Lindsay
01.09 THE AMERICAN DREAM
photographed by Ben DeCamp
01.03 FRISCO DISCO
We didn’t have a Christmas tree in our offices this year. I think we’re trying to be non-denominational or some legal bullshit. A tree is probably way cheaper than a Chanukah menorah. Modern menorahs are covered in rhinestones or made out of precious metals. A lot of girls think I’m Jewish; apparently I “look Jewish” whatever the fuck that means. It’s not an ethnicity for Christ sakes. I very well may be 1/64th Jewish. Might start claiming that shit. But I’m only Jewish when it’s convenient. It’s sort of like declaring a specific minority on college admission applications; there’s usually an option to bubble in “other” and a blank line to write your own response. What are you supposed to put down? Ukranian-post-USSR post-Chernobyl-Navajo-African American-post-hipster-Jew? I wrote “Asshole,” and got a nearly full scholarship to Hawaii Pacific University. But let’s be honest, they’d have to pay me a fortune to go to that shithole of a school and become addicted to ice.
Actually one of my best friends is addicted to crystal methamphetamine. He borrowed $50 “for groceries” and drove an hour to my house to get it. 13 days later he called me from a random hotel room in Palm Springs yelling at me to stop knocking on his door and that he wouldn’t come out. When he got back home he mentioned his AA meetings a lot. I’m not sure if he was just wanted company or was hinting at the fact that most people only go for the free donuts.
Around the holidays last year, I saw a cute checkout girl at the grocery store wearing a Star of David necklace. 
This was when I was in my scamming prime; I think I was hitting around 90% at getting girls’ numbers. I hustled over to the “ethnic/cultural” food aisle. The manager further segregated the aisle, so if you’re from some bizarre tribe in the Amazon jungle, the store might possibly carry pickled or dried fruit bat, your preference. After a brief search I found a dusty box of industrial-sized Matzo crackers. I plopped the massive package on the moving checkout counter with a marble segregation rod, keeping my kosher pickup line away from some fat bitch with a bunch of Yoplait yogurt. When the brunette went to scan the UPC code, her eyes lit up. I mean, fuck, the box was like $29.99, but since Passover just ended it was on ultra-clearance for $2.75. I may be an asshole, but I’m a frugal one at that. I fed her some bullshit about being Jewish… No you weirdos I didn’t feed her the fucking Matzo crackers right then and there. But I did leave that night with her phone number and promises that I was Jewish and that I used to attend some temple in Upstate NY. God damn, sometimes I sicken even myself.
Anyways…back to the office. We can’t celebrate a specific holiday; otherwise we’d have to expense report all those fucking religious effigies. There is nothing more bizarre than Christmas: slaughtering a forest so that every suburban household can have a dying juvenile pine tree dropping needles and dripping pine sap all over the carpet. Then decorating the plant, and finally placing gift certificates and other thoughtless trinkets around it so some fat child molester can supposedly slide down the chimney in a red suit with all his gifts and leave something in a sock hanging over the mantle.
What about the families without a fireplace? Santa DOESN’T GIVE A FUCK. He just walks in the front door because he’s like the security guard in my apartment complex with a universal key to every lock. Santa and the security guard are probably running the same scam because they both have allegedly stolen food out of my pantry. Kwanza? Shut the hell up you unpatriotic piece of shit. If Catholics have dead plants, and
Chanukah is a Yankee Candle marketing scheme, what do Kwanzaans(?) use to celebrate? I’ll tell you what they have. In our office we’re going to build a plain un-finished wooden bench in the lobby with an engraved copper plate that reads “This is Kwanza; nothing special here. So take a seat motherfucker.”
Oh yea, and about that Jewish girl at the grocery store. I never called her. Why? Well, she’d probably want to share those fucking crackers with me, and I’d rather gnaw on a cardboard Macy’s shirt box than eat one of my garbage pickup lines.
