Left 4 Live: Or How I’m Updating After Six Months Of Ball-Chilling Weather, Mexicans and Deer

Rammspieler: It’s kinda complicated. But let’s just say that that is one reason why I left. Man I should so write a book.

“Adelaide”: You totally should

Rammspieler: LOL. I’m.still trying to write up a piece for my blog about life.out here so far. Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas style!

Rammspieler: I’m so going to try writing something tonight. You asked for it, madam!

“Adelaide”: DO IT! It will be awesome!

Rammspieler: You seem to have a lot of confidence in a guy you never read before!

“Adelaide”: I tend to have a lot of confidence in people pursuing that which they are passionate about : )


And that, motherfuckers, is how I started to write my first update in six months, trashed the original and started anew. Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls, What Do You Know, Erde? is back. This time with more cold weather and less Tyolka Tuesday!


Kept you waiting, huh?

It all started several nights ago, when I started to randomly PM with “Adelaide”,  a coworker, from my new-ish job (more on that later, I promise!) She’s either a pastry chef or is still in school to become a pastry chef. I’m not sure. By the way, if some of this doesn’t make sense, it’s because I’m finally down to the last quarter of a can of that godawful Four Loko shit. But I’ll drink anything in the name of creativity. I figured that if there was anything that got my creativity going, it was alcohol and loud Neue Deutsche Härte rock music pounding through my headphones. For the uninitiated, Neue Deutsche Härte (NDH for short but pronounced En Day Haa) means “New German Hardness” and incorporates elements of Hard Rock with Industrial and generally aspires to a masculine and militaristic esthetic. Meanwhile I have a backdoor right behind me that I was told to keep unlocked at all times, since my roommates are out partying again and they might come busting in any minute, flying high as kites and drunk as fuck, because the security at my workplace likes to pester partygoers for fun and because there are a lot of legally underage people here who like to drink. I really want to go to bed now, but seeing as how today is my last day off before I begin yet another weekend at my “favorite” place to work (notice the sarcasm!), I know that for Adelaide’s sake, I must finish this. Or my Internet name ain’t John F. Rammspieler! By the way, all names mentioned from here on are fake names to protect the identities of the very real people that work with me, as well as my job.

So how did I end up where I am, you ask? Well if any of my now non-existent readers recall, six months ago, I bade farewell to my 20 year  sentence of Solitary Confinement on Progress Island, U.S.A. A decision that I made both in part because if I stayed on that island any longer, I would of have gone insane. Literally. But I would of have gone insane a lot faster because of a certain young woman whom I fell in love with on Those Damnable Forums. Yes, in a What Do You Know, Erde? exclusive, I, John F. Rammspieler, am making public and official what was obvious to some and not-so-obvious to others. That time on this blog that I was pouring my soul out because I had to quit my job? It was because that “bright center to the galaxy” was the girl whom I gave my heart to. First fan submitted Tyolka Tuesday? My beloved Lovecraft lovin’ Elder Goddess. The people whom I was leaving behind during my extended hiatus from Those Damnable Forums? The Girl From Ipanema By Way of Boston was amongst them and I missed her the most. Yep! Believe it or not, Yours Truly, actually allowed his normally cold and black heart to warm up enough to fall in love and the girl liked him back in return. Awwww, ain’t that cute?! But as much as I wanted to deny it, the signs were already there before I left, that the inevitable was going to happen. It was a month after I got here and I was able to get back online when she told me that I should “consider other women”, the final death knell was when she basically asked me to give her up. She said that she wanted to work on her major life issues and that she didn’t feel ready for a relationship. Then a month after that, she told me that the guy whom she always had a crush on, before she met me, finally succumbed to the peer pressure that their shared social circle was putting on him and he finally asked her out. Wow, she seemed to have gotten over her issues real fast!

