Andronico's
Okay so there's this guy who hangs out in front my local grocery store asking people for change. He's always there and he hits up everybody. Everybody except me.
The first couple of times I walked by him i just felt kind of relieved, but it's starting to really get to me. He asks old ladies for money. He asks thugs for money. Little kids. Business men. Other hobos. Soccer moms. Fat couples. Everyone. His thirst for pocket change knows no cultural, racial, or economic boundaries. He just won't ask me.
I keep trying all these different moves to get his attention. At first I thought I'd go for the obvious stuff like counting my change as I walk by or pulling my cell phone out and having a pretend conversation with my pretend stock broker. My thinking was that if the guy thought I had cash he'd hit me up. Nothing.
So lately I've been trying to use some kind of reverse hobo psychology where I act like a total dick and either stare straight ahead like he's invisible or I pretend a UFO appeared just over the horizon in the exact opposite direction of him and I'm too busy to be bothered helping a guy eat or get wasted or whatever he does with everybody else's money. He still doesn't give me the time of day. Fine. Be a total douche bag, but I swear on my pretend stock broker's kid's lives that I will give you my spare change if it's the last thing I do.
**************************************************************************
6-9-2006
Chicago was BART to Oakland to airplane. Waiting at the airport, nervous and excited. M + R picked me up in a car with a pink bumper. We had never met before and smoked and talked about our lives - relieved that none of us turned out to be jerks. Flying down the freeway and into Chicago proper we tried to find a place for M to pee while I fell in love with the windy city again. I really love this place. It's got the anonymity of New York with a touch of west coast awesomeness. I guess what I mean is I like how people don't pay any attention to me or even look at me when I'm walking around - like in New York - but if I actually need something like, say, directions it's easy to get someone to stop. M's place is a huge three bedroom brownstone overlooking the river. M made some kind of pasta while I called up a friend I hadn't seen in years who lives there and we all hit the California for some drinks. The bartender passed us a wig at some point. It was this huge black thing - not entirely unlike slash's curly locks. We all took turns trying it on for fun. Everyone looked twenty times hella finer with it on. There was some plan to go to some show, but it was so much fun catching up with old friends and meeting new ones that we ended up ordering a bunch of shots and hanging out all night instead. Woke up the next morning and ate at some place owned by internationally famous guru ______ ______. The man can, evidently, lift planes into the air using only the power of his millions and millions of dollars brought in through merchandise, donations, and his chain of shitty vegetarian restaurants where all the employees work for free and have long ago abandoned earthly possessions like deodorant. Went with M R to the beach. Great lake is an understatement. Fresh water maybe, but this thing definitely clocks in at ocean level. It has waves and I can't see the other side. We hung out at the dog beach. The canines splashed and barked and played and it made us happy. The tan tanned. The pale burned. Pants were rolled. Feet in icy water and running and laughing. Hangman was played. L _ _ _ M _ _ _ _ G _ _. That night we met some peeps out at some BYOB tai place. Back at M's now. We smoked a joint and took turns shooting rocks from her porch (three stories up) into the river with slingshots. We've got a five hour drive tomorrow. Sleep now.
**************************************************************************
Fake it 'till you make it
Tonight is an alabaster room
ribboned with Christmas lights
A vacuumed room with dishes clean
and not a drop in the house
Only six cigarettes this week
Even read some damn Anton c.
Refused all offers
It's a warm night of writing
A picture perfect painting
Now she'll love you again
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Sunday, February 12, 2006
I have perfected the art of clapping sarcastically
San Francisco to me is ninety percent trying to get to/leave a shitty party/bar and ten percent being at a shitty party/bar, but because Bennett wont get off my case about how I should get out and meet new people (ladies as he calls them) etc I crossed the bay via the train last night for a little adventure and excitement.
Riding the train I thought about how someone mentioned those crane things in the Oakland bay look like ATATs, and they do, but their necks kind of go up at an angle and ATATs necks are more, like, straight out so not so much. I mean they look more like ATATs then most things I guess, but the neck angle kind of ruins it for me. Anyway.
When I got out of the civic center station it was complete madness. Hundreds of people everywhere. I kind of get panic attacks in those situations so I shuffled off in search of a bar on Market Street. It turns out there are no bars on Market Street so I just kind of wandered around until I came to this group of Christians with signs and a megaphone. I cheered up immediately. They had these signs that said Jesus saves you from HELL! and HELL was drawn with gigantic flames like some kind of cheesy death metal album, but in crayon. I really wanted one, but the guy wouldn't give me one. I was for reals laughing out loud when this seventeen year old girl got up on this milkcrate with a megaphone.
