Perfectionist.Postman from housing estate

/dalsia kapitola, v poradi uz asi siedma, putovna rola rozpravaca sa presuva do postavy s pseudonymom Komandant, nie to nie je oda na Molocha, to sa treba presunut do poviedky Slobodne povolanie Disc-jockey a premysliet si ci sa Postar Adam nepodoba na autora a ci Shlomo Rastah nemoze byt Hugo. Vitame spat Adama, tentokrat v prvej osobe a po anglicky. Remember, English is easy, Helga is you/
When the phone rings approximately at 5 30 am, you instantly realize that all the perks of your life-long profession cannot compensate for lack of good quality sleep. I pick up the stinky circuit of nanowhatever from my e-reader, subsequently I pick up the phone call as well.
-No cau, pocujes? Mas este z toho, co si mal fcera? Timmy Ze Rabbit, rhyming slang to Retarded Shmuck with a habit, or we can call him Hobbit as you, retarder schmuck addicted to nonsense that is being sold to you from HuliWood would appreciate, Timi Ze Hobit sips into his walkie talkie in the early morning January #klender. You do not know what is klender? Piss off. Now.
-Timi, pocuvaj ma, vies kolko je hodin? I ask kindly as I have sympathy for the unprivileged and slow-minded. #Self-hate, I know, I know...
-Moreh, sak ja musim do prace na siedmu a to ma ksesh puscit takehoto? Timi Le Hobit pleads for mercy in a very effective way. You have to give it to this prickface, his negotiation techniques are getting better and better. Thanksfuck4zet... /shout out to my former flatmate/
-Desat minut, male tesko. Nemeskaj! I put down the portable substitute for my Hewlitt-fudge-Pack-Hard /no paid content for free here, got that?/ work machine that I can carry in case of need, I think in current newspeak, the term laptop can still be deployed. My very humble apologies, an ultrabook.
First cigarette of the day is lit and I put on the parka as I slept in the tracksuit. Three sips from the unfinished tonic water, four, please kindly excuse not being exact on the first take, first try, first render or which shit you think you act IRL. Still the bottle is finished for now, hopefully the information that I have only one trash bin will not ruin your day in a significant day and the zombie apocalypse in not-so-overcrowded open office will eventually end /for this day/ and you can drown your so-to-say desperate sorrow in 10 pints of Good Ol' Krusovice, yay, the man of good taste.. Anyway, I leave my little appartment, running down the stairs I greet a neighbour who does not bother to reply, lost in his thoughts I pressume. The morning is cold as was set in the introductory paragraph, through darkness I proceed to the grocery store where an overweight silhouette is spitting on the floor every 5 seconds. Bravo, Comrade, show the whole world your disgust with the current CoVid crisis. Crisis for whom, dare I ask...
Without any words uttered neither from my mouth, nor from his, we exchange the signals, Victory sign /cau Vivi, este furt nerepujes?/ means 2 pieces of this powder, wrongly named Colombia's best export. Best Colombian export are the people that were forced to leave their homeland due to 40years lasting civil war. I pocket 180 units of Europe's common currency, introduced to my homeland 12 years ago. The value-keeping function of the #rootofallevil has been hijacked, from my position of money-grabbing coke peddler and very unsung risk assesment analytic in Swiss human capital miner in this shithole that was supposed to be called Woodrowham. Again, we dodged a bullet. Us, the scum of the earth.
Being born in 1980's in former Czechoslovakia was the best option I could have been granted by #wedonotevenwasteourtimefiguringoutwhom. I was 5 when the Iron Curtain fell, when the Deutsche Mark circulating in Western Germany has been traded 1 to 1 to the currency, sometimes not worth even getting out of your bed to go shopping in Dresden. Some of you remember that ratio where all the street traders, offline holders of assymetric information and later-to-become-alt-right-parliamentary-clowns ran to meet the occasion to enrich themselves. Can anyone blame them? These days, all of them are paid the highest respect by any 40 year old bald mug selling coco before sunrise. Lucky them! And you know what? Lucky all of us, not just them. Both, back then and now...
