You Line 'Em Up God, I'll Knock 'Em Down.

I just thought you should know boss, I ain't going out like that.

It's on now baby.

And you have no idea what I'm capable of.

No idea.

Be Strong & Stand

"You're sinking."

"I know."


"What are you going to do about it?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Hi.

Remember me?

I'm the guy who really wishes he wasn't...well, anywhere right now.

I got problems.

Where do I start?

Oh yeah...right here.

Teetotaled

"Way I figure if it takes a 12 year old Scotch and a 19 year old Russian to keep me from putting a gun in my mouth at the end of the day, well then, there's really not much reason to argue with it."

Well...there wasn't. I'd stopped drinking for awhile, but then I realized that I really drank so little that it wouldn't affect my problem. So I started drinking just a little bit again. But then I decided that even though I wasn't drinking too much I was drinking more often than I wanted to. So I slowed down again. But now every time I have a drink (which isn't that often) I think 'Should I be drinking this?' which is totally irrational and just pisses me off. But I can't help it.

The other half of that equation is of course a problem in all sorts of different ways. I like go-go bars. I'm not going to go-go bars. This is good because I don't spend money and I'm not drinking. This is bad because I'm friggin' bored. It also makes me feel like an ass when I do go to a certain bar to visit a certain "old friend". As it turns out I really do like talking to her. In fact when I don't talk to her for a few weeks I miss talking to her. How frigged' is that? I've spent almost as much time talking to her in the past year as I have talking to my friends. It's cool to have someone to talk to that it doesn't matter how stupid what you say is because at the end of the night you just fork over some cash and it's like you didn't say anything at all. It's like having a really hot shrink. There's more to it than that of course. In a time where I was desperately searching for anything to help me not lose my god damn mind she was a really big help. I have a hard time forgetting debts like that. Which makes it really suck that I might just have to stop going to visit her altogether.

"But..."

"Don't say it."

"What if I love her?"

"Motherfucker."

Familial

"But you forget, we're Palombas. That means we can do pretty much anything that doesn't involve talent, grace, skill, or intelligence."

I've learned a lot about both sides of my family in the past few weeks. Not necessarily good things, but things I'm glad to know. Everyone is hurting right not for a variety of reasons, everyone is getting ready to face some pretty stiff challenges. Myself included.

What frightens me here though is how much of it will affect me and how little control I'll have over all of it. I want nothing but the best for everyone, but as my father often reminds me I can't save everyone. It's not my job. It's not my responsibility. Nobody expects me to be able to...except me of course. It's one of my fatal flaws. Not only do I want to fix everything...but I really think I can.

"Everybody can see, it's plain as day, we Palomba's, we fall hard. Real hard. But not everybody knows our secret. You see, we may fall hard but...we bounce."

Sacrilege & Blasphemy

"I can't stop the rain, and I can't make the sun come out. But I can tell you it's only water, and there are worse things than being wet."

A certain unfortunate situation has arisen in the past few days. One that is by and large of my own making. I count among my great failures of the past year the fact that I couldn't nip this in the bud last time it came up, but I had really hoped that a year of growth and change would have solved the problem for me. How foolish of me.

And then I had another chance to fix it this year. Another chance to make it go away. But I couldn't do it. I just didn't have it in me. I readily admit now that was a mistake, even though I'm still adamant that it was the right thing to do.

It won't ever sit right with me what I'm about to do.

I can make a lot of excuses, but I know the truth.

I know why I'm really doing what I'm doing. And it makes me sick.

"You hung a man who was meant to hang. What's so wrong about that?"

"Everything Hob. Everything."

Sludge & Monotony

"You don't dull a knife because its blade is too sharp, you simply find tougher things to cut."

Last week at this time I was thinking of taking a vacation. Thinking of finding a new way to get my head sorted out. Trying to break out of this...funk.

A lot's happened since then.

