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Fairfax Underground
Welcome to Fairfax Underground, a project site designed to improve communication among residents of Fairfax County, VA. Feel free to post anything Northern Virginia residents would find interesting.
care to link to the video on the comedy central site?
btw, dmca bullshit like that is gay.
"the wisdom of the wise will perish, the intelligence of the intelligent will vanish."
Welcome to Fairfax Underground, a project site designed to improve communication among residents of Fairfax County, VA. Feel free to post anything Northern Virginia residents would find interesting.
Re: ahahahahaha
Posted by:
Kid Stardust on the Porterhouse
()
Date: July 21, 2009 10:23PM
my luck was down again and I was too nervous at this time from excessive wine-
drinking; wild-eyed, weak; too depressed to find my usual stop-gap, rest-up job
as shipping clerk or stock boy, so I went down to the meat packing plant and
walked into the office.
haven't I seen you before? the man asked.
no, I lied.
I'd been there 2 or 3 years before, gone through all the paper work, the
medical and so forth, and they had led me down steps, 4 floors down and it had
gotten colder and colder and the floors had been covered with a sheen of blood,
green floors, green walls. I had been explained my job - which was to push a
button and then through this hole in the wall there was a noise like the crushing
of fullbacks or elephants falling in lay, and here it came - something dead, a
lot of it, bloody, and he showed me, you take it and throw it on the truck and
then push the button and another one comes along, then he walked away, when he
did I took off my smock, my tin hat, my boots (issued 3 sizes too small) and
walked up the stairway and out of there. now I was back, struck down again.
you look a little old for the job.
I want to toughen up. I need hard work, good hard work, I lied.
can you handle it?
I'm nothing but guts. I used to be in the ring. I've fought the best.
oh, yes?
yeah.
ummm, I can see by your face, you must have been in some fierce ones.
never mind my face. I had fast hands. still have. I had to take some dives, had to make it look good.
I follow boxing. I don't recall your name.
I fought under another name, Kid Stardust.
Kid Stardust? I don't recall a Kid Stardust.
I fought in South America, Africa, Europe, the islands. I fought in the
tank towns. that's why there's all these gaps in my employment records - I don't
like to put down boxer because people think I am kidding or lying. I just leave
the blanks and to hell with it.
all right, show up for your med. at 9:30 a.m. tomorrow and we'll put you
to work, you say you want hard work?
well, if you have something else...
no, not right now. you know, you look close to 50 years old. I wonder if
I'm doing the right thing? we don't like you people to waste our time.
I'm not people - I'm Kid Stardust.
o.k., kid, he laughed, we'll put you to WORK!
I didn't like the way he said it.
2 days later I walked through the passgate into the wooden shack where I
showed an old man my slip with my name on it: Henry Charles Bukowski, Jr., and he
sent me on to the loading dock I was to see Thurman. I walked on over, there were
a row of men sitting on a wooden bench and they looked at me as if I were a
homosexual or a basket case.
I looked at them with what I imagined to be easy disdain and drawled in
my best back-alley fashion.
where's Thurman. I'm supposed to see that guy.
somebody pointed.
Thurman? I'm workin' for ya.
yeah?
yeah.
he looked at me.
where's yor boots?
boots?
got none, I said.
he reached under the bench and handed me a pair. an old hardened stiff
pair. I put them on. same old story: 3 sizes too small. my toes were crushed and
bending under.
then he gave me a bloody smock and a tin helmet. I stood there while he
lit a cigarette, or as the English might say: while he lighted his cigarette. he
threw away the match with a calm and manly flourish.
come on.
they were all Negroes and when I walked up they looked at me as if they
were Black Muslims. I was nearly six feet but they were all taller than I, and if
not taller then 2 or 3 times as wide.
Charley! Thurman hollered.
Charley, I thought. Charley, just like me. that's nice. I was already
sweating under the tin helmet.
put 'im to WORK!!
jesus christ o jesus christ. what happened to the sweet and easy nights?
why doesn't this happen to Walter Winchell who believes in the American Way?
wasn't I one of the most brilliant students in Anthropology? what happened?
