Volume 1

The Beast? Too many fucking swear words in the motherfucker.

I sling the Beast. Why? Because according to the snide princess behind the counter at La Dolce Vita, the Beast is “too offensive,” and because no one breathes down your neck and tells you that wearing long-sleeved shirts under polo shirts is against company policy.

I used to sling DVD’s; refer to the latter half of the opening. Then they told me that reading between customers was a waste of time. Why read when I could be dusting or organizing movies again? Then that ruffian of an owner called me a “snot-nosed little bastard”—although boogers may constantly flow from my nostrils, make no mistake—I am not little.

I used to sling movie tickets; they let me read, and wear long-sleeved undershirts, and they were pretty bloody cool. It was a free-for-all. However, the ownership thought that cleaning the toilet after someone painted the seat brown was in my job description—and they thought that they (there really is two of them) should wait until they left and ring my manager about it, rather than sacking up and approaching little ol’ snot-nosed me. Needless to say, I am between jobs often, but now that I sling the Beast, I can run up in the office and call a son-of-a-bitch a son-of-a-bitch! I’ll be goddamned.

I was told last week that too many swear words appear in the beast, “so keep that shit out of my restaurant.” The goddamned bartender not only swore at me, but he also had a mustache bushier than that cop that bitch-slapped my brother’s girlfriend at Babysteps last year. Then I walked across Hertel, right down the street from the afore-unmentioned (La Marina) establishment, and some guy stopped traffic noticing the stack of papers in my hand, and screamed “I love that fucking paper,” whilst his significant other’s mortified face is buried in her hands. I replied that I also enjoy the Beast, smiled and ran into Kosta’s. Every time I go into goddamned Kosta’s the owner (whom I have a sneaky suspicion isn’t even Greek—hell, maybe he isn’t the owner) says, “Just make sure you put that under the Artvoice.” Not that that isn’t where the Beast goes, but shit, I can follow a fucking request without having to be told five goddamned times. Unless, of course, you ask me to clean some dookey off of a toilet, or to stop wearing a long-sleeved undershirt when it’s goddamned three frigging degrees out.

No purgatory exists when it comes to feelings toward the Beast. I go to Mill and Bert’s to sling some papers, and these working stiffs, sipping on cans of Schlitz, praise the hell out of the damned thing. I walk in the joint and have to hand a paper to everyone on a barstool, loving every second of it. Peace to everyone that frequents Mill and Berts. Same goes at Dough Boys pizza right across the street, save that they don’t tip back the Schlitz.

In on fine establishment, the only problem they have is with our ‘Free Pot’ ad being a hoax. I told them I would formally complain to the Beast management about that. They said, “fuck that,” and asked if they could have some free weed. So I reached in my pocket and burned a heater with them. On the other side of the thin line, up the street next to ClientLogic, a liquor store owner told me that the Beast is too vulgar for his place (the goddamned sign just says liquor, and he is worried about image). I told him that the Beast is perfect for the inebriated—not to mention that if one was to purchase two bottles, a folded Beast would slide perfectly betwixt the Kahlua and Vodka, preventing clanging without wasting cardboard. Too vulgar for a store that supports dependency? My ass. I should’ve said, “You’ll toss a few goddamned pints of hair-tonic-tasting vodka down a motherfucker’s throat, but you feel that you should have a say in what the poor bastard is reading?” Even the weed spot on S@nf()rd breaks a motherfucker off with a tiny bottle of goddamned Jack Daniels if you run the special. I bet they would carry the Beast if asked. They may even place a frigging ad. Maybe not, but at least they know when two things go together.

Is the Beast vulgar? Maybe. Are curse words customarily used? Maybe. Do they really say son-of-a-bitch in meetings? Maybe. Are the people in Mill and Berts drunk? Maybe. Bottom line is: if you don’t like it, don’t read it. Even better, don’t pick it up. I mean, you don’t go to the goddamned bookstore and buy a copy of the goddamned Da Vinci Code because every other dick in the world read it, do you? Maybe that isn’t a good example, but shit, you know what a motherfucker means. -