What followed was basically four months of desperately trying to get over the obvious pain of getting over someone whom up until then seemed to have been the closest thing to a soulmate that one could wish for, whilst adjusting to life in what for all effects and purposes was (and still is) a strange new land to me and trying to rebuild myself into a new man, practically from scratch. Saying that “it wasn’t easy” is an understatement. I personally think that it could of have gone better on a lot of things. But no matter how much you want to be the person you want to be, there will always be a part of the old you, who will hold you back. However, I guess I prefer me where I’m at right now, than where I was six months ago. The question is, where does the New Man go from here?


A strange new world indeed

If I was keeping careful track of all that has been going on with my life from then until now, I wouldn’t need to be making this summary. But seeing as how trying to write and stay creative whilst working an oft-times physically demanding full-time job with no fixed hours and in an oftentimes stressful environment kinda puts a damper on keeping an up-to-date blog. This, aside from, you know, living some pretty emotionally intense times. However, when I think about it, my job, in itself, isn’t all THAT interesting. I just clock in, go to the morning meeting with my boss, repeat the same old answers to the same old questions that he always asks, then go to what has become my semi-permanent work area, where I have to handle the incoming workload of what are basically three different restaurants, in one kitchen. By the way, in case you’re asking what exactly I work as, the answer is: dishwasher. Nothing wrong with doing manual labor. Besides, plenty of writers and artsy types before me have done much worse or mundane jobs. I like to think of it as a sort of an adventure waiting to happen. In fact, I already did have some excitement a few months back. I damn near got killed too! And to think that “Nikia”, one of the banquet servers/shuttle drivers whom I like to fuck around and flirt with, says that this place is only good for “the outdoors and privacy, but not much else”.


A face not even a bored van driver can’t resist

About three months into my life here, I decided to go out one day to find some place to eat that wasn’t Pizza Hut, the tavern across the street or any of the overpriced restaurants in the resort. I didn’t find any so after about an hour or so of walking, I decide to turn back for home. It was just when I was approaching the village where the resort is located at that I heard a car violently swerving behind me. I look back to see a late model Cadillac heading towards me, despite walking on the curb of the opposite lane. I tired to make a jump for it but I knew I was going to get hit. During that time period when I saw the world tumbling all around me and time went into an Inception style slow-mo, I thought that I was going to die. But then I found myself on my back and the first thing that came to my mind was to see if I could still move. The driver was standing next to me and asking me if I was alright, obviously nervous. I told her that I was and if she could call 911. But while she was fumbling with her phone someone else approached and was already on the phone with them, when the bitch got back in the car, supposedly to pull the car back, but ended up nearly running over me again and hitting me on the foot. She realized this and finally put the car in reverse and actually fucking peeled away and left. Stupid driver became a criminal now. Anyway we got her plate number and now I have to go for a hearing in a few weeks. I’m walking just fine now and the docs didn’t find any permanent damage so far. But nevertheless, besides feeling like a boss for a few days afterwards and seriously contemplation about getting a FOXHOUND seal tattooed on one of my shoulders after the shirt I was wearing that day and being told by the nurses that I had to be in special forces to survive that accident intact and walking. Yeah, it felt great for the first few days to be alive. But I admit that there were times were I have quietly wondered why was I still alive, if I couldn’t be with The Girl From Ipanema By Way Of Boston that I fell in love with, trying to relate with my immediate coworkers and feel like a “normal” human being, amongst other things that made me doubt myself. At least the accident proved to me that either I’m Iron Man or some sort of Highlander, which would make me immortal, unless someone hacks my head off with a broadsword and absorbs my immortality via lightning. But still, I would trade in my apparent knack of survival if I could feel like an awesome dude for at least 75% of the time.


