Steven Bauer

The advertise man says be your own boss.
I have been my own boss and then I missed somebody to tell me what to do. Who wants to be president when you can have the easy life of a Domino delivery guy running through the city on your tiny bike bringing happiness to overweight families and overboard students?
The advertise man tells me the keys of success: believe it, aim your point.

What’s the name of the guy who played Manny in Scarface?

At the moment my point is to run over the hill each Saturday and burn some fat because people keep asking you getting fat?
It’s not that it bothers me. It’s the question itself that drives me mad. What are you asking? A fair question? My opinion on my own appearance? Are you trying to be sarcastic? Are you rhetorical?
Anyway it’s true, I am getting fat but you know, it comes with the age.

Steven Bauer.

The advertise man asks about my child dream, what did you dream to become? Are you close enough?
I dreamed to become a comedian and I feel as I was very close to be one, I worked twenty-two years in the fish market and even if you won’t believe me, it is a very funny and humorist environment.
The advertise man suggests to me to buy his book, it’s just 5.99, free delivery if you buy more than two copies. He says.
I picked up the phone and I ordered four copies.
Sir, there’s no such a thing as Cap ‘n Crunch’s Bank, I can’t accept your card. Says the lady at the phone.
Well, that pisses me off.
I turn off the telly after six days.

I move my ass out in the streets.

Is that guy eating shit? Oh no, it’s a Lebanese meat stick.
The air is dizzy and the sky is black and seriously, the Lebanese meat stick looks like a big huge turd.
I am direct to Shaun’s place. Shaun is the most stereotypical peace-boy-trees-fucker you can ever imagine. It has been three years he’s planning to bomb a Tesco supermarket and I am not joking, his house is full of notes, planes, pictures of the Tesco at the corner and other freaking wannabe terrorist material.
He’s gotta do it one day soon but he won’t kill a soul, it’s just a demonstrative act, he says. You know that kind of thing fuck your corporate and fuck your fake food. Go organic!
Whatever the fuck it means.
Shaun is a pain in the arse but he shares.

When Shaun open the door I can’t do anything else to heat his bloody pale face and the dirty Rasta pending down to his butt hole.
Hey come in.
The house smells like a bad novel. First thing I notice is a poster of an Atomic Bomb Mushrooms Cloud, there’s written “
NO MORE! even if it doesn’t happen so often. No need to shout.
Shaun offers me this joint rolled with this grass from Ecuador made by local people while they sing love songs and there never rains, the weather is sunny and enjoyable and there are not gypsy at all.
He probably paid that stuff half of his monthly benefits ensuring a good number of meals at the KFC for his white drug dealer.
It is good.
Shaun’s dog lies on the floor belly up showing his balls at the ceiling. That dog is always so fucking wasted.
My mind is relaxed and thank God Shaun passes away very soon.
I start wondering what would be a nice thing, lose weight, be young again and finally be a delivery pizza guy or world peace, why not? Maybe that poster isn’t so wrong, look at what is happening in Syria and around there. Wouldn’t be nice if it will just stop, one day to another?
But for do that you need real power, a powerful power. You should go to the mighty people on the planet, somebody like Quentin Tarantino.
I am pretty convinced that Quentin Tarantino is the Key for the world peace and he doesn’t know or doesn’t care.
Just take any mediocre B movie shot in the seventies with five hundred dollars budget and actors found in a rehab clinic. Nobody gives a fuck about it ‘till Tarantino says oh that shit is good, and everybody realizes that he’s right, they agree with him and they love it and they buy the DVD and then the blue-ray and the director who now works as KP in a kebab shop becomes famous and he doesn’t even remember the title of that piece of shit but he finally earns the money for buying a electrolarynx for his poor wife.
All this because Quentin spoke.
And it’ll work with everything.
If Quentin would say that pork ribs are the best food he has ever eaten, Jews and Muslims will seat to eat them together.
If Quentin would say that Cap ‘n Crunch’s Bank is the best bank since the invention of banks then I could buy all the shits I want.
But He doesn’t do it and it’s getting late, and I am still fat and far distant from the modern man’s dream: The Domino delivery guy.
Somebody shouts in the street, Shaun wakes up, he cleans his nose with a rasta and says good morning.
It is morning, another day and I am just a dreamer.

What was that guy name again?


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