What’s the word for people like me who prefer animals over humans?

All children over the age of three are in the grip of lust, greed and power.

Misanthrope.  Makes me think of Richard Nixon’s face.

Although kitties are benevolent, their love is not unconditional.  You still have to feed and water them.  You still have to be nice to them.  I would carry my kitties in my pockets.  I would live in my car with them.

People are people wherever you go.

I’ve had my heartstrings viciously strummed by a sorceress with a plectrum to the tune of ten thousand dollars.  I would downshift and stomp the accelerator were that woman to enter a crosswalk against the light in front of me.  The light was green and I was speeding up to avoid a cyclist.  It’s not just the money.  She was an awful cunt from every angle.  She lied about everything.  A true sociopath.  Her name is.

The only thing a kitty has ever done to me is tip a glass of water onto my keyboard.  Or maybe get hissy at me for snatching my coat ever so cautiously from beneath its lounging when I needed it for a smoke on the balcony.

Human beings are awful and I sure am one of them.  The truth is I’m a salesman.  I get paid to get over on other humans all day long.  It’s what I do.  For a living.  I talk to them.  I reason with them.  Above all, I appeal to their emotions.  They give me their credit card information, their addresses.  They do this because they believe their lives and their businesses will improve.

They do it because they believe me.

I sit back and hope it works for them.

I work hard at it and suffer more than anything the coward who lacks the resolve to tell me no. I hate that.  They are the weakest of all.  Just say no.  If I were you, I would have told me to piss up a rope six days ago.  If it were me, and someone was squeezing me this hard, I’d punch him in the junk and kick him in the head before I left the scene.  Fucking pussies.

I’d much rather do something else.  I used to make records.  Making records was a way better job.  I didn’t loathe people nearly as much.

If I knew then what I know now about getting over on people, I’d still be making records.  It’s true.  Because I didn’t suck at it.  I didn’t suck at it all, but selling myself, I sucked at that.  Now I’m good at selling something, anything, I don’t care nearly as much about.

I am loathe.

I started off working for my best friend’s hand blown glass marijuana pipe company.  He launched it in a garage.  A month or two later we were in a dimly lit warehouse without heat or air conditioning, somewhere not far from North Hollywood.  I did everything from pack & ship to negotiate with copier salesmen and pipe manufacturers.  There were only a handful of production minded glass blowers back then.  They were the same as the musicians I’d already been dealing with everyday forever.  My job became to manage them.  So I did.

We grew.  We began to manufacture.  I dabbled in raw materials.  I dealt with OSHA and waded into printing.  I liaisoned with Fed Ex and UPS.  I managed an ever growing network of glass blowers and vendors.  I was the buyer and I spent hundreds of thousands a month.  I’d never been in business before but I could feel it beginning to pop.  One day my best friend said he couldn’t justify paying me any more than I already made unless I hustled some product.

I never wanted to be a salesman.

So I got on the phone and started making friends.  I made friends at trade shows.

I sold millions of dollars worth of glass pipes, bongs and even glass dildos.  Boys night out was sometimes a limo to the Van Nuys airport and a private jet to Vegas with a suite at the Bellagio and reservations at Nobu.  We subcontracted these padded velvet pipe bags for the more expensive paraphernalia.  The whole evening was cash.  I had a girl in Vegas I would Fed Ex cash to and she’d pay for the room and make sure the limo had the tail number of the plane.  Otherwise the padded bag was the football.  The football contained giant wads of high denomination currency.  Everyone involved kept there eyes on the ball.  It was our fuck you money.

We would meet in the wind at this little airport around one am to get back to LA by a time that allowed plausible deniability for when the bars closed in LA.

To be continued.

Since then I’ve sold advertising (print and online),  appointments for window treatment specialists to visit you in your home, convention space, extended auto warranties, amazingly expensive memberships to a wholesale buying club, merchant services and custom rolling papers.  Not necessarily in that order.

I’m good in person but better on the phone because  I don’t like people.

Drinks for my friends.

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