Nice ride, but my angel of death is a shitty driver

If there is one thing that I’ve realized, it is that apparently, I can leave Progress Island, U.S.A. But Progress Island, U.S.A. will never leave me. Maybe I was naive to think that I was finally leaving behind everything that was making me sick about the place. And it’s true. Although there were only a few of my fellow inmates when I got here, when the Jamaicans, Mexicans, South Africans and all the  other ” ‘ans” that were working here. But then they left and a huge load of even more Puerto Ricans came. Most of them with the same attitudes, mediocrity, feelings of entitlement and lack of curiosity and no drive to learn anything new, I knew that it would be even more difficult to be more authentic and true to myself, when I was being surrounded once again by people whom I never could relate to and feeling like I have to tolerate the same bullshit that I hoped to gain respite from, all over again. They ask me why I hardly go to parties. Welp, besides the fact that most of them seem to be held on nights where I have to get up the next morning to work, at the times when I did go to parties, I always left somewhat disappointed and depressed. It’s all the same music, the same liquor, the same fucking collective modus operandi seemed to be in effect. Get a South American girl or a “Crazy White Chick” drunk enough to take advantage of her. Drink all the shitty liquor you could and make an ass of yourself. I couldn’t “deal”. Maybe I’m too much of an intellectual for my own good. Then when I work with them, I always feel like I have to stay a step above with the jokes that I never really got, despite being exposed to them for over two decades, if I don’t want to be singled out as being “odd”. I have to embellish certain parts about my life when asked about them, for fear of having to return back to Solitary, in shame. People perhaps would tell me that maybe I care a bit too much about what other people think. Well, maybe they are right. Maybe I do care because that’s just the way that everybody in Puerto Rico acts. We can’t be genuine with each other because we always have to be outdoing the other guy in terms of how materialistic and shallow we can get. It’s the same attitude that has brought our home to near bankruptcy, I guess. Because Cylon God forbid that we have to learn how to be humble and live within our means, when we can just bullshit our way to the “top” and take out a loan to pay the one before it which is paying the one that came before, ad infinitum! Wow. Talk about going off on a tangent.

Obviously things are different when I talk with the locals and my non-Puerto Rican coworkers. I can be my real self with them and they have never given me shit about it. Okay maybe not ALL that genuine. I do have to keep a clean shaven face and I always thought I looked better with a beard because they are awesome. But alas, the only guy who is apparently allowed to have a beard is the Executive Chef in charge of everything having to do with food on the resort. I don’t get it either. I was told that I could grow a mustache, but mustachios tend to make most every guy here who sports them look like a pedo. Facial hair issues aside, yeah so far I have no complaints about the locals and my gringo coworkers. If anything, they seem to express a lot of curiosity as to how I speak damn good English (aside from the odd pronunciation hiccup now and then. Right, Nikia?) At first I found it kind of annoying, but now I take it in stride. Although having to explain why I don’t need a visa to work here and why I don’t need a passport does get boring after a while. Do we ask Kelsey Grammer or John McCain for their passports and work visas?

It’s taken me two fucking days to finish up this update (more than a week if we count my first uninspired attempt. I know that I could do better. After all, it’s been six months and that ain’t so bad, compared to the five years previous before I started this blog, since I’ve written for the Daily Raider. I still remember those long nights, so long ago, when our editor and my only really long-term internet friend, Victor von Doom, would host these all-night site staff chats where he would have us working on various articles and send them in, whilst bitching at us while pretending to be J. Jonah Jameson. Or the big site projects when we used to troll MySpace (anybody fucking remember MySpace?!) and ridicule whatever group caught our fancy, all in the name of eliciting cheap laughter and for our own entertainment, mostly. But yeah, I’ve gone for longer periods without writing before, and this shouldn’t be any different. And yet, so much has changed and once again, my old foe, Uncertainty, is rearing his ass-ugly mug around the corner of Near Future Street and Long Term Avenue. Either I desperately need a new source of inspiration or I just need to drink Four Loko more often. Maybe I need just need to start “Playtation vs. XBox” arguments with “Erzsebet” while smoking on a hookah and call it a “video game review of Metal Gear Solid V: Ground Zeroes – A Comparative review of both PS and XBox versions.”   One thing is for sure though, thank you, Adelaide for the encouragement. I hope you and “Ike” win that competition, because I like cupcakes and you need to bring some to our tentative beer tasting/solitary nerd party.


At least I’ll finally be able to see these guys live!




Hasta Luego Y Gracias Por El Pescao, Cabrones!

