he took to purse snatching on bicycle. In the hill-infested city of Pittsburgh this proved to be an almost fatal choice for the boy. Bobby Ahogar, being unable to ride up the hill to make his escape was often captured as a result. On more than one occasion he was pummeled by angry AARP members, and left a
 cane beaten mess. When he was finally able to make it up the hill, the downward slide was equally as troublesome. He became intimate with all three of Pittsburgh rivers, and even managed to be dyed a pink hue by falling into the breast cancer fountain at the point in downtown. It was obvious that Bobby Ahogar could not swim.  He joined the YMCA, he watched youtube videos, read books, studied swimmers, he even joined the guppies competitive swim team from which he was eventually cut, but nothing could help him to keep his head above water.  Eventually he was killed. Alas! He was drowned in the waters of the Allegheny river. Since then, thieves in Pittsburgh salute his efforts by sporting floaties on their bicycle runs.