Charley took me over and stood me in front of an empty truck a half
block long that stood in the dock.
wait here.
then several of the Black Muslims came running up with wheel-barrows
painted a scabby and lumpy white, like white was mixed in with henshit. and each
wheel-barrel was loaded with mounds of hams that floated in a thin and watery
blood. no, they didn't float in the blood, they sat in it, like lead, like
cannonballs, like death.
one of the boys jumped into the truck behind me and the other began
throwing the hams at me and I caught them and threw them to the guy behind me who
turned and threw the ham into the back of the truck. the hams came fast FAST and
they were heavy and they got heavier, as soon as I threw one ham and turned
another was already on the way to me through the air. I knew that they were
trying to break me. I was soon sweating sweating as if faucets had been turned
loose, and my back ached, my wrists ached, my arms hurt, everything hurt and was
down to the last impossible ounce of limp energy. I could barely see, barely
summon myself to catch one more ham and throw it, one more ham and throw it. I
was splashed in blood and kept getting the soft dead heavy FLUMP in my hands, the
ham giving a little like a woman's butt, and I'm too weak to talk and say, hey,
what the HELL'S the matter with you guys? The hams are coming and I am spinning,
nailed, like a man on a cross under a tin helmet, and they keep running up
barrows full of hams hams hams and at last they are all empty, and I stand there
swaying and breathing the yellow electric light. it was night in hell. well, I
always liked night work.
they took me into another room. up in the air through a large hole high
in the far wall one half a steer, or it might have been a whole one, yes, they
were whole steers, thinking of it, all four legs, and one of them came out of the
hole on a hook, having just been murdered, and the steer stopped right over me,
it hung right over me there on that hook.
they've just killed it, I thought, they've killed the damn thing. how
can they tell a man from a steer? how do they know that I am not a steer?
ALL RIGHT - SWING IT!
swing it?
that's right - DANCE WITH IT!
what?
for christ's sake! GEORGE come here!
George got under the dead steer. he grabbed it. ONE. he ran forward.
TWO. he ran backwards. THREE. he ran far forward. the steer was almost parallel
to the ground. somebody hit a button and he had it. he had it for the meatmarkets
of the world. he had it for the gossiping cranky well-rested stupid housewives of
the world at 2 o'clock in the afternoon in their housesmocks, dragging red-
stained cigarettes and feeling almost nothing. they put me under the next steer.
ONE.
TWO.
THREE.
I had it. its dead bones against my living bones, its dead flesh against
my living flesh, and the bone and the weight cut in, I thought of operas by
Wagner, I thought of cold beer, I thought of sexy cunt sitting across from me on
a couch with her legs crossed high and I have a drink in my hand and am slowly
and surely talking my way toward and into the blank mind of her body, and Charley
hollered HANG HER IN THE TRUCK!
I walked toward the truck. out of the shame of defeat taught me in
American schoolyards as a boy I knew that I must not drop the steer to the ground
because this would show that I was a coward and not a man and that I didn't
therefore deserve much, just sneers and laughs and beatings, you had to be a
winner in America, there wasn't any way out, and you had to learn to fight for
nothing, don't question, and besides if I dropped the steer I might have to pick
it up. besides it will get dirty. I don't want it to get dirty, or rather - they
don't want it to get dirty.
I walked it into the truck.
HANG IT!
the hook which hung from the roof was dull as a man's thumb without a
fingernail, you let the bottom of the steer slide back and went for the top, you
poked the top part against the hook again and again but the hook would not go
through. MOTHER ASS!!! it was all gristle and fat, tough, tough.
COME ON! COME ON!
I gave it my last reserve and the hook came through, it was a beautiful
sight, a miracle, that hook coming through, that steer hanging there by itself
completely off my shoulder, hanging for the housedresses and butchershop gossip.
MOVE ON!
a 285 pound Negro, insolent, sharp, cool, murderous, walked in, hung his
meat with a snap, looked down at me.
we stays in line here!
o.k., ace.
I walked on in front of him. Another steer was waiting for me. each
time I loaded one I was sure that was the last one I could handle but I kept saying
one more
just one more
then I
quit.
fuck
it.
they were waiting for me to quit, I could see the eyes, the smiles when
they thought I wasn't looking. I didn't want to give them victory. I went for
another steer. the player one last lunge of the big-time washed-up player I went for the meat.
2 hours went on then somebody hollered BREAK.
I had made it. a ten minute rest, some coffee, and they'd never make me
quit. I walked out behind them toward a lunch wagon that had drawn up. I could
see the steam rising in the night from the coffee; I could see the doughnuts and
cigarettes and coffee-cakes and sandwiches under the electric lights.
HEY, YOU!
It was Charley. Charley like me.
yeah, Charley?
before you take your break, get in that truck and move it out and over to stall 18.
it was the truck we had just loaded, the one half a block long. stall 18 was across the yard.
