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March 17, 1997, Monday

Nutty thing to say today: climbing the slippery surface of the slippery slide's slide, you feel the denied of the pride of the red-faced leaf pile glide.

I had a strange dream during the night. It was terribly complicated and I only really remember the particularly exciting parts.

It seems I was in some building at the University of Virginia and I was stealing little tubes with integrated valves, pumps and Y-connections. Some professor saw me doing this and said it was fine with him, but later he became irritated with me as I dragged far behind me, down a crowed hallway, a long string of such stuff, mixed with an extension cord and a full sized Macintosh ADB keyboard.

...she filled her vagina with whipped cream and then inhaled the Nitrous Oxide and went into some sort of dreamlike state.
Later I was in some kind of valley with a fairly large group of other people, mostly girls. I kept going back and forth between different individuals in this group. There was some sort of sexual tension involved. I guess I was trying to seduce several different girls at one time, but while I'd be intent on one, another I'd been trying to seduce earlier would appear and I'd have to deal with the tension of what seemed to be their rivalry. Eventually I ended up in a low wall-less tent with a particularly attractive girl. In preparation for my performing oral sex upon her, she filled her vagina with whipped cream and then inhaled the Nitrous Oxide and went into some sort of dreamlike state. We were witnessed in a somewhat compromising position by the others, and it all ended up being a rather embarrassing situation.

Such graphically sexual dreams are rare with me and I wonder if perhaps I am experiencing an increase in certain hormones. Such things have happened before.

Financial matters plagued me this morning. These had nothing to do with errors on my part. I felt more or less helpless. My place of employment owes me about $1000; I discovered a truely massive $751.26 bounced check in my mailbox this morning (that's a month of wages), and as you know I have yet to even ask for Friday's paycheck. That $751.26 was money I'd assumed was safely in my account. So I went to Comet to try to make the best of this situation. This place is grossly overextended and there's no money. Obvious cuts are not made. For example, a ridiculous money-losing magazine is kept alive as a huge evil parasite while much needed infra-structural upgrades are delayed. My only safety net has been my frugality over the past months. I'm becoming angry. Others are quitting. I don't care anymore. Right now: I want my money and I want to split.

Just talked to the grand pooh-bah. The money for my bounced check is somewhere...but I have to hang out an hour here to get it. That's cool. I'm not as vulnerable and thus I am not as upset as some of us here.

Okay, so I got my $750 in cash from the Central Fidelity on Ivy Road. I feel better now. I went to the Barracks Road Shopping Center branch of Nation's Bank and stuck it all plus 20 dollars in my bank account. Then I went to one of the obscene cubicle-filled UVA administrative buildings across Emmet Street and picked up the W2 form documenting the three days in January 1996 I worked as a temp for $12/hour at UVA's Cavalier Computer. This year I actually have to file tax forms. I feel so incredibly adult all of a sudden.

Having taken care of financial matters so successfully, I celebrated with a purchase of a small bottle of vodka and a Whopper and Fries at Burger King. Okay, the latter thing was hardly a means of celebration; it was more sociological spelunking. The people in the Barracks Road Burger King are not the sort you see on the Corner. I felt like I was looking at an alien world. I keep forgetting that these are the True Americans and that it is I who is the alien.

I made myself a nice little drink of vodka-steeped teabag (I need a real name for this drink), complete with ice cubes, and went to Cocke Hall to work on my musings. While I worked I received email from Matthew Hart in Portland, Oregon. He had stories to tell and I might as well let him tell them since his eloquence on these matters surpasses mine.

Email from Matthew Hart

Subject: message from matthew
Date: Mon, 17 Mar 1997 13:13:48 -0800
From: Matthew Hart

i was just reading youre musings and I thought id write you with some updates. me and leah are in portland now with friends of her family and childhood next door neighbor luke. we just left sanfrancisco and were with morgan until then. he left with kreyana "morgans on again off again girlfriend" presently on to go to new orleans. were going to loop back and bring them to charlottesville on our way back. a short story about the character of kreyana.