My basement filled with water again. I failed at my resolution to get back to exercising everyday. I haven't been doing great with my diet. My house stinks like shitty dog. I'm constantly tired. I'm bleeding a lot again. Nothing is going very well.

There's an official complaint with the state against me. In the complaint the guy says the he came to me on May 19th, 2004 to ask me about something, but I told him I was too busy to deal with it. May 19th certainly was a busy day for me seeing as I was graduating from SCILS that day, wasn't working at the bus company yet, and hadn't even met the fellow in question at that point. But that's just the sort of week I'm having.

I really don't have a lot going for me right now. In addition to being fuck all crazy I'm coming dangerously close to letting this perpetual melancholy evolve into an actual depression. That scares me a little. I'm also spending entirely too much time alone. This doesn't really help the situation.

But still...

"You don't hold on because everything's perfect. You hold on because there's always just enough that's right to keep holding on to."


Ode To Joy

"A legend ain't a legend just because you say it is. Legends walk the walk."

And finally...

I'm beginning to wonder if I don't work better when everything is going to hell. Beginning to wonder if the potential to right a wrong does more for me then something being right all along. Maybe it's just another way I'm fucked up.

I've been thinking a lot lately about going over the edge and seeing where it takes me, but I know that would just be me asking for a whole lot of hurt that I really don't think I can handle right now. So instead I'll keep on not being normal, keep on being amused by anything and everything that catches my fancy, and keep on trying to figure out exactly how this all works out.

"Are we ever going to be ok?"

"I don't know about you kid, but I'll be just fine."

"No, really..."

"Really? We'll be alright."

"How do you know?"

"I don't. But can you really imagine this ending any other way?"

Focking Smashed: Vignettes

"Strippers and Heroin. Two of my favorite things. Nah, I'm just kidding folks, I've never done heroin. Come to think of it I've never done a stripper either, but a guy can dream." - Lazzy Jones ~

"I think I love her."

"Which one?"

"I can't love both of them?"

"No, I think you'll have to choose."

"What the hell sense does that make? Loving either one of them is totally base and irrational, so how much more irrational could it be if I loved them both?"

"Hey, don't get mad at me. I didn't make up the rules."
~

"I don't know about you, but if I'm not completely shitty in the next fifteen minutes this night has been a complete and utter failure." - T.O. Hob, The Open Bar Theory


~
INT. RESTAURANT - NIGHT

A man sits alone at a table facing a mirrored wall, his back is to the door. The tables all around him are filled with people eating, drinking, celebrating. The door to the restaurant opens, the man sitting at the table, Hob, slowly pulls on his leather gloves, stands up and turns to face the door.

The man standing in the doorway, Groome, is younger than Hob but dressed much the same in a sharp black suit. Groome notices Hob as he turns to face him. Neither man moves.

Hob:

Who sent you?

Groome:

You know who sent me.

Hob:

What's your name?

x

Groome:
My name?

x

Hob:

If they sent you after me it means you're the best they have. In which case there's very little chance either one of us are walking out of here tonight. You already know the name of the man who will kill you. I would expect the same courtesy.

Groome:

They call me Groome.

Hob:

Your full name Groome, none of this agency shorthand.

Groome:

Jacob. Jacob Groome.

Hob:

Thomas Hob.

Groome:

A pleasure to meet you sir.

Hob:

Certainly.

Groome:

Shall we do this?

Hob:

No.

Groome:

No? What happened to you being so sure you could kill me?

Hob:

I already have Groome.

Hob points his gloved hand at Groome again and Groome notices a tear in one of the fingertips. Hob taps his finger against his own chest, Groome glances down at his breast pocket. There is a small hole in his shirt.

Hob: (continued)

A poison tipped projectile, so fine and sharp it will cut through any body armor and pierce the flesh so finely that its target likely wouldn't even know he's been hit. The poison acts fairly quickly, numbness in the jaw within fifteen seconds.

Groome wiggles his jaw. His eyes go wide.

Hob: (continued)

Total loss of motor functions just inside of thirty. Paralysis sets within a minute. Death follows shortly after.

