PRESSURE!

(*Better if you play the song while reading about)

PRESSURE!

Oh God I'm Tired. Up all night talking about the student loans again and I hardly slept.

PRESSURE!

The fucking student Loans. She can't stop talking about them. Every night. Every night.

PRESSURE!

I gotta find a decent job. Fuck the Law shit by now. Nobody will hire me there. But there's got to be something else I'm qualified for besides Painting.

PRESSURE!

Where the Fuck do all those resumes go? I mean, I click the button.....and they're Gone. They just....disappear. Forever.

PRESSURE!

God some of those jobs look so beautiful. Perfect...like.........

It would change my whole life.
It would change my whole...life.

Everything would settle down.

PRESSURE!

So why won't they call me? What's wrong with my resume?
I have a Fucking Law Degree. I have a Fucking LAW DEGREE!
WHY WON'T THEY HIRE ME?

PRESSURE!

All those classes. All those years. Thousands of hours. Thousands. Thousands.
All those hours of exams. All of that money. My God what a lot of money! All those fucking exams. Why did I talke them. Why?

PRESSURE!

Three years and the fucking brother in law made close to two hundred thousand at a construction job in that time. He bought a house. he bought a house.

Fuck! Look at that guy in my rear view mirror. He's climbing my bumper.

PRESSURE!

And now his biggest problem is which tattoo to get. The clipper ship or the Hula Girl.
The Clipper Ship or the Hula Girl.

I'll hit the brakes a litle. That'll stop him.

PRESSURE!

Oh shit, he almost wiped out. I could have killed him. I gotta calm down.

PRESSURE!

He's OK, but I'd better turn off here and get outta here. Fuck! I gotta calm down.
Driving is Point A to point B. That's all that matters. Relax. Relax.

PRESSURE!

One of those job applications has to come through. Why won't they call me? How hard is it to get into one of these corporations anyway?

PRESSURE!

I mean, it's like trying to get into Fucking Fort Knox. What the hell is going on? I have a LAW DEGREE, and nobody will call. It's not like I can't do the job well. I can do the job. I can DO the job. 

PRESSURE!

If I just got the interview I could explain. I could explain. Then they wouldn't be worried about the law degree.

PRESSURE!

Nothing is working out. NOTHING's working out. Why?
Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?

PRESSURE!

My wife's not going to wait forever. I don't blame her.

PRESSURE!

She could just run off with another man. Someone with money.

But She Loves me.

What a Fuck-up. What a mess.

But she Loves me.

PRESSURE!

But does she really love me?
I promised to take care of her.That everything would be fine. It would all be allright. And all I can do now is this painting shit. I'm stuck. If this goes on too much loger I'm out of the job market forever. God it's hard. it's hard, manual labor all day long, and I'm the oldest one on the crew.
It's a good thing I always kept in shape, but God my back hurts. My Fucking knees. My fucking knees. I gotta squat less today and kneel instead.
I'll be out of the job market forever.
Out of the job market forever.

PRESSURE!

There's one of them now. He's always asking sexual questions about my wife. Why? Why?
He always wants to know if I would Fuck my step-daughter. Why? Why?

God I hate working with this bunch of low-lifes. The Scum . The Dregs. The Creeps. I have a Law Degree. But even without it, I went to College. I went to College.

PRESSURE!

What's he got in his hands? What the Fuck? Where did he get that? What God-forsaken factory in this world would make a red plastic penis and balls one inch long? Oh God that is fucking wierd!
I think I'm going to lose my mind! Oh God that is fucking wierd! I think I'm going to lose my mind!

PRESSURE!

"Good Morning"

"Good Morning"

"Where'd you get that?"

"I found it on the ground?"

"Oh.  Where are we working today?"


_________________________________________________________


*WARNING!

The foregoing Post was intended for the "Bohemian" type of reader only. If you are a Legal Gentleman or Lady of ANY TYPE whatsoever, and have wandered over to this page inadvertently, I would strongly recommend that you DO NOT continue to read this blog. I really wouldn't do it. So Really.........Don't.

