Washingtonians, this Wednesday afternoon, come to the Starbucks on 1600 K Street to become acquainted with some young, interesting, average income level Asian American guys and gals. Instead of meeting Asian American doctors, lawyers, and consultants, you’ll meet Dr. Dre copycats, alcoholic paralegals, and T-Mobile wireless salespeople.

These guys and gals are looking to meet new friends that include: white, black, Hispanic, or any other race of people, just as long as you aren’t a F.O.B. Because after all, they don’t want to perpetuate the stereotype that Asians only hang out with other Asians. Just kidding, we love our F.O.B brothers and sisters! But **** stereotypes.

If you are a Washingtonian who likes drinking alcohol and smoking marijuana, stop by and make a new Asian American friend who will provide mixers and match you on a blunt. Please, do not ask these guys and gals for college study notes for Math or Bio, because all of them have dropped out of college to pursue their artistic passions, like: writing a novel about having a white group of friends and being the token who reads Tolkien and likes Toking; playing electric guitar in a grunge, punk, post-emo garage band with your black buddies who like Fugazi and bad brains but ******* hate Green day for selling out; and drawing sketches and painting portraits of the half-Asian girl you’re dating on a wide canvass, but really you’re secretly into selfies and taking photos of breakfast on Instagram.

We don’t discriminate against the kind of alcohol you drink, whether it be wine, beer, or liquor—within reason please don’t bring Franzia or Rolling rock, this isn’t college anymore. Yes, we get it, you’re highly considering attending this group because you’re a huge Haruki Murakami fan and you’re wondering two questions: are our Japanese American patrons also huge fans of the author, and do our patrons behave in a similar fashion to Murakami’s characters like Toru Watanabe and Toru Okada?

First, our Japanese American patrons are huge fans of Murakami and they own books like Sputnik Sweetheart and The Windup Bird Chronicle, but they also think the author often is obsessed with Western culture, in a way that possibly, and seriously possibly transforms him into a Brett Easton Ellis derivative based on Ellis’s American ****** and Glamorama.

Second, no these particular patrons do not behave like Murakami’s characters, because they’re real, living, breathing human beings, and not some fantasy figure or made-up person! But enough of the rant, please come though and let’s have conversations about jazz and talking cats.

While we respect Asian American actors like Ken Jeong and Randall Park, we really aren’t interested in having a lengthy dialogue about The Hangover’s Asian **** scene, or how Park was kinda offensively funny in The Interview. Although Park is awesome in Fresh Off The boat! All we really want is to just drink jack and cokes and smoke Marlboro lights and have conversations about the latest trends in indie rock and Hip Hop culture, and whether Citizen Kane was better than Casablanca, or vice versa.

At the meeting, we will have our guest speaker Jeremy Lin’s college roommate George Park answer questions about Lin, as well as a special appearance by Steve Yuen’s ex-girlfriend Marcy Abernathy who will give us an inside scoop to Yuen’s fetishes as well as his quirky habits. We will also be providing free snacks like LSD Pho noodle soup and Marijuana Mochi ice-cream. On a serious note, we’ll be giving out guilt-free Twinkies.

Before you arrive at the Starbucks, you’ll be getting a name tag and a free A.A.A T-shirt that wasn’t made by little children from China; instead, the shirts are made by Ronald Mai, our aspiring fashion designer whose twitter handle is @thatsmyshirtwhiteman! If you’re interested in coming out to the group our first meeting is this Wednesday at 6 p.m.

Leave your apprehension at the door and walk in with a warm smile, as you’re greeted by an expressionless face. And phoreal if your car is messed up and you require a ride, please call A.A.A’s number at (202) 576-2AAA (we know we’re phunny). Hope to see you there, and if you don’t come, you’re a ******* racist! But seriously come out and meet some cool *** people.

I was gonna write about how I was writing standing up like Hemingway at some bar in Key West, but instead I ended up nearly lying down, like some Roman eating grapes, and I’m not scrawling with a pen. I’m typing.

Why the standing up, Ernest? Was it to gauge how difficult it was to keep good posture? Was it to better measure how drunk you were getting?

He would have boxed me for those asking those questions, or maybe he’d just slam a few shots.