Groome falls to his knees.

Hob: (continued)

So you see Mr.Groome, I have killed you.

Groome's lips move, no words come out.

Hob: (continued)

They didn't send you here to kill me Mr.Groome, they sent you as a message. It's their way of letting me know that they won't be letting me go. That they'll keep sending boys like you to do a man's job. No Mr.Groome they didn't send you here to kill me, they sent you here to die.

Groome's face contorts in pain.

Hob: (continued)

Open your mouth boy.

Hob removes a vial of liquid from his inner pocket and twists the top off. With one hand he yanks Groome's mouth open, with the other he tips the liquid into Groome's mouth. He pushes the boy to the ground. Groome suddenly gasps for air.

Groome:

What...

Hob crouches down next to Groome and pulls his head up by the hair.

Hob:

They killed you. I give you life. The antidote takes about fifteen minutes to do its work which will give me a comfortable head start in case you haven't seen the light. I can see the confusion in your eyes. I've killed but I'm not a killer. That's your lot. If you want to see the real bad guy here, look in the mirror. They sent you as a message Groome, and now I do the same. You head back to the Arch and you tell Garrison and any other of those right bastards who will listen that I'm not running anymore. All I wanted was for them to leave me and mine alone, but they couldn't even do that. You tell them that they can stop looking for me now, because I'm coming for them.

Hob lets go of Groome's hair and his head smacks the floor with a dull thud, drool runs from his lips. Hob opens the door to the outside, pauses, and turns back.

Hob:

And Groome, if I were you I wouldn't be standing too close to any of those pricks when I come for them. Few enough men have lived after crossing me once...no one's ever survived crossing me twice.

Hob heads out into the darkness, the door closes behind him. The other occupants of the restaurant stand stunned, no one stirring to check on Groome.

~

"Your day can not possibly have been worse than mine."

"Really? My washing machine doesn't work, my house is a mess, someone broke my dragon statue, my company is going nuts, I have $500,000 on my desk but somehow I'm still piss broke. My computer is all frigged up, my backup computer has a virus, I got sued on my lunch break...again. I have a pile of complaints three feet high, seven hours of work to do before I can go home and my basement is filled with shit, like literally shit, yeah, you know the brown stuff that comes out your asshole? All over the fucking place."

"You win."
~

Marwood: There's a man over there who doesn't like the perfume. The big one. Don't look, don't look! We're in danger, we've got to get out.

Withnail: What are you talking about?

Marwood: I've been called a ponce.

Withnail: What FUCKER said that?

Irishman: I called him a ponce. And now I'm calling you one, PONCE!

Withnail: Would you like a drink?

Irishman: What's your name, MacFuck?

Withnail: ...I have a heart condition. I have a heart condition, if you hit me it's murder.

Irishman: I'll murder the pair of yous!

- from Withnail & I

~

"Are you takin' the fuckin' piss? It means yeh spend too much time playin' wi' yerself. Yeh've got yer head stuck up yer own aresehole. WANKER: NOUN. ONE WHO WANKS. Am I gettin' through to yeh, do yeh think? All right, look, I'm sorry. I know this is yer place an' everything. It's just a bit of a...well, a disappointment really."

"How so?"

"Because I've been wanderin' round the world for three quarters of a fuckin' century, watchin' all me mates dyin' or gettin' old, an' now I finally find someone else who's gonna live forever an'--well. It turns out he's a bit've a prick."

- from Cassidy: Blood & Whiskey from Preacher

~

"She's got a voice like pure sugar and everytime I hear it I just think she's so sweet I want to eat her right up."

"You're a twisted fuck."

"What?"

"That's focking cannabalism what you're talking about it is."

"No, I don't actually mean I want to eat her up. It's a euphemism."

"Euphe-what? Ah wait, I get it, a sex thing. A wee bit of the old cunning linguist eh? Eh? You old dog."

"No, I mean, just forget it."

