Tuesday, March 17, 2015

Royal Flusher's Cycle of Life

When you leave Vegas are you already planning the next trip?

How do you get through the PVD (post-Vegas depression), get yourself moving, and get on with life?

As I walk through those factory gates (in the rain) every day at North American Veeblefetzer (where I make ten thousand rubbery size 7 grommets a day, many of which are not sub-standard factory rejects), I ask myself, 'What are you doing here?'

After a morning of hearing loss, I pull my Velveeta cheese sandwich from my lunch kit, the bread slightly dry on the outside, maybe a limp dill pickle in wax paper with it if I am lucky, and I sit on a stool at the side of the size 7 grommet line, and I think, "What the fuck?"

"Is this Velveeta sandwich all there is? If it isn't all there is, then does the limp dill pickle in wax paper add to it in some way and then the Velveeta sandwich on dry Wonder plus the limp pickle is all there is???"

You know that feeling you get when your teeth dig into about half an inch of Kraft Velveeta cheese and you pull a bite away from your "all there is" sandwich and there's a little pop as the suction lets go, and you start chewing the "all it is" bite of your "all there is" sandwich and the Velveeta cheese tastes pretty good but now it too damn salty and suctioned permanently to the roof of your mouth, potentially inhibiting your breathing?

That's the feeling of "This is all there is."

And it's not enough. It is totally not the Royal Flusher Way to "settle".

I decided it would be good therapy to do some simple drawings to express the work angst I feel when a trip is coming up and I feel a little bit, well, trapped on the grommet line.

So, this is the little box I'm in.

But there's more to it than that I guess... gotta look at the lunch pail half full, right? I do take home a (meagre) paycheck every couple of weeks. So the size 7 grommets I churn off the line do in fact mean something to me. Grommets made equals paycheck cash in my pocket.

I did a little more thinking about the relationship between my work slaving for The Man on the size 7 grommet line at North American Veeblefetzer, and why I do it, and is my Velveeta cheese sandwich with maybe a limp dill pickle in wax paper and maybe, maybe if I am lucky a note from Mrs. Flusher saying something hot, sexy, and enticing like, "PAY CAR INSURANCE!" tucked under my pickle "all there is".

I got so confused I couldn't even write it out in a coherent sentence. On the other hand, this is not unusual.

But what's important is, I realized my trips to Vegas are more than salvation (or salivation), more than redemption, more than rehabilitation or reconstitution or refurbishment of the grommet-line-crushed-soul - they are recyclement. They, more often than not, take me right back to exactly where I started from.

Okay, not more often than not, but every single fucking time.

It's not as bad as it sounds though, there are some fine, fine things that I enjoy in Vegas, and while I'm there I feel like a free man, free from the grease buckets of the 'line', free from Norbert's snide remarks and 'fuck you' swagger as he swings his extravagant saucy hips to and fro while he walks out of the factory on the way to his 2:30 'fuck you line guys' golf game with the Germans, or the Dutch, or the Belgians - yeah, probably those Belgians - to whom he is dreaming of selling his father-in-law's grommet factory, but at least gets an afternoon on the links and a few highballs afterwards, all charged to the company out of it.

Man I hate that Norbert and his fruity tasseled 'Big Bertha' driver covers.

Where was I?

Ah yes, the redemption of Vegas.

To wit, exhibit 'A':

To wit - exhibit 'B':

To wit - exhibit 'C':

Thinking about this, all of a sudden it came together like a sticky, bright orange Kraft Velveeta sandwich...

...it's all a cycle, from the bread, to the cheese, to the bread, to the mouth, to the fertilizer, to the toxic waste, and right back to the sticky orange cheese of life.

It starts out slaving for the man, the slaving begets the grommets and the grommets begets the cash. The cash flies to Vegas and buys the best entertainment experiences, hopes and dreams a guy like me could ever imagine.

And to every bankroll, the cards turn, turn, turn. The plane-load of sweaty with still-drunk sour breath gamblers heads back from whence it came.

It begins again.

And the angels chorused. And the sun came and went. And the rainbows came and went. And the bankroll came and went.

And it was good.

Point seven out.


  1. Enjoying the new site Flusher! You the man! Must be slow on the grommet line for you and Jimmy Poon to be able to put a site like this together! I am not complaining I love all your stuff even your velveeta cheese blogs! thanks for the efforts! Tbone3336 from VMB

  2. Thanks Tbone! Once you've had velveeta you are never the same!