I managed to open the door and get up inside the cab. It had a soft
leather seat and the seat felt so good that I knew if I didn't fight it I would
soon be asleep. I wasn't a truck driver. I looked down and it looked like a half-
dozen gear shifts, brakes, pedals and so forth. I turned the key and managed to
start the engine. I played with pedals and gear shifts until the truck started to
roll and then I drove it across the yard to stall 18, thinking all the while - by
the time I get back the lunch-wagon will be gone. this was tragedy to me, real
tragedy. I parked the truck, cut the engine and sat there a minute feeling the
soft goodness of that leather seat. then I opened the door and got out. I missed
the step or whatever was supposed to be there and I fell to the ground in my
bloody smock and christ tin helmet like a man shot. It didn't hurt, I didn't feel
it. I got up just in time to see the lunch-wagon driving off through the gate and
on down the street. I saw them walking back in toward the dock laughing and
lighting cigarettes.
I took off my boots I took off my smock, I took off my tin helmet and
walked to the shack at the yard entrance. I threw the smock, helmet and boots
across the counter. the old man looked at me:
what? you quittin' this GOOD job?
tell 'em to mail me my check for 2 hours or tell 'em to stick it up
their ass, I don't give a damn!
I walked out. I walked across the street to a Mexican bar and drank a beer and then got a bus to my place.
the American schoolyard had beat me again.
drinking; wild-eyed, weak; too depressed to find my usual stop-gap, rest-up job
as shipping clerk or stock boy, so I went down to the meat packing plant and
walked into the office.
haven't I seen you before? the man asked.
no, I lied.
I'd been there 2 or 3 years before, gone through all the paper work, the
medical and so forth, and they had led me down steps, 4 floors down and it had
gotten colder and colder and the floors had been covered with a sheen of blood,
green floors, green walls. I had been explained my job - which was to push a
button and then through this hole in the wall there was a noise like the crushing
of fullbacks or elephants falling in lay, and here it came - something dead, a
lot of it, bloody, and he showed me, you take it and throw it on the truck and
then push the button and another one comes along, then he walked away, when he
did I took off my smock, my tin hat, my boots (issued 3 sizes too small) and
walked up the stairway and out of there. now I was back, struck down again.
you look a little old for the job.
I want to toughen up. I need hard work, good hard work, I lied.
can you handle it?
I'm nothing but guts. I used to be in the ring. I've fought the best.
oh, yes?
yeah.
ummm, I can see by your face, you must have been in some fierce ones.
never mind my face. I had fast hands. still have. I had to take some dives, had to make it look good.
I follow boxing. I don't recall your name.
I fought under another name, Kid Stardust.
Kid Stardust? I don't recall a Kid Stardust.
I fought in South America, Africa, Europe, the islands. I fought in the
tank towns. that's why there's all these gaps in my employment records - I don't
like to put down boxer because people think I am kidding or lying. I just leave
the blanks and to hell with it.
all right, show up for your med. at 9:30 a.m. tomorrow and we'll put you
to work, you say you want hard work?
well, if you have something else...
no, not right now. you know, you look close to 50 years old. I wonder if
I'm doing the right thing? we don't like you people to waste our time.
I'm not people - I'm Kid Stardust.
o.k., kid, he laughed, we'll put you to WORK!
I didn't like the way he said it.
2 days later I walked through the passgate into the wooden shack where I
showed an old man my slip with my name on it: Henry Charles Bukowski, Jr., and he
sent me on to the loading dock I was to see Thurman. I walked on over, there were
a row of men sitting on a wooden bench and they looked at me as if I were a
homosexual or a basket case.
I looked at them with what I imagined to be easy disdain and drawled in
my best back-alley fashion.
where's Thurman. I'm supposed to see that guy.
somebody pointed.
Thurman? I'm workin' for ya.
yeah?
yeah.
he looked at me.
where's yor boots?
boots?
got none, I said.
he reached under the bench and handed me a pair. an old hardened stiff
pair. I put them on. same old story: 3 sizes too small. my toes were crushed and
bending under.
then he gave me a bloody smock and a tin helmet. I stood there while he
lit a cigarette, or as the English might say: while he lighted his cigarette. he
threw away the match with a calm and manly flourish.
come on.
they were all Negroes and when I walked up they looked at me as if they
were Black Muslims. I was nearly six feet but they were all taller than I, and if
not taller then 2 or 3 times as wide.
Charley! Thurman hollered.
Charley, I thought. Charley, just like me. that's nice. I was already
sweating under the tin helmet.
put 'im to WORK!!
jesus christ o jesus christ. what happened to the sweet and easy nights?
why doesn't this happen to Walter Winchell who believes in the American Way?
wasn't I one of the most brilliant students in Anthropology? what happened?
