27.8.15

posted two essays at my essay blog 'THE BOTTOM LINE.' 

one is my no holds barred look at walnuts. and one is an essay on the movie 'heavy metal' by a guest poster.

i encourage you to send any essays you've written to me for consideration. they can be the bottom line on something, or perhaps a counter bottom line to what was already established as a bottomline. just have fun!

sampinkisalive  @  gmail  dot com

16.8.15

an excerpt of the poem 'you hear ambulance sounds and think they are for you'


15.8.15

13.8.15

review of the lemonade stand one block east of augusta and ashland

nothing beats the summer heat like a nice cup of lemonade. yes, ice cold lemonade really beats the heat. so you can imagine my delight this afternoon when i passed by a lemonade stand one block east of augusta and ashland. at first glance,'Fresh Lemonade' is an unassuming, charming little nook in chicago's west town neighborhood. a handmade sign adds rustic charm and informs passers by that for the low low price of fifty-cents, they can cool off and beat the heat with a cup. i was greeted by a five year old girl and her grandmother. the service, to begin with, was admittedly, a little weak. i  had stopped and read the sign for a few seconds, even loudly said, 'hmmm' like i was thinking about the lemonade, to get the attendant's attention, i was then approached by the five year old girl, i'm assuming the main proprietor. she seemed very nervous but her grandma was quick to remind her it was her lemonade stand. this early buffoonery had me anxious, but i eased the tension by joking about the sign, which, due to spacing issues, appeared to read that each cup was 10.50, rather than just .50. i was then informed that the establishment offered two types of lemonade, pink, and classic yellow. i chose yellow after no small deliberation, for both looked succulent, cooling off in glass pitchers on a small plastic table.  the girl took out a small styrofoam cup and almost poured my drink but her coworker reminded her about the ice. needless to say, my confidence in the overall product/atmosphere was waning...i was given a modest serving, perhaps a ploy at milking refill fees?...i gathered fifty cents and a dollar and motioned to hand it to the girl but she had been distracted by getting more styrofoam cups. her coworker reminded her to always mind the customer first. i paid for my drink and told her the dollar was her tip. both employees wished me a nice day and looking at that wonderful lemonade in my hand, it was hard to see it going any other way. i continued walking and swirled my drink a little, to let it fully luxuriate in the ice. i swirled and watched. appeared to be a classic pale yellow lemonade. perfect for cooling off on a hot summer afternoon. after my first sip, i knew my dollar-fifty  had found its true owner. the lemonade covered my tongue and went down my throat and cooled me from the core out. a sweet onset concluded with tart notes. overall, a pleasing experience. i highly recommend the lemonade stand one block east of augusta and ashland
'what the fuck are you talking about' is the correct response to most everything a juice bar employee says.
if you know how to do instagram/have a smartphone, and can help me set up an instagram, and can remain in contact with me, email me   sampinkisalive  at g mail dot com

no peace until the middle of the night when i get home and lie down on the floor and my roommate's dog (that big ol sexy woman!) licks my beard for ten minutes
if anyone wants to be my publicist, email me. your job will be to set up readings and help promote in whatever way you know.  i dont care if you're ten and have no experience. i dont care if your ten and have years of experience! sampinkisalive  at gmail dot com

love from chicago to nigeria

was in a cab after work last night and the cabbie almost hit a drunk cubs fan randomly crossing a busy street.  the cabbie said that in nigeria they would've just run him over and he'd be left in the street and everyone would keep running him over.  'no ambulance,' he said.  <3 nbsp="">
thursday joke of the day....


why did the cubs fan cross the road?

so he could be a useless fucking drunk idiot bastard on the other side of the road!
hey snickers, fuck is this '2 to go' bullshit!? if i wanted to eat my king sized snickers in two pieces like a dweeb, i'd break it in half or find something to cut it with! fuck you i hate you!
personality like every second is the moment you wake up in a car rolling down a hill, without brakes
another night of dreaming that i'm holding my dad down by the throat,repeatedly punching him in the face as he laughs at me

12.8.15

if you're a young writer looking to be monetarily successful, spend more time making connections than on working on anything.  also, make your books a certain length, add a clear 'narrative' and/or 'twist' and just overall make sure you view the reader as a baby looking for a toy.
a good response to the job interview question, 'tell us a little about yourself'is: 'well i've been born again in this particular human form to finish the job i started ages ago.'

7.8.15

gravely saying 'thank you for your help in my time of need' whenever anyone helps you, instead of just 'thank you.'
be funny to--when petting a stranger's dog and the stranger says something about the dog--look up from a kneeling position and make a mean face and say, 'i was talking to the dog, thank you.'

5.8.15

only doing readings in my room from now on. from inside my closet with the door shut and people on the other side of the door. and a plate of cupcakes and pbr on my bed.

when the overriding perception of you at work begins to favor, 'guy who is least afraid of the rats around the dumpsters.'

4.8.15




even beckybabes like this nonsense! find out what you're missing out on!
barbara's bookstore in boston carries all my books


a blurb for anyone's book, anyone can use this ever

'butt.'
bar where you can't get in unless you bring your/a dog but then you aren't allowed to have dogs in the bar and i work the room where you have to check them in/drop them off.