As mentioned in this post, I bought this keychain because the guy was going to cry, fiending like a junky and I wanted to get the fuck outta there. This is my friend John demonstrating its functionality. I just want to mention that John is a suprisingly well adjusted adult and a great human being.

Khajuraho Keys :30 seconds or download 880kb

If you were to go around the clock face of my surroundings and if you were to start at 9 o'clock, you would see my mouse. But that's normal. What you would see at 10 is an ashtray. A sleek little one but still, a dirty little ashtray. At 11, a can of *Fresh Country Breeze* Deodorizing Air Freshener (when I spray it on the heater I can replicate my own little clothes-dryer exhaust smell) at 11:30, a hotel sized bottle of Neutrogena Lotion. At 12, that's the screen, has to be there. At 1, the new Smog CD, at 2, an empty glass that was engraved with "David" and handed to me at my sister's wedding with dried chocolate milk and a spoon inside. At 3, a fresh pack of Export "A" golds. At 4, a trashcan with cig packs, PayDay candybar wrappers and burrito foil, at 5, recycling strewn about my kitchen floor: Becks bottles, Bud cans, Coke 2 liter and Newcastle Bottles. Too many to count. Should I go on? Not worth looking over my left shoulder.

That's it. My work environment. You get the picture.

The funniest, most luvable gap-tooth crack whore.

I said, as I tossed my beer and soup on the counter, "Are you this evening's entertainment? Cause it looks like you firmly established in front of this counter here." Now, I have to say that there have been many uneventful evenings at this particular 2am liquor store. I mean, how many times do you wake up in the morning and remember the brushin you gave your teeth the night before? Not very much. So I shouldn't act as if it happens every time I go down there, but damn, if I haven't had some fine ghetto strolls and ghetto rolls down to my 2am liquor store.

I don't even remember what the fuck she said after that. After that there was always 5 people talking at once. And that's pretty bad 'cause there was only 3 of us there. Me. Her. And the liquor store dude. But this aint your regular me, and this aint no regular her, and this aint not regular liquor store man. This me was stoned off my fothermuckin ass, and this her looked like James Earl Jones's "Thusa Doom" from _Conan the Barbarian_. And this liquor store man smiles at you when you come into the store and beams out from behind the counter like the sun on a box of raisins.

I made that comment about the entertainment because I was wonderstruck that there could be a new act in town to entertain our liquor store guy. I once saw these two old men do 20 minutes in front of the counter -- using the bags of chips as props, pulling out old vaudeville gags, and generally just trying to out shout each other to the point of drowning out the talk radio shouting match blaring on in the background. I know those guys are old and they can't do 5 nights any more but where's the loyalty?

If anybody reading this, by the slim chance has lived around 18th and Valencia for the last 5 years or has shopped at Busy Bee Market near said intersection during the 90's, or maybe frequented the Douvre Club in its waning days, you might know who I'm talking about. He's an old wiry Indian guy who shakes your hand frequently and firmly (ex Indian military....mercenary, I hear) and smells strongly of aftershave. (If you engaged him in conversation, you will know how hard he is to say goodbye too.)

I might as well make him a cult hero of my life. That's exactly what he is. Always showing up at auspicious moments. Sort of like a character in one of those dumb books like "The Alchemist". He bows his head forward and his upper lip stretches tautly across his gums, teeth blaring and looking over his glasses he thrusts out a jagged, crooked finger, "IIIIIIIII could have told you. For I knew it was........onlyamatteroftime."

So this turned out to be a not so well narrated story of my super ghettoette liquor store. I didn't even say anything about the movies I didn't make of the "5.99 Out The Door" signs on the beer coolers. Or the fact that this woman was so perfect that she reminded me of Damon Wayans doing a TrannyCrackWhore version of this woman making fun of herself version of this woman. Man.....pink lips like I haven't seen pink since they came out with the 64-color box of crayons with the built-in sharpener. Well, missed all that.

Did get John espousing on Orange. Soon coming to a Quicktime enabled browser near you. I also saw where they spay painted on the sidewalk some shit about one of there friends who got killed on that corner and some kid was tagging a building as I walked by and that Thulsa Doom woman was "free and available" as her pimp told me. (He knows I'd never take her off his hands doesn't he? I mean, he does want her gone but he knows me, right? He's just saying that stuff to remind me that she's a whore and to be ignored.)

shit.