"Yeah, I'll forget it. Just like you'll forget it. All night long, right? Right?"

"You really are retarded aren't you?"

"Only half, on me muther's side."

~

"You know I really don't think today could have possibly been any worse."

"You could have found out you have herpes."

"Ha, yeah. You're right Otto, that would have made it worse."

"Aye Lazzy, I've got something tell you."

"What's that Otto?"

"Doctor called. Says you've got herpes."

~
"Shit is an acquired taste, eat it long enough and eventually you just get used to it." - Lazzy Jones

Aaaaaaannnndd...I'm out!

Burn Baby Burn

At what point do you decide that since your life is already a total (albeit amazing) disaster and that you're already going to hell you might as well just say fuck it and have a good time?

Anybody?

Very often we don't do things we want to do because we're afraid we won't be able to deal with the consequences.

I can deal with the consequences, so what's stopping me from going off?

I've just realized.

I still think I'm the good guy.

I still think I have a chance.

What a fool...

Praise Jesus

Wow...

So this morning I worked for a little bit, then hung out with the Rookie for awhile, stopped at Joker's Child and picked up some comics, set up a shelf with my Bowen Faux Bronze statues on it and went to lunch at the worst Chinese restaurant I've ever been to (I know they're Chinese, but didn't anyone tell them pizza's not supposed to be squishy?).

Turns out my basement flooded again last night (even though there hasn't been rain in days) and I didn't get half the stuff I planned on getting done done. I did write a little this afternoon, and I did eat some left over turkey. So that was all good.

By six o'clock or so it was beginning to look like I wasn't going out tonight so I began to hunker down for what was shaping up to be a painful night. Then the guys decided they wanted to go to the movies, so I cleaned up and headed over to the mall to meet them. First though I stopped at my mom's to say goodnight to the kids, at the liquor store to pick up some bourbon, and then headed by the office to make sure everything was locked up tight.

On the way to the office however I ran into a slight problem. Coming down the hill on Haledon Avenue towards Paterson traffic splits into two lanes at several lights. One is only for left hand turns, the other is only to go straight. I was coming up on a light with a silver mustang next to me, they were in the left hand lane with their signal on to make a left. I was in the right hand lane intending to go straight. Just before we hit the intersection the light turned yellow, there was plenty of time to make it. It wouldn't have even been close, until the mustang decided to go straight out of the left lane and almost ran me off the road. It wouldn't have been such an egregious driving foul but for the reason that it made me tag the breaks as I hit the intersection, which meant the light turned red as I was in the intersection. The car behind me was right up my ass so I couldn't stop hard and fall short of the intersection. I essentially had to run the red light. I didn't think it was that big of a deal. The cop two cars behind me apparently did.

The minute he stepped up to my window I admitted that I knew why he pulled me over and asked rather politely if he had seen what happened, he said he did, but took my license and registration anyway. He took entirely too long to run my info, but I honestly wasn't in a rush so I didn't mind. I was pretty certain I wasn't getting a ticket, I wasn't bullshitting the guy and he was straight with me so I felt pretty good about my chances. Except it was starting to piss me off that he was clearly cooking me just to make a point. When he finally came back over he told me he wasn't giving me a summons, but next time he would. I told him I appreciated that and was on my way. I really did appreciate him not giving me a ticket because he certainly could have even though it wasn't my fault. I had after all ran the red light, and admitted it. So it was nice of him to take the circumstances under consideration, particularly because he had seen it all. But at the same time having seen what happened he could have just not pulled me over, or even pulled me over and just told me to be more careful.

