XMas Special (not trading related)

Mind over mattress

Last Christmas I gave you my frizbees…

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. General Butt Naked proceeded with eating out the heart alive of his latest adversary at the Emerald mine. P. Berlaz mobile currency exchanger was found dead in his own trunk while Gino got shot in the back during negotiating the price of some professional escorts in Germany, but on the flip side it started snowing a bit.

I was driving my fresly released ’78 Mustang after the re-possession due to having been sold stolen a year and a half ago from me. My friend on the back bench was crawling onto the floor and wedging himself behind the seat out of fear that I won’t be able to make the turn with this speed on the slippery road with this rear wheel driven ancient piece of metal cannon. It was probably due to hearing the inconfident “o-ooh” that I let off briefly that put him on the alert. We just passed by the Torpe Auto Trading Lot where if we got the timing and the amount of light right we could had witnessed Zs. Nagyagi lifting up his arm and having four of his fingers chopped off whilst trying to fend off the sword blow from his own wife, but the bullet that followed ultimately did him in. He probably won’t be needing my help again for bringing cars back from Winterthur.

I put my girlfriend on the train earlier to the capital and was headed to meet my other girlfriend to hang out with playing pools and perhaps eat something before she would start her shift at the Caligula brothel. I might be stopping by there tonight, although Attila the bouncer may not let me in if he’s not in the right mood. He would be going to prison soon for beating up someone badly… well, who is the trouble maker now?!

Being a fugitive of the army for a no show and being constantly sought by police for various white collar crimes, I used to not give 2Fs about anything.

The one thing that seems to be slipping is the chronology.

This Christmas, to set me from tears, I just remember the good old care-free days of living on Bourbon, Fontex and pain killers and try to keep out of this Pan-Demonic existence.

I suggest you do the same. Peace out & sauerkraut.

An ex policeman ex coworker told me this once:

“There’s more to life than painting floors” – this should be my Epitaph really, given that unlike him, I have not been in a coma and they did not transplant a nerve from next to the heart to the shoulder to be able to operate again, so obviously, I wouldn’t know.