Charley took me over and stood me in front of an empty truck a half
block long that stood in the dock.
wait here.
then several of the Black Muslims came running up with wheel-barrows
painted a scabby and lumpy white, like white was mixed in with henshit. and each
wheel-barrel was loaded with mounds of hams that floated in a thin and watery
blood. no, they didn't float in the blood, they sat in it, like lead, like
cannonballs, like death.
one of the boys jumped into the truck behind me and the other began
throwing the hams at me and I caught them and threw them to the guy behind me who
turned and threw the ham into the back of the truck. the hams came fast FAST and
they were heavy and they got heavier, as soon as I threw one ham and turned
another was already on the way to me through the air. I knew that they were
trying to break me. I was soon sweating sweating as if faucets had been turned
loose, and my back ached, my wrists ached, my arms hurt, everything hurt and was
down to the last impossible ounce of limp energy. I could barely see, barely
summon myself to catch one more ham and throw it, one more ham and throw it. I
was splashed in blood and kept getting the soft dead heavy FLUMP in my hands, the
ham giving a little like a woman's butt, and I'm too weak to talk and say, hey,
what the HELL'S the matter with you guys? The hams are coming and I am spinning,
nailed, like a man on a cross under a tin helmet, and they keep running up
barrows full of hams hams hams and at last they are all empty, and I stand there
swaying and breathing the yellow electric light. it was night in hell. well, I
always liked night work.
they took me into another room. up in the air through a large hole high
in the far wall one half a steer, or it might have been a whole one, yes, they
were whole steers, thinking of it, all four legs, and one of them came out of the
hole on a hook, having just been murdered, and the steer stopped right over me,
it hung right over me there on that hook.
they've just killed it, I thought, they've killed the damn thing. how
can they tell a man from a steer? how do they know that I am not a steer?
ALL RIGHT - SWING IT!
swing it?
that's right - DANCE WITH IT!
what?
for christ's sake! GEORGE come here!
George got under the dead steer. he grabbed it. ONE. he ran forward.
TWO. he ran backwards. THREE. he ran far forward. the steer was almost parallel
to the ground. somebody hit a button and he had it. he had it for the meatmarkets
of the world. he had it for the gossiping cranky well-rested stupid housewives of
the world at 2 o'clock in the afternoon in their housesmocks, dragging red-
stained cigarettes and feeling almost nothing. they put me under the next steer.
ONE.
TWO.
THREE.
I had it. its dead bones against my living bones, its dead flesh against
my living flesh, and the bone and the weight cut in, I thought of operas by
Wagner, I thought of cold beer, I thought of sexy cunt sitting across from me on
a couch with her legs crossed high and I have a drink in my hand and am slowly
and surely talking my way toward and into the blank mind of her body, and Charley
hollered HANG HER IN THE TRUCK!
I walked toward the truck. out of the shame of defeat taught me in
American schoolyards as a boy I knew that I must not drop the steer to the ground
because this would show that I was a coward and not a man and that I didn't
therefore deserve much, just sneers and laughs and beatings, you had to be a
winner in America, there wasn't any way out, and you had to learn to fight for
nothing, don't question, and besides if I dropped the steer I might have to pick
it up. besides it will get dirty. I don't want it to get dirty, or rather - they
don't want it to get dirty.
I walked it into the truck.
HANG IT!
the hook which hung from the roof was dull as a man's thumb without a
fingernail, you let the bottom of the steer slide back and went for the top, you
poked the top part against the hook again and again but the hook would not go
through. MOTHER ASS!!! it was all gristle and fat, tough, tough.
COME ON! COME ON!
I gave it my last reserve and the hook came through, it was a beautiful
sight, a miracle, that hook coming through, that steer hanging there by itself
completely off my shoulder, hanging for the housedresses and butchershop gossip.
MOVE ON!
a 285 pound Negro, insolent, sharp, cool, murderous, walked in, hung his
meat with a snap, looked down at me.
we stays in line here!
o.k., ace.
I walked on in front of him. Another steer was waiting for me. each
time I loaded one I was sure that was the last one I could handle but I kept saying
one more
just one more
then I
quit.
fuck
it.
they were waiting for me to quit, I could see the eyes, the smiles when
they thought I wasn't looking. I didn't want to give them victory. I went for
another steer. the player one last lunge of the big-time washed-up player I went for the meat.
2 hours went on then somebody hollered BREAK.
I had made it. a ten minute rest, some coffee, and they'd never make me
quit. I walked out behind them toward a lunch wagon that had drawn up. I could
see the steam rising in the night from the coffee; I could see the doughnuts and
cigarettes and coffee-cakes and sandwiches under the electric lights.