You put me in a pool and I will try to swim. Who cares if I can or cannot.... Big deal, defo! Yes, you are right. This is given by nature. You take up even an impossible task and do the best effort to survive. Basic instict it is, please correct me if this idiom is wrongly used, by any means, go for it. You put me on a street and I turn into a criminal. And I am not running around, robbing banks on scooby snacks. As every slob who is of the same age, or next to it, in my hometown, I grew up playing football and hockey with my friends and classmates on the playground or simply on any spot we considered fit for a nice pretext to fight and accumulate any visual material for wanking in our beds afterwards. Hey, you sterile #cancelculture self-proclaimed people's representative who does not like sex and violence, please leave us alone. At least, some healthy portion of adrenaline and the quick glance over the most beautiful women on Planet Earth, at least do not ban this, please. No! Poor fact is that we voted them in. So let us face some facts. Firstly, democracy is a nice idea but if the people keep on distrust each other and still see stealing from the State and the competition as the only way to get to their American Dream, imported and tailor-made for our market, then the idea of creating a brighter future for our children is just a scam. Ooops, I forgot, what children do I fucking have. So the conclusion from you can sound like this ''Mind your own business, druggie!''
I am willing to tolerate the #ad-hominem attack on my mandate to express contempt for the sweetest lie sold to us by corporate media, fueled by mass hysteria, you sprinkle it with fear and hate and bam, we can all move to comfortable designed chatrooms, forums and fuckknowswhat other private zone has been designed as an outlet for getting rid of your own bullshit. Your opponents join in as well. In your klan, gang, urban guerrila unit or which farcical fable you put yourself in for the evening, you present yourself as an educated scholar, a man of letters even though your dad bought the diploma from the very impersonation of integrity and wisdom /here please enter your least favourite university buttfucker or sleazy bald knowitall who humiliated your fragile persona in front of hundreds of fellow students, thank you dear Reader, we have just become partners in creation of this chapter/
After another wanker essay, another that has been not written down /hehe, pozn.aut/, another one only emptily circulating in my brain and then leaving my head for good, I hide the morning distaste for not dying in sleep, fuck, another day for you, you n me in paradise... I take out some vinyls from one of the crates in the living room, I put it on an old, rundown and once stolen then finding its way to my possesion, a Technics turntable /1210 MK 2 for the connoisseur, please note dear reader that this is a fiction, I do not own any device that can be used for playing pieces of plastic, I gave away all my records to those dear people around plus one ginger Djane, just for that smile it was all worth it, hehe. Whether you pitch in that I am an ecologically thinking leftist or I do not attach myself to material object of strangely set value, just remember, for that smile, forh zet smajl.../ I run around as really hung up Freddy from Zanzibar, undressing I think about my current source of income that has been imposed on me by my older brother Hugo and his associate Popol. They came with an idea to buy out a porn disaster, another get-filthily-rich-overnight attempt by a perverted compatriot who happens to be one of the VSMU alumni and calls himself director. Mr Director, currently the weakest link in our chain, is mocked upon, he is verbally beaten straight to his face on every occasion, that applies also for those one that do not arise but are eloquently fabricated by the core of the posse PartaSt!tz and then turned into an urban legend by nameless mass of walking dead or in the near future it becomes a running joke on your favourite social network. Virtual social network. From there it penetrates into your favourite #letushaveaquickoneafterwork bar where you repeat an anecdote made by us for the 5th time on that day and you are boo'd, shouted at and eventually you come to me to ease off. This is what I call controlling the supply chain on the points from where I can make some reasonable income and on top that, it is you who takes the heat, it is you who pays with your honour for stealing my joke and then you allow me to use my money laundering schemes without anyone noticing, even though the Four Horses of the Apocalypse /tento vyraz bezne nepouzivam, pozn.aut/ also known as ''there comes a new investor to BAntustan, hooray' = the bosses broke south for new flash and the factory floor, even though they paid for your AML training and you fought as lion through that daily shift comedown where the overtimes are not compensated, you ambitious and highly succesful clown. Great! At least, some justice has been done by the end of this chapter...