Tag Archives: upstairs neighbors

Can Christmas be that far behind?

November 19, 2021 Joseph

I don’t think that’s the right box, man. I keep the glass bulbs in the box marked “winter gloves” and the tinsel in the box marked “soup can collection”. That box is marked “Christmas decorations”, and that’s where I keep my soup can collection. And my winter gloves.

Oh, hey. I hear you knocking, but you can’t come in. No, I’m not being anti social. I just don’t want to spoil the surprise. We’re working on our Christmas pageant, and we’re hoping that no one will guess this year’s theme before we finish our parade floats. I’ve had Marvin (my personal robot assistant) run out for some more plaster of Paris. What’s that, Anti-Lincoln? Are you sure? Damn. Marvin went to Paris.

What’s in a theme?

I can tell you what the theme won’t be this year. Anti Lincoln wanted to do a reconstruction-themed Christmas. I told him that we simply couldn’t do it justice. Also, our crazy neighbors upstairs would come at us with torches for advancing what they’ve been calling Critical Race Theory. Much as I like the idea of pissing them off, I think we’ll let that one rest.

Then there was the mansized tuber’s idea. Do you really want to hear it? It’s kind of predictable. He had some goofy notion that you could find a fir tree, chop it down, haul it through the snow and back to the Mill, then poke the trunk into a base so that it stands upright. What then? According to tubey, you hang little baubles and lights from the carcass, and when you wake up Christmas morning, they’ll be a surprise under the dead tree. Crazy shit.

Living in Christmas past

Hey, in all honesty, we’re getting older. And when you get on in years, there’s a tendency to look back a bit. We’ve got a kind of storied Christmas past, which is to say that we’ve got a lot of stories about it. Of course, there’s 2000 Years To Christmas, our first album. Then there’s all those Xmas episodes we did on THIS IS BIG GREEN. And don’t forget the fractured carols we sing when we’re drunk, in any season.

Suffice to say, we’ve got a lot of material. If we actually opt for a pageant this year, there will be singing. No dancing, though – unless you count what Marvin does when he updates his operating system. Will there be a full band performance? Well …. not likely. But you may see me sitting in front of a cheap camera, strumming hesitantly on a guitar.

Our pledge to you, dear listener

One promise: I won’t play any Cowboy Scat songs. That’s final. That wouldn’t be Christmas-y. (If you want more promises, I’m taking requests – just use the comment form, below.)

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There’s another way of saying this

October 29, 2021 Joseph

I could have sworn I left it right here. Sometimes I think I’m losing my nut. And sometimes I think I’m losing my soup. So I’ve got it covered, soup to nuts. What was I saying again?

Hoo, man. Those squatters upstairs must be smoking the devil’s weed once again. I’ve got second-hand smoke brain. Of course, after having spent a third of my life with first-hand smoke brain, this almost rises to the level of clarity. No, there are many possible reasons why I’m thick as a brick today. Here’s one …

Sleep is our friend

Let’s face it. When you don’t sleep enough, you start getting stupid. Ask anyone who’s been up for five days. Rest assured, they will tell you that they cannot rest assured. And if you ask anyone who’s been up for a hundred days, they won’t answer because they’re busy being dead. In short, sleep is obligatory.

Now, many of you know I’m a part time geezer. In fact, pretty much everyone in Big Green is exactly that. My illustrious brother Matt, for instance, seems to expend endless amounts of energy looking after all of nature’s creatures. Does he sleep any more than I do? Probably not. But – and this is important! – he makes more sense than I do. Good thing, too. Anyhow … they say that you need less sleep when you get older. The truth is, you just GET less sleep. How they mix those two things up is beyond me.

Go to the window

Some people lose sleep because they walk in their sleep. The name for this syndrome is somnambulism, or “whooping cough.” (Okay, maybe not, but never mind.) To be clear, this illness not only makes you tired, it can beat the hell out of you. I don’t think that’s my problem, though to be sure I roped Marvin (my personal robot assistant) into testing my slumbering ass.

Here’s how the test worked. Marvin would wait until I was sleeping, then start playing the recording of Leo McKern in the movie Help saying “Go to the window”. The theory was that, if I were a sleepwalker, the power of suggestion would be enough for me to defenestrate myself. Fortunately, that wasn’t the case. (It wasn’t for want of trying, however. Marvin ran that thing on a loop for about five hours.)

The power of Z

Leave us face it: the only cure for not getting enough sleep is getting enough sleep. Trouble is, when I try to sleep, I think about trying, then I think about thinking, then I think about thinking about thinking …. oh, damn it. It’s the brain, man! How do you stop a brain? (No one can restore a brain!)

Fortunately, I can put myself to sleep simply by playing my favorite songs. Three or four bars in, and the big Z sneaks up and takes hold. It’s a real crowd pleaser, people.

Usual Rubbish

Breach.

January 8, 2021 Joseph

Are they still up there? Hmmmm. I can’t hear them right now. Maybe the stereo drove them out, or the garlic, perhaps. I always thought those people would be trouble. Did I say “always”? I meant, uh, sometimes.

Well, this has been one hell of a week for everybody here in America, am I right? Here at the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, we might have been glued to the television all week if the cable company hadn’t discovered our illegal tap and pulled the plug on us. And then there was the electric company with their so-called “unpaid bills” and such. What part of abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill do they not understand? I mean, just because it’s a derelict, long-condemned building doesn’t mean it should be stricken from the grid like at scofflaw. I mean, we’re the scofflaws, people … it’s not the building’s fault that we’re squatting in it. Not really.

Anyway, as you know, over the past couple of years we’ve had some dyspeptic neighbors living upstairs in another section of the mill that we seldom visit, though it is often spoken of in legends. That notwithstanding, they have been problematic in the past with regard to, I don’t know, agreeing to little courtesies, like … not shooting us or not setting the mill on fire for kicks. (They like their kicks, these upstairs neighbors.) It was worst early on, but in recent months it had quieted down quite a bit, perhaps because of the COVID pandemic, but more likely because they got bored with intimidating us and turned their evil attentions elsewhere – to our friends squatting in the abandoned storefront across the street, for instance. Whatever misfortunes they may have visited on others, all was peace and contentment here in the hammer mill.

Holler all you want, dude. We don't have any bacon.

But that was not to last! (Dum, dum, dum!) They got all feisty with us again this week, and this time with the help of outside confederates. Now, when I say “confederates,” I’m not using that as an alternative for “friends” or “accomplices” – I mean confederates, like, the southern kind, waving the stars and bars. Those dudes as well as other denizens of the far right descended on this place like locusts. It took us a while, but we eventually worked out that they had mistaken the Cheney Hammer Mill for the federal building, which isn’t even located in our township. No matter – these MAGA hatted crazy people started scaling up the sides of the mill with those climbing cables. Not sure why they didn’t just come in through the open door and take the stairs up, but to each his own. They overran this place with as few as thirty people and started making themselves at home, except for one guy who stumbled upon our studio and started shouting “Olympus has fallen!” over and over again. (Seriously, I think these people are majorly confused about where we’re living.)

Yeah, so now we have a houseful of right-wing rioters, and nothing to offer them. My guess is that they will eventually get bored and go find someone else to kill, but until then …. hope they like banjo music!