When I was twelve years old, I fancied myself a serviceable breakdancer. This was before the existence of the Alfonso Ribeiro’s “Breaking & Popping” video with accompanying breakdance board. Oh fuck it, why lie? I knew I was terrible. Continue reading “My Breakdancing Triumph”
Yeah I got a Game of Thrones problem. Or a story of Ice and Fire Problem, whatever you want to call it. I seriously dorked out on this idea that if you were totally unfamiliar with the series then an easy way to identify the different houses would be to associate each with a different 90’s metal band.
I posted one of these on re:edit and got some vicious response. It was pretty great.
“Do you listen exclusively do Dad Rock?” was one.
“Do the nostalgia goggles give you a headache?” was another.
I could so see myself writing that if I had the internet when I was 13. Good stuff. Thank god I only got through 3 of these before I realized what I was doing and what a profound waste of time it was.
Not that I care particularly, but… it’s a conspiracy. The country’s attitude towards drug use and abuse is a perpetuation of the status quo that’s evolved out of ignorance, rather than malice. Most people are sheep, you know? They do what the system tells them, hence they don’t try shit for themselves and without thinking about it they prolong the current state of affairs. The line they keep trumpeting in school, “Drugs are bad,” is a patently false. Drugs are lots of things, good, bad and everywhere in between but the main thing to remember is drugs fucking work. Drugs make you feel good. Continue reading “Just Say “Yo” to Drugs”
It’s “Think!” for short, or “Think for Yourself!” if you want to say the whole thing, the whole slogan. It’s kind of our city’s motto. Well the motto for us hardcore kids anyway. I wrote it all over my Chuck Taylors and you see it spray painted all over Boston. It started with the skinheads I think, maybe down in DC, but fuck, who cares who started it? I figure it’s just as applicable to me and my skate crew as any shithead skin. Continue reading “Think for Yourself!”
I wake up earlier than I’d like to because I have to pee. The bright sunlight streaming in from the skylight above the bed doesn’t help either. Jiva, the dumb bitch forgot to roll down the shade before we passed out last night. I roll onto my back and collect my wits, but I have a hard time because it’s immediately apparent that I’m dirty. I wish I could erase the entire summer from my memory and start fresh. I smell like Jiva and it makes me want to be sick. Continue reading “The End of the Beginning (he hopes)”
Trevor would never tell his friends, but he’s nervous. He and Kyle and Dave have taken over the front of the subway car, the part near the conductors’ compartment along with the single seat across from the bench that fits 5 or 6 people; basically everything North of the first set of doors. The boys are spread out with their feet up on the seats, like they own the place. To Trevor, sitting this way feels provocative. They aren’t denying anyone a seat. There are plenty of places to sit in the mostly empty train, but they are clearly staking out this part of it as their own. Without saying so, they are telling the other riders to go sit somewhere else. He knows it’s not a very tough-guy thought to have and would never let the others know this is how he’s feeling, but all the same, they are kind of asking for trouble. Why give anyone a reason to fuck with us, he thinks. He would never say it out loud though. If he did, he’d look like a real pussy. Continue reading “Uptown Dust”
If only he could see himself through her eyes, then Kevin might understand just how petty and immature he comes off, so far from the tough guy persona he imagines for himself. He’d see how to her, he’s a prepubescent boy, his chubby cheeked face twisted into a pouty rage, howling about how emasculated he’ll feel without her on his arm at that miserable dinner.
This is not good. I’m fucked timing-wise and while I’d rather not I have no choice but to follow the 12-year-old kids’ instruction and “Take a walk!” for the 5th time this afternoon. I turn right and head downtown again, past the garbage strewn sculpture garden that occupies the vacant lot on 6th Street. I’m getting nervous that I’m not going to make it home in time to find out whether Magnum and Higgins make it out of the Cambodian jungle alive.
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This is not good. I’m fucked timing-wise and while I’d rather not I have no choice but to follow the 12-year-old kids’ instruction and “Take a walk!” for the 5th time this afternoon. I turn right and head downtown again, past the garbage strewn sculpture garden that occupies the vacant lot on 6th Street. I’m getting nervous that I’m not going to make it home in time to find out whether Magnum and Higgins make it out of the Cambodian jungle alive. Continue reading “Priority: Magnum P.I.”
Melissa is killing me tonight. She’s practically whimpering, trying to get me to pay attention to her. It’s pathetic. I take a lady out for a civilized drink on a Tuesday night and this is the thanks I get. I try to remind myself that she’s fucking hot as fuck and that I’m lucky I’m the one she’s fucking, but it’s tough when she’s whining about whatever it is she’s whining about, her classes, her roommate, lord knows what the fuck else. Continue reading “Date Night”
Andy is being a serious cocksucker and holding onto my money. He won’t give me any. He says it’s for my own good and that I’ll just go and spend it on drugs. He’s right, but it’s irrelevant. It’s my money! He’s my brother, not my father. He’d be a better father than Pops is, but that’s a different story. Continue reading “Family Money”