All of us Northeasterners enjoy getting drunk somewhere tropical. I never have a choice in the matter. Whether it’s Florida, South Carolina, or the South Caribbean (I've never left the Western Hemisphere), all I really like down there is beaches and seawater. Everything else gives deep cringes. Those other tourists, so annoying just to look at. Flip flops, whole families, and the god awful shops they keep open. You go to a place good for a beach, green hills, seawater, and fruit, and you want to buy diamonds? C’mon. I wish you’d want these islands to be like national parks; nature over here and cities over there. But the tourists enjoy fake grass huts that try really hard to sell them junk.

So who’s to blame for the sellers perpetuating petty sales and mediocre values? Is it the islanders that make a profit, or the buyers that want the wares? Or is there a third party guaranteeing that the buyers and sellers alike are propagandized to expect the less than fine things in life? Are the salespeople actually working the shops, the ones really getting rich from the sale?

Pushy salespeople
Nothing worse

We're not interested
Asking me if I'm the owner

No, I'm not
I told him

But you'll get the same response
From the owners

Go away
Obnoxious
Pest control guy

Door to door
Salesmen
You are not welcome here

This poem is not the more
traditional fare,
in fact, my humor can
actually scare,
Fartina is a twenty-five
pound, quite pooty dog,
most of the time her
poots make no sound,
But, trust me, your
olfactory sense will
know when she's around.

Debilitating flatulence
emits from her ***,
trust me, you'll run,
it isn't fun-
being in a room with her,
in fact, you'll cuss the little cur,
When salespeople come to
the door,
the only way to get them to
leave, for sure,
is to pretend Fartina is a
well mannered mixed breed,
then, when they pet her,
green clouds arise,
and their faces scrunch up,
no surprise.

She has her own waiting room
at the vet,
because her gaseous emissions
are the worst yet,
so, if you need to give your
in-laws the boot,
give Fartina a burrito,
they'll run, the old coots !!!!!

10 days
7:30am to 9pm
120 customers  
12 salespeople
HIGH ENERGY
GO GO GO GO
9pm and it’s quitting time
but the energy present
doesn’t just turn off
Fresh shower
wide awake now
10pm leads to 2am
Oh **** in 5.5 hours
I have to be up again
in order to do it all over again
100 degree days
working on black pavement
The sun never missing a day
8 shades of red from burnt skin
averaging 8 miles a day
In a mall parking lot
trying to move metal
NO NO NO NO
Is all I hear, literally all day
mental warfare
BRAIN DAMAGE
I’m wore out
my body is sore
my skin is like leather
my ears have had enough
my brain ******* hurts
but I finished the job
10 units delivered
$64500.00 in front end
GROSS PROFIT
Averaging $8000 a copy
YEAH I’M A STUD
One week off
then off to Texas
For the start of
a four week run
Waco Texas to
Edinboro Pennsylvania
and back to Texas
for two more weeks
and then a full month off
But for now I must rest,
recover and turn my brain
OFF

Pineapples are the trapped souls of car salespeople.
Donnie Darko never had a car.
Elliot loved his car.
Commentary builds prisons of cleverness.
Vision breaks chains in silence.
The collapsing of Innocence and the rise of its legatee Depravity.
Depravity wears her sister’s dress and curtsies out of vanity.
The lizard burns to move forward.
The hyena survives by questioning the corpse.
The sailor sings because the sea does not care.
Confidence is the folly that sings while it binds,
A golden mask on a hollow mind.
Culture is the cage of consensus,
Where dead men dance to remember their senses.
The sweetness of love is the bitterness of rage,
The mercy of joy is the cruelty of shame.
Innocence wails as it’s struck into shape,
On the anvil of will by the hand of the ape.
The bee knows nothing of beauty or truth,
Yet every garden is its unspoken proof.
The road to hell is paved with gold and steel,
And the weak are the measure by which empires kneel.
Justice is a weight that the sword cannot bear,
And truth is a feather that poisons the air.
Tiberius’ Capri is Heaven’s bruise,
Tiberius’ Capri is the sleep of the sun,
Where silence blooms in decadent hues.
Vision without will is like a bat flying into a sill.
Will without vision is like a sword held still.