Insert Chassis Albuquerque: Writing, Police And Making A Living...

Writing, Police And Making A Living...

It’s that time of the month, not in a menstrual sort way, that’s not what I mean at all. It’s just a saying like: “First Contact Will Be Our Last Contact” (a vague reference to the tagline from a new book shortly to be released). Anyhow, it's these small differences that widen the misunderstanding between us and I just wanted to clarify what I meant: I’m doing a new story post, which I hope to do monthly from now on. It’s also worth mentioning (apart from the tremendous amount of lying I do), generally I'm a very unqualified source or information so I'd double triple cross check everything I ever say, so please remember to keep that in mind.

Having spent a lot of time on Facebook recently – this is the first break I’ve had having been online for more than a month now nonstop – I realised I’d neglected the Chassis Albuquerque website. Fuck, let’s call it a brand and running brand is hard work. Look at Kelvin Kline, Marks & Spencers, Microsoft! Hard work but ultimately they’ve all paid off. I told my wife and she said, her voice sceptical with that deep Southern drawl of hers even though she was from China, which a lot of these new wives are: “You have brand? You should get job, a real job!”
She seemed convinced a man should work. She was very stereotypical that way with men, that they should pay for everything and her well-being; she was almost traditional but wouldn't cook or clean. So - very progressive in other areas. My feeling is what, I should work everyday? Work was that funny thing people seemed to do even if they don’t want to and just the notion of work, any work, repulsed me to the point I was physically sick - why should a man's work be the death of him when very well-documented scientific evidence suggests too much work can cause mental retardation, brain damage, seizures and other problems - why look for trouble?
“I don't where you're getting you're information from, pal, but that's outright fascist, racist bullshit - work? Why, that's what poor people do, communists! And this is goddamn America, where a man can sit around doing nothing doing what he pleases!” I yelled at her. She looked shocked. “I know what I'm talking about, I’m on Facebook, I’ve got followers, you know!”
“Are you threatening me?” she yelled.
Sensing the police might arrive any moment if I concurred I said: “I have followers, people are starting to respond, things are beginning to go well for me!”
“Really? You know who had followers? Charles Manson!”
So you’re probably wondering what, if anything, this has to do with updating more regularly the Albuquerque brand website? And did the police visit? As a matter of fact, yes, my wife, she summoned the police claiming I’d threatened her – can you believe that? Threatened her! How predictable. Well, the police were there in a matter of minutes and dragged me out the house to speak to me. Obviously I denied threatening her and explained that what I’d said was I had “followers” and people were starting to respond positively to my writing, you know, I was making sales and had climbed the Amazon charts. Of course, neither policeman did much reading, something else I’d also anticipated, poor grammatical skills. But they had guns and seemed overly keen to make me aware of this, saying they’d just had to subdue a “wife-beater” the day before by shooting him.
“Is he alive?” I'd wondered.
Both policemen remained non-committed, in fact they seemed nonplussed I should dare wish he were alive still.
“Let’s just say he won’t be doing any more wife-beating again,” one said. I looked at my wife, she was standing outside the patrol car with her arms folded tightly across her chest; she made a gesture implying I’d be hanging from the gallows soon, then resumed her static pose again before the policeman had time to witness this. So I had all this shit to deal with, a minor writer of very minor standing trying to get ahead in the literary world. And that’s the thing about trying be a writer, all this stuff constantly gets in the way, Facebook, Followers and wives, it’s hard to find the middle ground and steer the straight line to literary fame especially when the police are involved.
Not that I want fame, what I want is to replace my current salary with money from writing, it's not fame, it's a substitution. Not such a far-off dream and, remember, the moon-landings once seemed a too distant a fantasy. My wife tapped on the window in her very Chinese way which I describe in detail here – impatient, incessant and irritated.
“Gee, she sure is pretty,” one of the policeman said, staring at her through the window.
“You wanna try real hard not to mess that up,” the other cop said, taking a look, too.
“You no press charges? What kind of police you are...!” my wife demanded of them.
As they had no real evidence they’d had to let me go with a warning, even though, captivated by her beauty and line of bullshit she’d fed them, they’d completely ignored my side of the story. My point? So here I am again, uploading to the Chassis Albuquerque brand the life a struggling writer...

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