10.22 SHOT BY KERN
RICHARD KERN photographed by Ben DeCamp
10.16 VINTAGE LEATHER CHUCKS
BORIS THE COBBLER photographed by Ben DeCamp
EXTRA VALUE MEAL
I hadn’t been to McDonald’s in while because I was on some sort of health food kick (and Burger King was closer), but I was feeling lazy and it was across the street from the dry cleaners that I’ve never been to. This was a special occasion. I brought in a brand new, authentic $20 Christian Dior trench coat to get tailored; I came across it at The Salvation Army right after a bum passed his grimy hands over it not realizing the treasure that lay in wait. The coat was one size too big; I tried it on in the mirror to show the girl at the front counter where to pin it. Don’t get me wrong though; there was an ulterior motive for stopping at that inland drycleaners. I just wanted to embarrass the cute little Asian girls slaving away in the back. I called out for them to get their opinion on how I looked. They ran upfront and giggled when I posed and danced like an idiot in the coat; so I picked one of them up and pranced around the storefront in a waltz step and sang the tune to a Frank Sinatra song…
We felt so regal, almost like we were in a Parisian ballroom sipping champagne, a cool summer breeze on the patio, surrounded by a sea of black tuxedos and an air of importance. I started to lose myself, day dreaming about the possibilities, fumbling with her corset and trying to tear it off at 3am, she never took off her heels; we laughed in bed at the French room service menu; scared we might order snails or frog legs for breakfast. For several moments we stared into each other’s eyes and didn’t have a care in the world. Life made sense; life was perfect…
The petite girls were in frenzy; each wanted to be picked up and dance, but the old Asian woman stormed out from behind the row of sewing machines and started yelling in Japanese or Korean, it didn’t matter. The girls put their heads down and shuffled back into the maze of cellophane-sheathed clothing. All alone, the sticky linoleum floor brought me back to reality. The steam hissed and the temperature became stifling. I felt the vibe that the white guy with a presumably big dick in the company of young Asian girls wasn’t funny anymore. I sauntered across the street to the McDonald’s and remembered some girl who emailed me wanting to model. Not sure why I saved her number, honestly she didn’t look that promising. But I had nothing else going on that afternoon so figured I’d give her a call.
“Hey what’s up? Wanna shoot around 4pm?”
“Um that’s like in half an hour!?”
“Get your shit together, I’m feeling spontaneous. You hungry at all?”
“Yea! I forgot to eat lunch. Wait, where are you getting to eat at?”
“Don’t worry about it. Be there soon.”
While standing in line at McDonald’s I had a vision; I bought some bullshit off the dollar menu and showed up at her hotel room. I kept glancing over my shoulder half-expecting to get tackled by a wave of police and bitten by the K-9 unit. She’s an escort by trade, but was going through some kind of artistic rebirth; either delusional model aspirations or too many Xanax pills. So I gave her a chance. Right when I walked in the door I knew I wouldn’t have to pay her to model; she looked that hungry. Everyone says “oh that was the best dollar I ever spent.” Often it’s someone bragging about their $20 designer trench coat, or an exotic sports car that goes really fast and hugs the turns while fake leaves are eternally suspended in the air; the camera pans away and you’re left staring at some asshole selling a rotisserie grill for three easy payments. But really, that dollar I spent on a small box of fries at McDonald’s was “the best dollar I ever spent.” Not only do I have a great bar story, but by randomly going to that drycleaners across the street I have a steady supply of hard-working Asian girls ready and waiting to steam press the fuck out of my pants on Friday nights.
R2D2 & MY GIRLFRIEND
This party was like that moment in the Star Wars when OB1 Kenobi gives Luke Skywalker his first light saber (way before he gets his hand chopped off in Return of the Jedi and finger bangs his sister Princess Leah with the prosthetic.) He’s so excited he power boosts it up and a gigantic glowing blue dildo dominates the movie screen. Some lonely woman in the front row drops her popcorn and those creepy hooded dudes lurking in the background of the desert scene run for the hills. Soon C3PO is talking shit in 1000+ different languages just to keep you on your toes and R2D2 is laughing all the way to the bedroom because he only beeps and can’t really spit game, but he’s way cuter so the chick robots just wanna bang the nuts and bolts out of him. That’s kind of throwing an ironic wrench in the proverbial gears so I’ll digress. I got bored and started groping my estranged girlfriend at the time, but the music creeped her out and soon Darth Vadar lurked onto the scene messing up any chance I had of getting laid.
He’s wearing black sunglasses so he has no clue Luke Skywalker has a fake motherfucking hand programmed with Windows 95 and Quicken Tax Refund and is about to go cyborg on his ass. Soon there are these gigantic robotic dogs trudging through the snow with one pissed off Abominable wingman…or was that in the 2nd movie? Who gives a shit, what’s important is that they ran out of Milk Bones for Large Dogs so some asshole in a flying Honda Civic hatchback gets a rubber band and trips them up to fall on their faces because god knows without doggie treats someone is about to go postal in the middle of an Arctic wasteland 27 light years away from the nearest school nurse. Fuck!
Rating: 8/10