"Jesus died for you! He was up on the cross. DYING for YOU! And ME!!! he was up there dying and bloody.. Barley recognizazble...from the Blood!"
At that point she started, seriously, crying. The huge smile on my face faded into whatever expression people use when they suddenly realize ninety percent of the people on this planet have the intellect of a five year old. You know what the worst thing to do is when you think people are dumb as shit and all you want is to find someone, anyone, with a grip on reality? Go to parade.
I have to say that the dragons in the Chinese New Year parade were pretty half assed last night. Maybe it was because i was catching the tail end of the parade and they had been carying those dragon heads for hours already, but it seemed like they totally phoned it in this year. And what was up with all the gentiles in the parade? There was this moment where I was being really sarcastic and awful about the whole thing and then I saw this dad guy catch a plastic firemans hat and put it on his sons head. I had one of those "ahhh shucks what am I being so sarcastic for? The world doesnt need any more cynicism" moments, but it was short lived.
After the parade I met up with some peeps in the mission for some party. The only thing eventful at the party was this: I was standing on the porch talking with this girl and we were pretty high up, like fourth story or something, and the fucking thing collapsed underneath us. The railing stayed, but the part of the porch we were standing on just broke away. I only mention this because in the heat of the moment I grabbed the girl and made sure she jumped to the safe part of the porch before me. I always thought in those kind of situations I would be selfish and cowardly, but it turns out I'm the hero type. Just so everyone knows.
Here are some poems:
Safeway
When everyone goes to the liquor store
we are safe
We leap across the room like mad
and embrace
Our secret kisses
There aren't enough beer runs
Wiked Fast
like matches
its really the words unspoken
not typed that hit the soul
Only when reaching for paper
or thrashing around the room
to find a plug
for the typewriter
do the words unfold like magic
Riding the train I thought about how someone mentioned those crane things in the Oakland bay look like ATATs, and they do, but their necks kind of go up at an angle and ATATs necks are more, like, straight out so not so much. I mean they look more like ATATs then most things I guess, but the neck angle kind of ruins it for me. Anyway.
When I got out of the civic center station it was complete madness. Hundreds of people everywhere. I kind of get panic attacks in those situations so I shuffled off in search of a bar on Market Street. It turns out there are no bars on Market Street so I just kind of wandered around until I came to this group of Christians with signs and a megaphone. I cheered up immediately. They had these signs that said Jesus saves you from HELL! and HELL was drawn with gigantic flames like some kind of cheesy death metal album, but in crayon. I really wanted one, but the guy wouldn't give me one. I was for reals laughing out loud when this seventeen year old girl got up on this milkcrate with a megaphone.
"Jesus died for you! He was up on the cross. DYING for YOU! And ME!!! he was up there dying and bloody.. Barley recognizazble...from the Blood!"
At that point she started, seriously, crying. The huge smile on my face faded into whatever expression people use when they suddenly realize ninety percent of the people on this planet have the intellect of a five year old. You know what the worst thing to do is when you think people are dumb as shit and all you want is to find someone, anyone, with a grip on reality? Go to parade.
I have to say that the dragons in the Chinese New Year parade were pretty half assed last night. Maybe it was because i was catching the tail end of the parade and they had been carying those dragon heads for hours already, but it seemed like they totally phoned it in this year. And what was up with all the gentiles in the parade? There was this moment where I was being really sarcastic and awful about the whole thing and then I saw this dad guy catch a plastic firemans hat and put it on his sons head. I had one of those "ahhh shucks what am I being so sarcastic for? The world doesnt need any more cynicism" moments, but it was short lived.
After the parade I met up with some peeps in the mission for some party. The only thing eventful at the party was this: I was standing on the porch talking with this girl and we were pretty high up, like fourth story or something, and the fucking thing collapsed underneath us. The railing stayed, but the part of the porch we were standing on just broke away. I only mention this because in the heat of the moment I grabbed the girl and made sure she jumped to the safe part of the porch before me. I always thought in those kind of situations I would be selfish and cowardly, but it turns out I'm the hero type. Just so everyone knows.