So I eventually make it up to the movie (we're seeing Role Models), we're there pretty early so we get seats no problem. But as it gets closer to showtime the theater is starting to get crowded. There's one seat empty to my left, one empty between me and Sean, then Kevin and Jere are directly next to him and one seat empty to their right. Just before the lights dim a teenage black girl sits to my left. As the movie starts a teenage Hispanic girl asks if the seat to my right is taken and then asks the others to slide down one so her and her friend can sit together. The guys move, so now it's the one girl to my left and these two other girls to my right and then the guys. This doesn't sound important, but stay with me here. While the previews are rolling the girl to my left is absolutely cackling at every remotely funny thing. During the horror movie preview she's literally screaming, laughing, and yelling "Oh shit!" all in the same breath. I'm trying not to obviously laugh at her. But then she starts talking at me. Not talking to me, but talking at me. Like, "OHMYGOD DID YOU SEE THAT?" or "THAT'S FUCKED UP WHAT SHE DONE DID!" She keeps turning to me and yelling stuff like that, and then turning to the couple to her left and doing the same thing. She's talking (half the time to herself) through the entire movie. I don't mind because she's friggin' hysterical.

But if you remember there's also a pair of girls to my right. I'd almost forgotten about them until I turned away from the crazy girl so she wouldn't see me laughing at her only to get an eyeful of the girls on my right totally making the fuck out. I mean heavy petting, full on Frenching, sucking on each other's necks making out.

At this point I can no longer concentrate on the movie. Crazy girl to my left has a pizza box from the concession stand and she's waving it in the air, banging it like a drum, and slapping it against her knee at every even slightly funny thing that happens on screen. She's shaking crumbs all over me, rattling around so much in her seat that she's damn near constantly bouncing off me. Lesbo chicks to my right still haven't come up for air and the one directly next to me is shaking like a wet cat in the cold to the point where even my seat is vibrating just a little. Paul Rudd is saying something about something on screen and I'm sitting there thinking, "Holy shit. This is the greatest movie I've ever seen."

Lesbo chicks finally calm down a little, Crazy girl never does but I sort of get used to it and besides she decided she likes the couple to her left better than me because she's practically jumping over the armrest to harangue them everytime something funny happens on screen. The movie is actually pretty damn good ("Me and the judge have a special relationship... I don't wanna get too graphic but I sucked his dick for drugs.") and I really can't think of a better worst movie going experience in my life.

So all in all the night was pretty good. I got to see a good movie, got to watch two chicks make out, and got to watch a crazy bitch act like a crazy bitch for two straight hours. Really, I think my Saturday night could have been a lot worse.

How was yours?

Walt Motherfucking Disney

"I know that look."

"What look?"

"The one you just gave that girl in there."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You're twitterpated."

"Twitterpated?"

"Yes. Twitterpated. You're walking along, minding your own business. You're looking neither to the left, nor to the right, when all of a sudden you run smack into a pretty face. Woo-woo! You begin to get weak in the knees. Your head's in a whirl. And then you feel light as a feather, and before you know it, you're walking on air. And then you know what? You're knocked for a loop, and you completely lose your head! Twitterpated."

"Wait a minute, are you quoting Bambi?"

"Sure am. Doesn't change a thing though. I'm still right, and you're still twitterpated."

"Alright. I admit it, I'm twitterpated. But that doesn't mean I have to like it."

"No sir it does not indeed."

"Stop talking like that."

"Like what?"

"Like the friendly goddamn owl."
~

Thursday went remarkably well. I was up early to go to work, stopped in for my morning hot chocolate, and headed over to my mom's house where I played games with the kids for something like five hours. I actually had some turkey there before heading down to Bayonne. As always I was a little cautious about spending time with my dad's side of the family. I think I mentioned here that it would be the first holiday I'd ever spent with them, but my mother corrected me and said it was the first holiday I remember. Apparently when I was real little we used to all spend the holidays together. It's actually sort of sad I was too young to remember that. It took me a few minutes to get square on exactly who everyone was, but after that it was a pretty good time. We had run of the bar and though my Uncle Junior kept trying us to run the top shelf stuff I stuck to a single glass of the moderately priced Oban. I also skipped desert and didn't take second of anything, so I did sort of well for the day. After the restaurant we stopped in at my Aunt's house. It's their first holiday without my cousin James I believe, and my cousin Bridget had gone out to California to see James so they had a half empty house, but they seemed to be handling it well. It was good to see them too.
~

"If smelling like Scotch at seven in the morning is wrong, I don't want to be right."

