You Are Three Pints In And I'm Still Watching Where You Were.

by Serge Bielanko

Friday night, with Violet, and we got rid of the cable so that's out. No channels. None. I miss the channels. Even the ones I never watched. Soccer Channel: you rule. You too C-Span 4. I know you were interviews with dullard Korean War historians taped two years ago at a Book Fair in Hell, but were there. For me. Waiting. I'm so sorry I never stopped by really.

Who cares though. I have stuff to do. Check me out. C'mon, it'll be fun.

Ok, Violet's asleep in her swing: food coma. A whole thing of sweet potatoes and then like 7 oz of Habanero Salsa. (Actually formula, but I git tired/bored of saying 'formula' which sounds so unexcited and typical. I wanted some name with more Life Affirming Qualities, something with more of a Black Magic Voodoo snap to it. So, Habanero Salsa.) And ok, so let's just go over to her for a sec and touch her toes but seriously: we CAN"T wake her up, alright?! This is the Witching Hour and believe me, we cannot party like we need to party here on Friday night if she wakes up. Cool?

Ok: here touch her toe.

OMG! She stirred. She grunted! Did you hear that??!!! Dude she GRUNTED! C'mon get away from her. Shhhhhh!

Ok ok ok. Come out here in the kitchen. Here. Get a dog treat from this Tupperware thing. Got one? Cool. Now. Call Max. Or Milo.

Just whatever: either one: they'll both show up, trust me.

See, here they are.

Milo, SIT! SIT! SIT, Milo! Whatever. Here ya' go. Toss your treat to Max.

Whoa! Did you see that??!!! Did you see him half jump for it?! Oh dude, that was SWEEEEET!

Yo, dude dude...come GOTTA see this!

Check this out. (I show you something, bro.)

What is it? Are you serious? Are you seriously asking what this is? Oh man!

Dude, it's ROSEANNE! The show! These are the like the first 7 seasons! Look each one is like 346 minutes long, man! We could watch these All Night Long and still not see 'em all, bud.

What You gotta split?


Damn. Really?

Alright. Uhm. You're going to Piper Down aren't you? Listen to some Black 47/some Matthews/get some beer on your bones. I got ya.

Cool. Cool.



(You go. As you step outside you are just tsunami'd by your independence and your fresh minty Freedom. From all things wife/kids/dogs. You are so glad to be out of there.)

(You feel me staring at you from my big front window.)

(You get in, start it up and pull out without looking at me.)

(A mile away: you still feel me staring out my window at where you were.)

I walk over to the TV and turn it on.

No channels. None.

I want a new drug.