Here are some poems:
Safeway
When everyone goes to the liquor store
we are safe
We leap across the room like mad
and embrace
Our secret kisses
There aren't enough beer runs
Wiked Fast
like matches
its really the words unspoken
not typed that hit the soul
Only when reaching for paper
or thrashing around the room
to find a plug
for the typewriter
do the words unfold like magic
Wednesday, January 4, 2006
El Chupacabra means "the goat sucker"
"It's 3:24 am. If i stop drinking and smoking now the pt cruisers win."
Arizona
My mother picked me up at the airport in Tuscan and were driving along and I say Jesus. I swear I just saw a dead pig on the side of the road! and she says Those are just Javelina. Theyre everywhere. I let this sink in and then say No. Youre not understanding. I just saw a DEAD PIG by the side of the ROAD. She laughs. I let it go thinking about how it will be harder and harder for us to communicate as she gets older. We drive to a restaurant to meet some people for dinner.
So Im eating dinner and its dark out. Theres a big glass window that surrounds the dining area and everyones enjoying their food and drinks etc and I say Shit balls! Theres a pack of wild pigs outside the window! And my mom says Those are Javelina. The restaurant puts food outside so the diners can watch them.
So by then Im starting to get that my mom is far from senile and Javelina, in Arizona slang, means wild fucking pig, but we dont give a fuck because we see them all the time.
Its kind of like when people visit me and while walking down the street an old, crazy ass black guy jumps out of the bushes with his cock in one hand and a broken bottle in the other yelling obscenities at us and my guest says Holy shit! An old, crazy ass black guy just jumped out of the bushes with his cock in one hand and a broken bottle in the other yelling obscenities at us! and I say Ohhh thats JUST a hobo. A funny, funny hobo. Give him a quarter hell leave you alone.
Hmmm what else.
- chased a road runner
- meditated in front of a cacti
- I either got life insurance, bought real estate, or sold my soul to the devil. not really sure. I just signed a bunch of papers my mom handed me. she says they will make me rich someday.
- hung out with my hot niece (dont ask)
- thought up get rich quick schemes with my stepdad/moms boyfriend (who, besides having worked on the blues brothers was once a stage hypnotist no shit.)
- got my ass handed to me in poker
Grunge 2006
So my grunge band, Hate Nevada, is going into the studio next week for a couple days to kick out some jams. Mp3s coming soon. Go buy some flannel now.
Portland Trip part 3
(this is the summer trip not to be mistaken with the Christmas trip I just made. Ill write about that later)
Okay, so the other night Dylan and Bennett came over and the plan was to drink whiskey and finish up the Portland story I had been writing about in previous blogs. See we took a trip to Portland in, like, September and my idea was that we each would write conflicting accounts of the same trip and I would post them here. So they came over and I gave Bennett the typewriter and Dylan my computer and we started drinking whiskey and writing. Problem is the whiskey got us before the prose did and all I was left with at the end of the night was a bunch of unintelligible, drunken nonsense. So heres what I could scrape together spelling errors etc. This is, for better or worse, Dylan and bennets version of our Summer Portland trip.
To put Dylan's version in context you have to understand that he had just read a version of the trip that i scrapped, but had the lines:
Heres my deal with the trip, I think. I am hoping to get far enough away from my life that I can look back on it with some kind of third person perspective. Take stock. Make a list. Cross out the bad things highlight the good. When things are piling too high on top sometimes youve got to sidestep and get the hell out before it all falls down.
Dylan's Version:
Heres my objection.
Objection: The whole this trip has a purpose thing is bullshit. Joshua made it up after the trip was logged in and written in, and plugged in. I believe in God (Joshua does not) and I did not bring Him past Yreka.
Objection: I did love Justine. Some people just cant understand love. Before their time. The name Gallelio didnt come on accident. Im a REVolUTIONary. The next day Id moved on to Joshuas ex girlfriend. Cassandra or Karissa. Flattered by repeated I love you telephone calls, Cassandra turned her phone to off.
Objection: Joshuas first meal came on the second day. An ice cold can of slim-fast. Hes not concerned with his weight. Nor are the vegetairians waiting for us in the Black Clad Kingdom north in The City of Roses.
Objection: Bennet is not as funny as he seems. The whole drunk driving thing, while it fulfilled everyones Hunter Thompson fantasy, wasnt safe at all. OK, I might be wrong. I do believe in God after all.