HEY, YOU!
It was Charley. Charley like me.
yeah, Charley?
before you take your break, get in that truck and move it out and over to stall 18.
it was the truck we had just loaded, the one half a block long. stall 18 was across the yard.
I managed to open the door and get up inside the cab. It had a soft
leather seat and the seat felt so good that I knew if I didn't fight it I would
soon be asleep. I wasn't a truck driver. I looked down and it looked like a half-
dozen gear shifts, brakes, pedals and so forth. I turned the key and managed to
start the engine. I played with pedals and gear shifts until the truck started to
roll and then I drove it across the yard to stall 18, thinking all the while - by
the time I get back the lunch-wagon will be gone. this was tragedy to me, real
tragedy. I parked the truck, cut the engine and sat there a minute feeling the
soft goodness of that leather seat. then I opened the door and got out. I missed
the step or whatever was supposed to be there and I fell to the ground in my
bloody smock and christ tin helmet like a man shot. It didn't hurt, I didn't feel
it. I got up just in time to see the lunch-wagon driving off through the gate and
on down the street. I saw them walking back in toward the dock laughing and
lighting cigarettes.
I took off my boots I took off my smock, I took off my tin helmet and
walked to the shack at the yard entrance. I threw the smock, helmet and boots
across the counter. the old man looked at me:
what? you quittin' this GOOD job?
tell 'em to mail me my check for 2 hours or tell 'em to stick it up
their ass, I don't give a damn!
I walked out. I walked across the street to a Mexican bar and drank a beer and then got a bus to my place.
the American schoolyard had beat me again.
Re: ahahahahaha
Posted by:
bloody blisters
()
Date: July 21, 2009 11:53PM
cool beans kid stardust, can you read me that story again, pa?
Re: ahahahahaha
Posted by:
pgens
()
Date: July 22, 2009 09:11AM
The original video posted is gone, but I ran into this one which is very entertaining too.
Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 07/22/2009 09:12AM by pgens.
Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 07/22/2009 09:12AM by pgens.
Re: ahahahahaha
Posted by:
ffxstoner
()
Date: July 22, 2009 03:17PM
mylazysunday.com this video is also entertaining.
Re: ahahahahaha
Posted by:
Vince(1)
()
Date: July 22, 2009 03:30PM
He is a representative from the Black Chamber of Commerce...so her comments about other black organizations is appropriate. If he was representing the US Chamber of Commerce...it would not be appropriate.
Registered Voter...a Big talking coward..big man on FFXU...little man in life.
Registered Voter...a Big talking coward..big man on FFXU...little man in life.
Re: ahahahahaha
Posted by:
Wow
()
Date: July 22, 2009 03:39PM
I can't believe that crazy shit actually goes on! How can such a caricature of dumbass old black men be allowed to represent anyone?
Re: ahahahahaha
Posted by:
pgens
()
Date: July 22, 2009 04:04PM
I thought it was racist. It was obvious what she was doing... tell the guy from the black group that this other black group agrees with her so he should take that to mean his opinion is wrong. It's just Boxer's style.
Re: ahahahahaha
Posted by:
Skorekeeper
()
Date: July 22, 2009 04:08PM
Vince(1) Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> He is a representative from the Black Chamber of
> Commerce...so her comments about other black
> organizations is appropriate. If he was
> representing the US Chamber of Commerce...it would
> not be appropriate.
So, it is appropriate to pit one black organization against another in order to score political points? I know the Demokrats love taking minorities for granted, but this is an all time low.
-------------------------------------------------------
> He is a representative from the Black Chamber of
> Commerce...so her comments about other black
> organizations is appropriate. If he was
> representing the US Chamber of Commerce...it would
> not be appropriate.
So, it is appropriate to pit one black organization against another in order to score political points? I know the Demokrats love taking minorities for granted, but this is an all time low.
Re: ahahahahaha
Posted by:
Registered Voter
()
Date: July 22, 2009 04:10PM
Vince can rationalize anything.
Re: ahahahahaha
Posted by:
Kid Stardust
()
Date: July 22, 2009 04:33PM
496 Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> Too long, FAIL
Attention span FAIL
-------------------------------------------------------
> Too long, FAIL
Attention span FAIL
Re: ahahahahaha
Posted by:
Gravis
()
Date: July 25, 2009 12:04AM
Quote
This video is no longer available due to a copyright claim by Comedy Central.
care to link to the video on the comedy central site?
btw, dmca bullshit like that is gay.
"the wisdom of the wise will perish, the intelligence of the intelligent will vanish."