The day has finally arrived. After two decades of breathing the same air, seeing the same sites, going to the same places, seeing the same people and doing the same old shit day in and day out. After twenty years of entropy and indifference while wasting away on Progress Island, U.S.A. and feeling like I never quite fit in, I have finally won my “parole” off of this rock. On Thursday I will be heading out of the prison “Gates” and heading for the relative freedom of the mountains of Pennsylvania. Not the most interesting place in the world. But it’s a start and it will be a hell of a lot more interesting than another day watching my fellow Inmates contentedly doing the same ol’ shit. I will not miss the loud noises, the stupid parties and late-night baseball games that keep me up at night. I certainly won’t miss the horse races on the street and the shit they leave behind. Or the idiots who race up and down on their ATVs/mopeds/go carts/dune buggies and then expect decent people to not get pissed off at them when they nearly run over some kid. The never-ending dust that you find on everything? Hopefully a distant memory.

So long and thanks for all the fucking fish, fuckers. I certainly won’t stick around to see how we constantly commit the same fuck-ups and hope that it all turns out different than before. Or when it turns out exactly the same way as it always does, I won’t have to facepalm as I watch in pain, how most of you loudly complain when Uncle Sam won’t come in and save you from your massive fuck-ups. This place is going down and I shall watch it all sink from the safety of the shore. True, America is also undergoing it’s own massive downfall and it too shall suffer greatly. But at least American’s aren’t expecting someone else to step in and save them. Too proud for that shit (although loudly proclaiming how the Chinese are dicks to their own people while we spy on our own and gladly take out loans from them never seemed to have hurt anybody’s egos it seems!) Then when everything has burnt down, I will do my best to piss amongst the ruins and proclaim “I TOLD YOU SO!”

You cling to your faith in a God that is quite frankly, a douchebag who clearly gets off on your suffering, and then say that it’s all some “test” and that those who take it with a smile, will be rewarded later on. You spend what little money you have on playing the lottery in the hopes of striking it rich and having something to retire on and pray to your God to make it happen, while you give away what little you have left, to your Pastor so that they can buy another Rolex or luxury car and proudly stand against any attempt to make it illegal to hurt or kill a fellow human being who may not enjoy the same sexual preferences as you do, all the while they take your children into their office where they can offer them individualized “religious counseling”. Then you shame me into keeping my disdain for your God and your religion to myself, for fear of reprisal against my person and my family. Yet my own family has fallen victim to the collective delusion long ago and ridicules my doubt in invisible bearded men in the sky, anyway. Yeah, I’ll make sure to remember you guys in my post cards to nowhere.

Will I miss out on the thrill of heading down an empty highway late at night and fearing whether the headlights tailgating me will turn out to be my end in a hail of bullet-fire, just because I have the same car as a rival drug lord or like my shitty car can wield a good price on the black market for car parts? Will I miss out on all the traffic jams that only a country with more cars on it’s roads than actual road miles can produce? LOL. Speaking of roads, what about all the potholes and roads constantly undergoing repair and causing even more traffic jams in the process? Fuck no! Plus I find your horrible love for Ricers to be nauseating. You’re not on a fucking Fast And The Furious movie.

You guys never did give me any real encouragement to explore my true passions or expand my knowledge. But reading is for fags anyway, right? Unless it’s a glossy mag at the supermarket checkout telling me about the latest celebrity divorce or some weekday tabloid that proudly used to bill itself as “easy to read” with a Wednesday centerfold girl enticing you to buy it for the girl and the rest for bird cage lining, then it’s not worth expending years of near non-existent public education reading skills on. Because we all know how you can barely read any, if at all. You don’t go misspelling words and no one raises an eyebrow that easily, unless others are just as deficient as you are. Then you feel proud that you didn’t need no books or schooling to get by in life. Why, if you can just go on welfare? Want a nicer car or house, but don’t feel like putting in four more years of your life into school after graduating from high school? Just take up some trade. Not that you really do feel like you can do it for life. But because it gets you onto a cushy job in an air-conditioned factory floor where all you have to do is punch buttons every once in a while and then loudly complain about how you hate your 3k a month job because you have to work weekends and you badly wanted to camp out in front of Gamestop for the latest video game release. Fuck you. I may not have a glamorous job waiting for me or a $20 an hour salary. But at least when I get back from a day of cleaning kitchens and taking out the trash, I will have done some actual work.