I know you are familiar with the mentors so you might appreciate this story. Anyways we were in hollywood and we met the infamous singer el duce and were drinking whisky with him. we all became gradually intoxicated but el duce got shit faced drunk. he told me and morgan to suck his dick numerous times but we just made good natured threats towards him and ignored him. anyways we left to get more alcohol and leah and kreyana were left alone with el duce. apparently he then made the same request of them to suck his dick. needless to say we returned to find el duce bleeding, pissed on, and begging for forgiveance. kreyana took exception to his request. after we returned she kicked him in the head a few more times before we restrained her. then she said she would be satisfied if she could just piss on him one more time and that seemed resonable. it was a rough night for el duce.

this sort of behavior is fairly common place when you travel with kreyana. a bloody wake has kind of followed her wherever she's gone. they're planning on coming with us to C-ville though so you very well may meet her. my only objection to her behavior is that she often times picks on people she knows she can thrash to make a statement of sorts to everyone else.

we went to new orleans first were I basically got beat up for a variety of reasons(sometimes my fault and other times not) and then went to mexico and then to new orleans again to pick up morgan and others and then to san diego and then me and leah went to tijuana. another semi interesting thing occured there.

while in tijuana we met a mexican "cholos" from south central L.A. who had just finished serving a five year jail sentence and upon being released had been promptly deported to mexico. one way or another he took a liking to us and he was very nice and told the fascinating tales of being a gangbanger so we decided to help him getting back home. he went across the border between me and leah claiming to be a u.s. citizen and remarkably enough was not further questioned. we then rode through the checkpoint also without incident. we then drove him to compton ave where he lived and were thanked by all the other gangbangers. they also showed their appreciation by giving us a good sample of the "goods they peddle on the street" You would think that since gagbangers are always killing people and commiting crimes of questionable morality that they might be cold hearted or cruel but based on my experience with the guy we met in tijuana and his homies in south central they are some of the most open and warmhearted people you could hope to meet.

anyways Ive rambled on enough but Ill see you when I get back to c-ville and write me at if you get a chance

matthew hart

El Duce was in jail for molesting a little girl or something and the other band members wanted to know, did Jason want to stand in for him during tonight's show?
The Mentors are a sort of heavy metal band that sings exclusively about their desires to have sex (anal sex mostly) with girls, some as young as nine years old. Titles for some of their songs include "My Woman from Sodom," "Four F Club [Find her, Feel her, Fuck her, Forget her]" and "Going Through Your Purse." They have a nationwide cult following of mostly socially-inept young white males. If you look carefully at the graffiti in the movie Suburbia, you'll see at least one mention of the band in spray paint. I was introduced to the Mentors in 1987 by Alex Guldbeck, one of the more shocking personalities I'd met up until that point. Subsequently, in 1989, on a long road trip through Ohio and West Virginia I had the lyrics drummed into me by my friend Jason Meyers. Who was I to object; Jason had allowed me to hook a U-haul to his car so I could tow all my college-aquired-loot from Oberlin, Ohio back to my home town in Staunton, Virginia. When Jason started attending law school in San Diego some years ago, he ran across Sicky Wifebeater (the Mentors guitarist) in a bar. He ended up hanging out with the Mentors on occasion, impressing them with his knowledge of their repulsive lyrics and with his ability to sing them exactly like El Duce (the overweight singer/drummer). One day Jason got a phone call; El Duce was in jail for molesting a little girl or something and the other band members wanted to know, did Jason want to stand in for him during tonight's show? As much as Jason respected the Mentors, there was no way he would pass up such an experience. So he sang for the Mentors that night.

Looking for the Mentors on the Web produced this page, which has RealAudio samples of their fine music.

Back at the Dynashack, I discussed today's peculiar financial travails with housemates Elizabeth and Penley. I went to bed at around 6pm and slept until work.

Monster Boy and Angela (Theresa's sister) came to visit me at work. They'd been drinking vodka. Unlike some people, they were easy on my nerves and knew when to leave. I had Monster Boy chat some with Jessika in Sam 'n' Ellas Punk Rock Chat. Jessika spends much time in Sam 'n' Ellas these days, coinciding well with my work schedule.

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