Oh, I know that you are now probably about to express your indignation, with a toss of your head maybe; but if the truth be known, it is my guess that you are, in all honesty, secretly nursing injured feelings-pouting perhaps- and wondering what in the world it is that would cause me to make such a statement with respect to yourself.  You are probably also wondering how I was able to detect your rather angular, though (what you have hitherto regarded pridefully as) excellently proportionate and squarish  personality; to regard, as I say your very tastes and opinions, as being wholly unsuited for the perusal  of the numerous and previous posts by Esquire Painting, Inc. LLC (Est. 2010) there for ready and easy viewing in the drop down menu in the right column.  

But please do not feel slighted, or become indignant; because, as I say, and to be brutally honest, this Blog was only intended, you see, to be read by, if you will, and if I can state this delicately and with less formality: Leonine types of, shall we say,  the more temperate variety. That is, if I can put it another way, for those upon whom the title: "Daddy-O" is not wholly unwarranted and without merit. So therefore I really cannot...........

But what? What's that you say? My above efforts to head you off at the pass have only caused you to become even  MORE  curious about this blog?


And you are now childlishly and eagerly hopping up and down and saying that  YOU qualify, and, at the risk of causing me to wince slightly, you know what I was alluding to, and that you really are indeed a "Cool Cat";   and that just the other day, in fact, you contemplated writing a 1000 page essay regarding the resurrection of the phrase "23 Skidoo" which would prove,  through exasperated circular argument, the potential efficacy of the common usage of that phrase by sundry world leaders towards the restoration of World Peace? And that your Muse, (who was rather cross indeed!) was poking you with her index finger, and hard,  in the ribs all the while that day, but you just didn't have the time to write it down?

And not only that,  and to bolster my opinion of you as what you refer to as a "Far out Dude or Dudess", you were also the lead in your High School Play? That back in those days you could Sing, Dance AND Act, thereby rendering you a Triple Threat? Really?

(Sigh)   OK......... if....and I say IF (and that is a big if) you are one of those intrepid souls that may in all probability, and from time-to time, and when your rather geometric (as I refer to above) and stilted contemporaries from the legal and business community are unaware, boldly saunter about town in a most distressing and devil-may-care state of casual dress, perhaps with your hair askew and/or tucked under a jauntily tilted and perplexingly uncommon head covering-- such as a Pork-Pie hat, or a Beret-- and, with the effrontery of an aged member of the Rolling Stones, and with a long scarf, perhaps, to lend to your dandyism, saunter, as I say, while carrying nothing more for your calling card, or to recommend you, save a saucy demeanor--accentuated by the nascent stubble of a rather artistically erudite (though, in your wife's eyes, somewhat raffish) seeming goatee, and, much to the dismay of the community's solid citizens, a pair of rumpled dungarees; or, if you are a woman, sally forth with the deplorable habit of offending polite society with frequent references to various random phenomena that strike your fancy as being: "The Bee's Knees" or maybe, "The Cat's Pajamas," or, even worse, and less specifically, as "Cool Man Cool"", while, with audacity, contrapuntally accompanying the beholding of said phenomena with a most unladylike snapping of the fingers.............


In short, if you are an Artsy Beatnick.


Well......well than that's a Horse of a Different Color; and so, if you fit the above description, (although I will always maintain my secret doubts and reservations), then you at least have my blessing, although not a hearty welcome,  to continue to read this blog, and to scroll at your leisure through my previous posts, and, most importantly, to read the other, and most Excellent, Blogs of my fellow Bloggers on my blog list. (Again in the right hand column). 

So go ahead--you resurrected hippie you-- let your hair down. Put on your sweatpants and black socks. Relax! and I'm sure that very soon thems toes will be a- tappin to the music, and long atrophied facial muscles will start to converge into what in all probability, will promise to someday vaguely resemble a grin.

And I guarantee that in no time it will get to the point where former colleagues will hardly recognize your former, Legal self.

And just to prove to you that you are now fast becoming one of the Bohemian "Gang,"  I am going to bestow upon you what has long been in fashion both in the Artistic Community, and in the world of Informality in general: the much coveted appellation and name substitution known as:  "Man".

OK Man?

• And stay away from "The Baby Shoe." (And if you know any Kennedys, please tell them to not read The Baby Shoe.)
• And do not read "Three Cheers For The Cosmic Lady." Don't do it.
• Or "The Giggly Poem". Never the Giggly Poem.     

(Hey! Where are you going? What did I just tell you?)