In the end, while the only thing I feel sorry about is leaving behind my family to suffer here while the rest of you drag them down with you, I will be doing my damn best to stay the fuck away from you guys for the most part. Call me a “traitor” if you must and an “escapee” if it makes you feel better at night. But you have offered me nothing, despite being one of your own children. In return, I shall take even less. And when I come back, I will come back to destroy you even more, so that when you are nothing more but scorched earth and piles of rubble, I can build you up with the love that only a guy like me can, into the great and beautiful nation that you have always deserved to be. Until then…

What’s been happening as of late

Today is Monday and in a few hours a new tyolka Tuesday will be due. But I must inform those who are following me that perhaps I won’t be able to deliver on that tonight or tomorrow because since last Wednesday I was left without an Internet connection. I blame it on the idiots that they hire to fix the lines and then decide that they can’t do it so not only do they leave you without phone service, but without an Internet connection as well. I am writing this from a computer at a public library. I might as well get used to doing this for the next few months. If things work out the way they seem to be working, I may be moving soon and will be forced to post on a public computer. The thing is, in light of some recent revelations and soul searching, would it be a good idea for me to go ahead? I would post more, but right now I’m still feeling lost and uncertain and I would rather post when I have more time. One thing is for certain. Right now I know what the cat in Schrodinger’s box felt like when he was uncertain about whether he was alive or dead. I guess I should be feeling happy and yet all I feel is fear, uncertainty and all alone. 

Ramm’s Tyolka Tuesday #8

Okay so I admit that keeping up this feature is a bit harder than I expected. But I guess that’s what happens when you’re a procrastinator like me and you leave things until the last moment. It works great when you’re writing and you have a deadline (which I don’t when I write one of my posts). But if it’s a regular column and you have to look up shit every single time and the idea mill is starting to run thin? Fuck me running!

Anyway this week we’re leaving the Motherland for Ukraine. The Ukrainians don’t consider themselves as part of the East but as Europeans and therefore somehow more “civilized” than the Russian “brutes”. Funny then that they put their first woman prime minister, Yulia Timoshenko under house arrest and beat the shit out of her supporters. On the other hand you have groups like Femen, who say that they are protesting against Patriarchy, yet have no problem in sexualizing their protests with the very same glands that most feminists say they are trying to desexualize.  At least in Russia they know how NOT to be a contradiction and stick to their guns about it. At least Ukrainian women are also pretty. Enjoy and all that. Pics courtesy of acidcow.com.




She kinda reminds me of Sarah Vandella





That’s if for this week, folks. I already took my shitload of OTC anti-histamines and I’m going to hit the hay soon. Tomorrow will hopefully be the day when I win my pass not just out of Solitary and The Yard, but off of this goddamned island prison!

A Day In The “Yard”


It looks something like this. Only with more people, filthy streets and overflowing sewers

So here we are. The fourth day of my self-imposed hiatus from Those Damnable Forums. I guess that today went better than yesterday, as in no mood swings or anything like that. Although last night I had a sudden paranoia attack. That sucked ass, but at least in the end I was so tired from trying to install Fallout and failing, that thankfully I didn’t need to take my favorite pills for that job.

What did I do today? Well it was suggested that maybe getting out of the house and going to the local flea market would be a good idea to take my mind off of all the shit. So with nothing but four bucks and a debit card with what is left of the $26 that I earned for that one day of training on that job that I had to quit the next day, and which apparently never seems to work that well within the Puerto Rican ATM network, I did just as my ancestors did, and walked all the way to town under a hot sun on a humid day, to reach “The Yard”.