Written out of fright: Bennet does not get drunk. Like Socrates in The Symposium, Bennet possesses the uncanny ability to drink pleasurably without knowing alchahols negative side affect: Drunkenness.
Dictated by Bennet: Bennet is pro side affectsof alchahol and furthermore, he can handle the side affects of alchahol better than any man known to man. Period. And furthermore, makes mere mortals look like, a bunch of wannabe demurges, like himself. But he makes it look easy.
Addendum: The ATM machine at the Indian Casino was a win every time. The tables were allright, but not as lucky. NOTE: On the drive home we stopped in at some hippy Diner in Ashland (the Shakespeare festival). Bennet ordered his first burger since learning the immorality of vefetarianism. After quoting: this hockey puck of meat: YUK!
A Reasonable Mention: Theres nothing so sad as Los Blingos writing about it instead of living it. -Moses. Formerly known as Bennet.
Another reasonable mention: Joshua to Moses: you are art.. I think he means it. I refuse to wonder what implications the compliment might have.
Objection: Still in Arcata. Because Bennetss friend recommended the gas station (30 minutes out of our way, she had a gas card) I blame Bennet. It is the only gas for which Ive paid in excess of five bucks a gallon. I do blame Bennet. Stay tuned the startling moment when I suddenly fogive the bastard.
Addendum: North. North drive Los Blingos. Chasing the blearing sun hiding behind our mutual drunkenness. When Portlands steel bridge awakens me from my stupor, I know Im home. Self-realisation turns out to be half what I hoped. Or less. Shit. Shit? If God aint it, lifes got a chance. We head for the liquor store. What town was that?
Addendum: I swear it had meaning. Or experience. One example. It doesnt matter much from where or to where we were driving. The convertible top was down. Two or three chicks made the back seat less comfortable than on the drive up. I think we were just out of the strip club. Heres a big parenthetical: (Strip club. Im a sensitve guy, as Joshua admonishes me. Previously no strip club had entertained me beyond the pool table, the burrito club next door or the embarrassed looks Marys girls mad when they had to ask for at least a buck to pay the juke box for one more song. But at Union Jacks (a few blocks east of the bridge on burnside) I discovered something. Art. Not the tired stuff in museums. Not the shock of a urinal with Ks sigriture on a gallery wall. No. Im talking about a pussy, legs, hips and a facial expression moving to the sounds of nine3teenninteesgrunge music. Art. Were telling you.
Addendum: So we all had a decent time at the museum. At the strip club. Lets go. It must have been one of the women proposing the proposal. All decent guys, we left. Then the thing happened. I really dont mean to hit Joshual when I mention it. But fuck, Im protected by god. So is he for all Im concerned. OK. All five or eight of us are in the back of the convertible. Get ready for the climax, because denouement from here. Joshua broke out crying. No big deal huh. But it was. Somehow I had this idea wed been doing it all right immitaing pop fuck ups. Hunter S thompason. W. s burroughs. Dostoyevsky for all I care. Rimbaud. Someone with a brain between his un-apathetica and his poetic. Pity
The Truth: Well, Im a deciple arent I?
OK. Joshua starts crying. In the bhosom of some woman he might have slept with in his rockn roll days. I ask myself why. Only answer is the degenerate way were living our lives on this so called road trip. You really cant respect anyone except yourself, but we all want someone else . Josbhua starts to cry in the back of the convertible.. I blame myself. Im on his side. Ive been up to this point. For the past two days. Is there a time before that? Hes cryig, but I cant even sweat. It has something to do with the low life were using to convince ourseves not much matters. Sarchasm,. Grandma says, is the worst form of humor. If she were alive now, shed know it was the only kind of humor left. I swear. Were figting for ourlives, with the only wqeaponns weve got. Sarchasm. Guns and swords belonged top the nobility, Were smart too, los blingos.
OK, so Joshua started cryuing. Into his ex girlfirnecxds breasts. I thought it was my fault. Dont expect me to see past myself. It meant something. No shit. Meaning among the meaningless. Is that what w3e were.
OK, So no I believe inGOd. Got Shit? Didnt think so.
Although Bennett at times appears to be a blingo, when push comes to schoves he retreats ointot a bitch like cacoon. Forever hampering our ability to findo out what bennet rally isOH I guess a bitc
Bennets Afterwarsd: He, by the way gave no afterward.
