Saturday, February 26, 2011

Let Us Join Juan Pistolas In The Fight Against The Patron And His Frying Pan

Cheech MarinCover of Cheech Marin


Here is some crap I wrote that is one of my favorites. I wrote it back when I was working at an Arco gas station and was generally known as "Crusty, The Stockboy." The movie mentioned, "Juan Pistolas" is a classic. My prose is about a guy who used to come in and chat with me while I was mopping the floors because, I guess, he had nowhere else to go...or no one else to listen to him.

by Jolie Blond


He imagines his life to have been like

the opening scene of "Juan Pistolas":

leading the peasants in revolution

up to the gates of the patron,

just to have them drop their weapons and run away

at the first shot.

There he stands,


abandoned by the moral cowards

who moments before

were puffing themselves up

with false bravado and pretended fearlessness . . .

and puffing him up with their promises

to fight to the end for the cause.

Abandoned by the people.

And most importantly,

abandoned once again

by that bitch Justice.

Or so I imagine

when I listen to the man who comes in to the Arco

every Saturday night

to buy a few lottery tickets,

maybe a cup of coffee,

and talk to the clerk on duty . . .

whomever that may be. . .

for a few hours.

Tonight it was me.

This man who comes to talk to strangers

on Saturday nights

looks like every negative Mexican stereotype.

He talks like Cheech Marin

back in Cheech's drug humor days.

He looks dangerous, this man,

like the kind of chollo

who would carry a straight razor in his pant cuff.

This dangerous looking man

who comes to talk to strangers

on Saturday nights

also looks like the kind of man

who would unhesitatingly jump into the fray

and help the Arco clerk out

if a gang of bad guys came in

and tried to take over the store.

So the Arco gas station clerks let him talk

while they ring up gas sales and mop the floor.

He talks about the car repair jobs he takes on the side

to supplement his regular job.

He talks about gangs and his drug days

and his thieving, dishonest employers

and the steady stream of Little Hitlers

his employers always hire above him,

Hitlers hired to manage his work,

breathe down his neck

and pick at the nits

like dickless bottom level managers

are wont to do.

He talks about which of the Little Hitlers

he has punched in the nose

and which other ones he should've

and how the system always finds a way

to chop off his balls.

He is a capon, this man, a rooster 
struggling against the patron's frying pan.

Come, my fellow peasants,

come let us join Juan Pistolas

in the fight against the patron

and his frying pan.

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