If I’m going to keep describing my home as a prison, then I may as well start assigning prison/psych hospital terms to the people and places here. My actual home, deep in the boondocks is “Solitary Confinement”, because that’s where I spend most of my days without much contact save for my computer and shitty local TV. The “Yard” is my hometown proper and is the nearest place that I have access to at the moment. The rest of the island that I haven’t seen in longer than a week to several years is where the “General Population” lives and the airports and seaports are the “Gates”. A lot of “inmates” who have stuck with the “program” have managed to win their pass to freedom, yet they are never truly free for the simple reason that they chose to get with the “program”. That “program” being “how to be the average Puerto Rican and give up your individuality for material gains”.  But I suck at being like everyone else, so not only do I not win a pass, but I end up in Solitary for it.

The walk down to the Yard is pretty much a mundane thing if you’re used to living in small town Puerto Rico. Roads that never get repaired unless it’s an election year and full of potholes, sidewalks (wherever they bother to put them) that you can’t actually walk on because they are overgrown with weeds and littered with trash and literal horseshit, putting your life on the line every time you have to walk on the actual road once the sidewalk ends because Puerto Ricans don’t know how to fucking drive and the encounter with the occasional fellow inmate who is more fucked up than you (meaning the neighborhood drunk, the retarded guy or a person who actually needs to be put in a real mental hospital). The only thing of note was when I encountered what was apparently a large group of Schwinn Bicycle enthusiasts who were riding through the neighborhood. Lately there have been a lot of weekend bike rides that have been taking place. Is this a sign of bike culture coming to it’s maturity here? That would be awesome, considering that when gas prices rise on the mainland, it ends up being more expensive here and the day will come when our obsession with cars will be forced to come to an end. In the meantime, they run the same risks that I, as a pedestrian, runs because Puerto Rican civil engineers in the 50’s and 60’s never imagined the day when bicycles would be more than kids toys and that the island’s industrial boom of the mid-20th century would not last into the 21st. So a typical Puerto Rican road has no such thing as a bike lane and since back then it was assumed that everyone was going to be rich and own a car, then everyone will use it to get anywhere, even if it’s just down to the corner store.

Upon arriving into the Yard, it was when once again I was reminded why would rather spend my days in Solitary if I can’t even go into General Population. About 90% of the inmate population on this island have a generic look and feel to them. To the tourist that comes to visit, they may look like your typical Caribbean Latinos. Always laughing, always partying, always dancing, always talking. Then they go home and carry away the memories of a friendly people and you hope that they stay there. “What if they want to come over here and sell drugs or rob our house?!” If you’re like me though, who happens to be like the other 10% of the population who is either an introvert or just plain anti-social, then the 90%’s behavior gets old real quick. I kinda blame it on our homogeneous culture and ethnic background. For hundreds of years, despite relative closeness with the other islands, Puerto Rican’s and their culture have been kept apart from the rest of the world. God, King and the fear of pirates was what ruled our lives. So most of us fled for the mountains, where our language deteriorated and so did our DNA, as we eventually started to interbreed. It’s kinda creepy when you think about it, but every inmate here is related to another in some way. The result is a people who pretty much looks the same, dresses the same, thinks the same way (political and religious differences don’t matter as they all present themselves in the same manner), speaks the same, you get the idea. It’s pretty much Iceland or Japan down here, only with more kitsch and loud music.

So there I was, in the Yard and in the Sunday flea market. It never changes. The lines of tents on the parking lot of the Yard’s sports complex, the sun beating down on you. The sellers selling you the same thing that the guy a few spaces down is selling and at the same price. This isn’t like your quaint little Farmer’s Market in your major urban center up in North America or Europe, with the organic produce and the artists trying to sell their stuff because they were never good enough to put up an installation in a gallery. Just a lot of fake designer purses, costume jewelry, imitation perfumes, Chinese electronics and pirated games and movies. If you’re hungry, well there is the usual plethora of kabob vendors, the lady who makes frappes with anything from fresh fruit to chocolate chip cookies and maybe a guy who will sell you a beer under the table.

Besides taking my mental health leave from Solitary, I came here looking for one thing. Sunglasses. Particularly, aviator style. I have been looking up and down for a nice pair because if I am to move forward and become the best Anal Agitator that I can be, then I should do it with some style!