Addendum. Back to the thning with Joshua Cryingt somewhere in East Portland. Tell the truth I didnt know what drew tears
OK heres the thing Its not mine Its this thing buk wrot down
IOta sbnouty this thing where everyones flipping each otheddr off. It ends with hjm beig very annoyed with
]
and the last thjing he worte
and I felt like afucking fool
Arizona
My mother picked me up at the airport in Tuscan and were driving along and I say Jesus. I swear I just saw a dead pig on the side of the road! and she says Those are just Javelina. Theyre everywhere. I let this sink in and then say No. Youre not understanding. I just saw a DEAD PIG by the side of the ROAD. She laughs. I let it go thinking about how it will be harder and harder for us to communicate as she gets older. We drive to a restaurant to meet some people for dinner.
So Im eating dinner and its dark out. Theres a big glass window that surrounds the dining area and everyones enjoying their food and drinks etc and I say Shit balls! Theres a pack of wild pigs outside the window! And my mom says Those are Javelina. The restaurant puts food outside so the diners can watch them.
So by then Im starting to get that my mom is far from senile and Javelina, in Arizona slang, means wild fucking pig, but we dont give a fuck because we see them all the time.
Its kind of like when people visit me and while walking down the street an old, crazy ass black guy jumps out of the bushes with his cock in one hand and a broken bottle in the other yelling obscenities at us and my guest says Holy shit! An old, crazy ass black guy just jumped out of the bushes with his cock in one hand and a broken bottle in the other yelling obscenities at us! and I say Ohhh thats JUST a hobo. A funny, funny hobo. Give him a quarter hell leave you alone.
Hmmm what else.
- chased a road runner
- meditated in front of a cacti
- I either got life insurance, bought real estate, or sold my soul to the devil. not really sure. I just signed a bunch of papers my mom handed me. she says they will make me rich someday.
- hung out with my hot niece (dont ask)
- thought up get rich quick schemes with my stepdad/moms boyfriend (who, besides having worked on the blues brothers was once a stage hypnotist no shit.)
- got my ass handed to me in poker
Grunge 2006
So my grunge band, Hate Nevada, is going into the studio next week for a couple days to kick out some jams. Mp3s coming soon. Go buy some flannel now.
Portland Trip part 3
(this is the summer trip not to be mistaken with the Christmas trip I just made. Ill write about that later)
Okay, so the other night Dylan and Bennett came over and the plan was to drink whiskey and finish up the Portland story I had been writing about in previous blogs. See we took a trip to Portland in, like, September and my idea was that we each would write conflicting accounts of the same trip and I would post them here. So they came over and I gave Bennett the typewriter and Dylan my computer and we started drinking whiskey and writing. Problem is the whiskey got us before the prose did and all I was left with at the end of the night was a bunch of unintelligible, drunken nonsense. So heres what I could scrape together spelling errors etc. This is, for better or worse, Dylan and bennets version of our Summer Portland trip.
To put Dylan's version in context you have to understand that he had just read a version of the trip that i scrapped, but had the lines:
Heres my deal with the trip, I think. I am hoping to get far enough away from my life that I can look back on it with some kind of third person perspective. Take stock. Make a list. Cross out the bad things highlight the good. When things are piling too high on top sometimes youve got to sidestep and get the hell out before it all falls down.
Dylan's Version:
Heres my objection.
Objection: The whole this trip has a purpose thing is bullshit. Joshua made it up after the trip was logged in and written in, and plugged in. I believe in God (Joshua does not) and I did not bring Him past Yreka.
Objection: I did love Justine. Some people just cant understand love. Before their time. The name Gallelio didnt come on accident. Im a REVolUTIONary. The next day Id moved on to Joshuas ex girlfriend. Cassandra or Karissa. Flattered by repeated I love you telephone calls, Cassandra turned her phone to off.
Objection: Joshuas first meal came on the second day. An ice cold can of slim-fast. Hes not concerned with his weight. Nor are the vegetairians waiting for us in the Black Clad Kingdom north in The City of Roses.
Objection: Bennet is not as funny as he seems. The whole drunk driving thing, while it fulfilled everyones Hunter Thompson fantasy, wasnt safe at all. OK, I might be wrong. I do believe in God after all.
Written out of fright: Bennet does not get drunk. Like Socrates in The Symposium, Bennet possesses the uncanny ability to drink pleasurably without knowing alchahols negative side affect: Drunkenness.