~
Yesterday quickly turned into a complete waste of a day. I was too tired to really do anything productive, and too ambitious to really do nothing all day. So I picked up some plumbing supplies so I could do some work today and then picked up some new quills and ink so I could do some writing last night. I went through several stages of madness, but nothing as bad as I have in other recent days. It was good to get some stuff down on the page, made me feel a little better to tell the truth. I also avoided doing something I didn't really want to do. It's tough sometimes, when no one's around, nothing is going on, and you just need to get out of the house. You get a little cabin fever. You get a little twitchy. But I locked my shit down, and dealt with it. I didn't go as deep as I felt like I could. If that makes any sense to anyone.

So today I've just about finished up my office obligations, going to go home and do some work on the basement, then maybe clean up and stop by the comic shop to pick up the rest of Preacher. Maybe stop at Best Buy and pick up a few DVD's and then after that, who knows?
~

"Twitterpated?"

"Jesus Christ."

"You actually opened a post using the word twitterpated. That's embarrassing."

"You know I've quoted Nietzsche, Proust, Poe, Pessoa, Socrates, Plato, Descartes, The Bible, and about a million other poets, writers, and philosophers and nobody says a goddamn word. I quote Walt motherfucking Disney one time and it's like the whole world's gone to shit. Why exactly is that?"

"You said twitterpated."

"Shut-up."

Thanks Giving...

This morning I am reminded of how different my life could be. All over town my friends are waking up in their warm little beds in their neat little houses, rolling over and kissing their pretty wives and saying "Happy Thanksgiving." And they certainly do have a great deal to give thanks for.

Some are newly married, still early on in their marital bliss. Others are expecting children in the next year, and in that way are truly blessed. And yet others are still planning, still designing, still creating their lives together.

Good for them.

And then there are others still working hard, still muddling through, living good lives and still discovering new and interesting things about themselves and the people that surround them.

Some of them are rebuilding after tragedy or collapse, others finding new ways to do old things. Some of them are reaching new points in their lives, standing on the precipice of life changing events, getting ready for whatever great thing comes next.

Some of them are happy, some of them are afraid they'll never be happy again. Some of them see what they have to be thankful for, and others are still trying to figure it out.

And then there's me.

I've spent so much of my life turning myself into a monster so that I wouldn't have to push people away. For many reasons I needed to be able to keep people at a distance and it was simply easier this way.

If I had to go back, I don't think I would change that. There are things I could have done differently, things I could have done better. But for the most part things are the way they had to be. But now what?

Now that I've reached the end of one path can I find my way back so that I can try another?

I don't know.

I don't know.

Sometimes the things we do cannot be undone.

But then again...

Happy Thanksgiving.

The Jesus Lobotomy: Redux

Lost for a moment amidst the mess and muddle of another interesting Monday was the simple fact that the world has changed yet again. A myriad of throw away lines and less than important moments from the weekend past congealed throughout the day until they formed a single amalgamous (not actually a word is it?) chunk of reality that screamed, "Oh shit. Things are different again ain't they?"

But seriously. There are several situations that have been weighing heavy on my mind lately. If you read this or know me you can probably tell that. The least serious situation (the thing I should worry least about) has spent the most time on my mind as of late. So I found it on this morning to realize that I really hadn't thought about it in the past day or so. It wasn't like I was trying to forget about it, trying not to let it bother me. I said or did something that sort of pushed it from my mind and then it sort of got swept away in everything else that was going on. It was both a good feeling and a bad feeling. I've done worse things to forget about my troubles, found other ways of coping. But it seems sometimes that just letting things slide, even if for just a little while, does the trick well enough.