Kapt’n K: One of Industrial’s cultural icons

I found some here and there and the most affordable ones were just 6 bucks. I had to have them so like the fool that I am, I went off in search of an ATM machine. The nearest ones being in the Yard proper, I took the stupid way out of the market and ended up taking the long route through a neighborhood on the outskirts, and a long-ass walk into the Yard, just because I thought that I could cut through a lot of backyards and empty lots. But when I finally get to the bank, I realized that today was not going to be my day with money or machines. The first bank ATM didn’t want to take my card and only gave me a balance. I went to the ATM next door and still no joy. All this time I was thinking that I was just having shitty luck with the card, mind you!

I got hungry, so I went to the local Chinese place. Chinese restaurants in Puerto Rico can be found a dime a dozen and are always run by illegals who are using the place as a money laundering operation by some Triad boss back in China. Or at least that’s what I was led to believe anyway. But despite not being REAL Chinese food, it’s good, no matter where you go. So I order up a BBQ rib and fried rice combo with a side of french fries. Good thing that the girl who was ringing me up tried to charge me before they started cooking. The card didn’t pass their either. She told me that perhaps since my card was “American”, that the machines couldn’t accept it as they are all connected to the Puerto Rican ATM network. It’s a small town with most commerce being in the form of small Mom & Pop shops. Where else could I get some fucking food? The only place that you are guaranteed to find, no matter where in the world you are; Micky Dee’s and BK! Of course that meant a half-mile walk to the other side of town. So I slogged it through near-100 degree weather and humidity until I finally make it to BK.

BK in Puerto Rico is more of a franchise operation than a branch of the main US operation so it’s pretty autonomous and we even have our own product menu, the latest edition being fried chicken, of all things. So in the mood for some chicken, I go in and order. The same story. Shame, since they had such a nice A/C. I go across the road to Micky Dee’s and order some nuggets, thinking that hey, unlike BK, Mickey Dee’s here is pretty much the same as the US version, right? It was not meant to be. Same fucking shit. However it was only when the manager came to check out the situation that I realized that it wasn’t perhaps my card’s fault, so much as it was that the whole fucking ATM network was out of order in our area. Hungry, tired and hot, I decide to try one last place. A bakery. I find one and with my last two bucks I buy a bottle of soda and a cherry turnover. I read the paper as I enjoy my soda and turnover and find that the hottest story off the presses is that we are now ranked #7 in places where cyber-fraud is the biggest. My mother is taking computer and Internet use classes right now. Will they teach her how not to fall for that letter from the nice Nigerian prince?

On the way back to Solitary, as I was crossing the bridge, I notice two black spots in the muddy river water moving about. They were turtles who were just enjoying their little life in the half-shell. Sadly I had no pizza on me to offer them, though. As I went up a hill and rounded a bend, I was stopped for directions from what I took to be a group of weekend tourists from General Population, accompanied by what I took to be a gay dude of foreign origin. His accent points towards Venezuela. It was Gay Dude who spoke. “Can you tell us where the boardwalk is?” At first I’m kinda stunned because they did take me by surprise, but I told them to follow the road until the get to the highway bridge, cross it and head on straight until they hit the beach. Couldn’t miss it. “Thanks Boy!” Gay Dude yells at me enthusiastically. I was kinda shocked to be honest. Was he being courteous or was he actually hitting on me? I never thought that the same problem I have with women (not being able to tell of they are being friendly or if I’m being hit on) would also happen with gay men! Either way, to be honest it felt kinda nice. I’m not like most of the guys on the Damned Forums, where if they get hit on by gay men, they either cry or recoil. It’s kinda flattering, really. To bad he wasn’t my type!

The bike riding crowd got bigger and was blocking the road by now. Big fucking group. But I neither care for the cars trying to pass by or the bike riders waiting for the rest of their group. I’m just a prisoner heading back to his holding cell away from them, back in Solitary. Then my life can be described by this song.

If you can understand German, then bonus points to you! Now you know how I feel!