Dictated by Bennet: Bennet is pro side affectsof alchahol and furthermore, he can handle the side affects of alchahol better than any man known to man. Period. And furthermore, makes mere mortals look like, a bunch of wannabe demurges, like himself. But he makes it look easy.
Addendum: The ATM machine at the Indian Casino was a win every time. The tables were allright, but not as lucky. NOTE: On the drive home we stopped in at some hippy Diner in Ashland (the Shakespeare festival). Bennet ordered his first burger since learning the immorality of vefetarianism. After quoting: this hockey puck of meat: YUK!
A Reasonable Mention: Theres nothing so sad as Los Blingos writing about it instead of living it. -Moses. Formerly known as Bennet.
Another reasonable mention: Joshua to Moses: you are art.. I think he means it. I refuse to wonder what implications the compliment might have.
Objection: Still in Arcata. Because Bennetss friend recommended the gas station (30 minutes out of our way, she had a gas card) I blame Bennet. It is the only gas for which Ive paid in excess of five bucks a gallon. I do blame Bennet. Stay tuned the startling moment when I suddenly fogive the bastard.
Addendum: North. North drive Los Blingos. Chasing the blearing sun hiding behind our mutual drunkenness. When Portlands steel bridge awakens me from my stupor, I know Im home. Self-realisation turns out to be half what I hoped. Or less. Shit. Shit? If God aint it, lifes got a chance. We head for the liquor store. What town was that?
Addendum: I swear it had meaning. Or experience. One example. It doesnt matter much from where or to where we were driving. The convertible top was down. Two or three chicks made the back seat less comfortable than on the drive up. I think we were just out of the strip club. Heres a big parenthetical: (Strip club. Im a sensitve guy, as Joshua admonishes me. Previously no strip club had entertained me beyond the pool table, the burrito club next door or the embarrassed looks Marys girls mad when they had to ask for at least a buck to pay the juke box for one more song. But at Union Jacks (a few blocks east of the bridge on burnside) I discovered something. Art. Not the tired stuff in museums. Not the shock of a urinal with Ks sigriture on a gallery wall. No. Im talking about a pussy, legs, hips and a facial expression moving to the sounds of nine3teenninteesgrunge music. Art. Were telling you.
Addendum: So we all had a decent time at the museum. At the strip club. Lets go. It must have been one of the women proposing the proposal. All decent guys, we left. Then the thing happened. I really dont mean to hit Joshual when I mention it. But fuck, Im protected by god. So is he for all Im concerned. OK. All five or eight of us are in the back of the convertible. Get ready for the climax, because denouement from here. Joshua broke out crying. No big deal huh. But it was. Somehow I had this idea wed been doing it all right immitaing pop fuck ups. Hunter S thompason. W. s burroughs. Dostoyevsky for all I care. Rimbaud. Someone with a brain between his un-apathetica and his poetic. Pity
The Truth: Well, Im a deciple arent I?
OK. Joshua starts crying. In the bhosom of some woman he might have slept with in his rockn roll days. I ask myself why. Only answer is the degenerate way were living our lives on this so called road trip. You really cant respect anyone except yourself, but we all want someone else . Josbhua starts to cry in the back of the convertible.. I blame myself. Im on his side. Ive been up to this point. For the past two days. Is there a time before that? Hes cryig, but I cant even sweat. It has something to do with the low life were using to convince ourseves not much matters. Sarchasm,. Grandma says, is the worst form of humor. If she were alive now, shed know it was the only kind of humor left. I swear. Were figting for ourlives, with the only wqeaponns weve got. Sarchasm. Guns and swords belonged top the nobility, Were smart too, los blingos.
OK, so Joshua started cryuing. Into his ex girlfirnecxds breasts. I thought it was my fault. Dont expect me to see past myself. It meant something. No shit. Meaning among the meaningless. Is that what w3e were.
OK, So no I believe inGOd. Got Shit? Didnt think so.
Although Bennett at times appears to be a blingo, when push comes to schoves he retreats ointot a bitch like cacoon. Forever hampering our ability to findo out what bennet rally isOH I guess a bitc
Bennets Afterwarsd: He, by the way gave no afterward.
Addendum. Back to the thning with Joshua Cryingt somewhere in East Portland. Tell the truth I didnt know what drew tears
OK heres the thing Its not mine Its this thing buk wrot down
IOta sbnouty this thing where everyones flipping each otheddr off. It ends with hjm beig very annoyed with
]
and the last thjing he worte
and I felt like afucking fool
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