Sunday, November 19, 2006

Guest Post #3

3rd guest post comes from my good friend Drew.

Drew is 85% of the reason I started this thing. His Livejournal (circa 2002-2005) is something that transcended typical puffy-eyed bloggery to become something quite heroic. He inspired me. He still writes, but it is more like stand-up comedy now. He now makes more money than he deserves to, selling insurance in one of the Carolinas. He also used to have the most entertaining temper problem in history. I once saw him flip out and beat his hands into scappy lumps against a brick wall because an ATM wouldn't give him money to buy obscure Scandinavian pagan black metal CD's.


I remember a few years back I was walking around with my friend Scott Bibus on some railroad tracks. As we walked, we went by this sheltered kind of area where there were these two bums hanging out. Being that Scott's biggest fear was getting raped in the ass by a homosexual bum while light rock hits of the 80's were playing, we were already sort of on edge about the situation, but it was made worse when one of the dudes saw us and started yelling, "HEY! HEY! HEY GUYS, C'MERE!" Which went from really scary to really awkward because we had to just sort of smile and wave like two fucking morons that didn't know they were about to get a case of anal AIDS. Nothing happened, but one thing I did notice was that while the one bum was yelling at us, the other one was kind of covering his face and looking away, like he was embarassed. So I learned that people who cook shit in soda cans and literally shit where they eat (in dumpsters) actually do have shame. Which is fucked up. Even this dude who was crouching in a bus station all by himself was screaming apocalyptic shit at the moths surrounding him. It also made me sort of think on a deeper level how when you're in a shit situation where you feel totally isolated, you're forced to make due with what you have. To further elaborate, you have to make a fucking friend that you don't want to make - shit happened to me in the 5th grade with a kid named Andrew Lorge. Now, don't get me wrong, Andrew Lorge was a nice kid but there was a reason he didn't have any friends. The kid fucking smelled like shit. Those years where the onset of body odor occurs and if you're not careful, you're suddenly an outcast for reasons you might not understand. Of course, it didn't help that he was so pale that you could see the veins through his skin, either. He was obsessed with this role-playing game that I never understood but pretended to; called Mechwarrior. He would bring these fucking books to class, talk about them in the locker room; just fucking everywhere. The worst part was how he'd bring it up. He'd run up to you and yell, "YOU WANNA TALK ABOUT MECHS?" Being ten years old and already feeling like an ass because I had this group of girls who relentlessly teased me (the worst of which is now a fucking stripper), I did what anyone else would do: I beat the fucking shit out of him at recess until he stopped talking to me. Kind of an aimless story, but I guess I just wanted to say that on a very petty level, I understand what it's like to be forced to partner up with someone for survival.

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