But now onto a slightly sadder note. I haven't been talking too much about the collection lately because I haven't been adding too much, just fine tuning a few sections and waiting on long ago ordered pieces to trickle in. Then we'll start thinking about adding things. As any collector will tell you having a great number of pieces is nice, but it's really your favorites that make the collection. They're not always the best pieces or most expensive pieces, sometimes they're just a piece that has a story behind it, or a piece that holds sentimental value for you. As any collector will also tell you shit happens. When you're dealing with fragile things it's only a matter of time before something gets damaged. A paint chip, a snapped limb, a hairline crack. Shit happens. Most of that you can have repaired or you can just get used to. Or you can just replace the piece altogether. A lot of these things are made by the thousands, so even if it's pricey, there is a replacement out there somewhere. Except sometimes there isn't. And a few weeks ago one of my one of a kind pieces of art work was ruined. Funny thing is, I didn't realize it until yesterday. The Joker painting I got at Wizard World Philly last spring immediately became one of the prizes of my collection. It wasn't expensive or even done by a famous artist. It was just cool. And it reminded me of a good weekend. It's had a place of honor on the wall behind my desk since the day I bought it. I see it everyday when I walk into the office. Thing about stuff like that is, you sort of stop actually looking at it at some point. You see it everday, just for a second, and you sort of stop noticing it. You take for granted that it's the same, because why the hell wouldn't it be?

A few weeks ago I mentioned here that while one of the guys working for me was cleaning my office he had decided it would be a good idea to try and clean my collection with his own homemade mix of Fabulouso and other stringent chemicals despite being specifically told not to touch any of my stuff. The problem is that this guy has OCD when it comes to cleaning. It's what makes him good at cleaning the office and the busses, but he just can't help himself sometimes. Even though he was told not to touch my stuff, he still tried to clean it. Luckily one of my managers caught him before he did too much damage to the shelves or any of the statues. I remember walking in that day and thinking, "Hey that painting looks funny." But I was quickly distracted by checking the statues and then dealing with everything else that goes on in a normal day here. I never gave the painting a second thought. Until last night.

The painting is behind my desk, so all day my back is to it. Last night when things finally got quiet, I glanced over my shoulder at it for a second and my mind quickly went "What the hell?" See there used to be a small amount of yellow in the painting...and now it was gone. And then I realized a lot of the red was gone too...I couldn't figure out what was going on. Maybe it was my imagination. Maybe there was never yellow, or never that much red. Maybe I was wrong. And then I noticed...the artist's signature was gone. Son of a bitch. I know that was there.

Now that I was finally paying close attention I realized I could see streaks that weren't there before...as if someone tried to scrub the picture clean. The majority of the painting is done in black on one side of a transparency. The rest is done in color on the other side, the exposed side. And the guy who was cleaning the office HAD WIPED ALMOST ALL THE PAINT ON THE EXPOSED SIDE OFF...

He was so anal he had tried to clean the painting, and when he realized it was going wrong he had still continued to scrub until the exposed side of the transparency was nearly clean. Then, afraid to say anything, he simply packed up and left.

BEFORE IDIOT




AFTER IDIOT




Now I know what you're thinking (not because I'm psychic, just because it's obvious), "That's a pretty big difference, HOW THE HELL DIDN'T YOU NOTICE THAT ?!?!" But let's keep in mind here that I've spent the better part of the last few weeks trying to not blow my god damn brains out or let the world get sucked into some sort of hellgate vortex type thingy and you can forgive my inattention to a god damn painting. But now that I'd noticed I was absolutely livid.

And then I thought about it. It's a painting. A painting I loved, true, an important painting...but just a painting. Am I going to fire a guy who really thought he was helping over this? A guy who has a family to support? Nah...that's not me. I mean, I might lose my shit and kill him later, but right now...forgive and forget. Of course I have to take the painting down because every ten seconds I glance over my shoulder and cringe.

But still, it's just a painting. There are more important things...

Like this...



Yeah...that's right.

Ha...

My name is Chris Palomba...and I'm still standing.