So what the fuck people? Call me stupid and ignorant but you guys have to have time to throw some stuff on here every so often. Trevor, your at school, a mild alcoholic and living the life all of us want to live - skipping class, drinking daily, staying out all night going to random house parties, getting anally penetrated by the pirates of Beta Kappa Anal.....oh yeah..we did all do that, it was called High School (minus the but sex) B.S. you make music, you smoke weed and drink beer and work at the shop, you can post shit, git’ to it dammit. Gurrie and Tucker (and who ever else I might be leaving off this email that has access to posting) crack those little ham fingers and start typing. Give me some tabloid stuff people....either about you getting laid (or Tucker, spooning) or drunk or bike rides or vandalism or just a goddamn story about trees and leaves and birds getting shot.
As for me, well first of all, fuck you for calling me stupid and ignorant (see above) I got a tattoo, as your all well aware by now, then followed it up with a good night of shit-facing, illegal public drinking, and listening to the heart ache of the drunk guy that just tattooed me talk about his girl getting the served the cock by someone not named Jon (obviously our little tattooer’s name was Jon, fuckhead)
It was a Saturday and I was excited as shit all day about having a needle repeatedly jabbed in my back, so much so that I didn’t eat. A single thing. All day. Six o’clock came around and with the ceremonial turning-off of the open sign came the very recognizable sound of a beer opening - then 2 more after. I make my nervous-ass way to the car and drive down to the place...get out, say hi - ‘hi’ - then walk in to the buzzing sound of needles going to town. Immediately I regret my decision to put something permanent on my body. O.K. I think - this is a normal psychological reflex of altering ones body permanently and your mind telling you that as you are is as you were meant to be...fuck your mind..push through this Brian. So I smile and say ‘k, what am I putting on my back’ We decide (and by we I mean Brian and Brian - my alter ego that kept saying ‘can we make it smaller) alter it a bit, take out some of the detail, take off some things here, change the size there, pussify it, you know. To the printer it goes and out comes the result...k...guess I’m out of time-wasting-excuses ‘lets do it’ I say with an eager, but very fake, smile.
Now comes the pants shitting. We get to the booth, ‘take off your shirt and sit backwards on the seat’ Christ it felt like being in the doctors office waiting for those AIDS tests to come back, you bite your lip and think about every Tommica, Dickrhonda, and Harry-pussy you slept with - without protection, ‘cept this time I was just thinking about being ‘one of those guys’ who has some self important mark on his back for the rest of time - and I was going over the list of people that might ever see it and what they would thinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnk......whelp, guess we just got started. The pain was meh. Annoying and at worse mildly painful. Felt like someone took a needle, dipped it in ink, then started to draw on my back with a little machine that poked at me a shitload of times - hmmmm.
‘Anyone want a beer’ - and by the look of things the ‘anyone’ was me - so I got a 22oz can of budwiser to gulp down while getting stung. This of course led to another of the same - as do most drinks, and a finished tattoo. I was really happy with how things came out, the artist and I got along really well (sure, we cuddled a little bit too) He mentioned that there was a show going on at the local speakeasy that evening - a bit of punk/hip-hop/heavy metal mash-up dj shindig that I might wana check out. Well what a brilliant idea...why not go and get shitfaced, run my body into the ground, bring down my immune system via dehydration, encourage my new open wound to bleed and become infected and possible into a fight. “I’m there”
So after getting home and cleaning wounds, I decided the best course of action would be to drink at home to save some money, encourage a buzz and possibly a car accident. Well upon getting to the bar - Guido’s - I get carded, of course, and no I.D. Fuck. Must’ve either left it at the tattoo place or the liquor store (for the second of those 22's), let’s try the liquor store first as the tattoo parlor would require a brick through the window to get inside, which may alert the authorities. Walk down to the god-awful purple building with liquor inside (hard to call such a run-down shit hole a liquor store - don’t want to tarnish the image) and there it is...still sitting on the goddamn counter I plopped it onto for the guy to check. Son-of-a-bitch didn’t even have the courtesy to move it for me so as to at least pretend to diswade some vagrant from stealing my identity. Oh well.....back at Guido’s the music is louder and it seems like the crowd has taken to dancing a bit more. I do a shot with a few friends - blackhouse - followed by a beer - followed by another shot of blackhouse - followed by another brewskie - all in quick succession of course. Then over to some tables to hang out with my new crowd, where I’m introduced to another little substance called cocaine. Now the introduction was merely that, I decided not to sleep with her that night, rather I chose to go dancing, but was amazed by the fact that people were doing blow off a dingy table - in fucking FREDERICK. Christ people!
Anyway, I started dancing. Well ok, ok, started to move around and flail to this mix of whatever over whatever - occasionally grinding myself into some lucky lass standing by me, ‘till she realizes that I’m not her boyfriend and promptly walks away...NEXT. Once I become bored of this little charade, or at least scared of about 12 different boyfriends, I move back to the bar. Not wanting to hang out with the coke-head group and seeing the my newfound tattoo friend is having some drama time on the phone I move to the bar to have another drink.
‘Hi!’ a girls voice says
I turn my head smiling - thinking they must’ve mistaken me and see her staring right me ‘hey, how are ya’?’
‘Good how are you?’ she retorts...smiling, real big smile.
‘yadayayaydydydyayay’
‘blah blah blah’
This goes on for an hour or so...all the while drinking heavily - shots - drinks - shots...then dancing..another hour...she leaves...numbers are exchanged.
Wow, I think...that was different! Another shot for that one...then back to the dance floor. Guy comes out in a devil costume and starts to spin even more over the top mixes (slayer and Tupac comes to mind) I dance for another hour or so...until closing time which we all then spill out onto the streets. My tattoo friend comes stumbling around the corner with a bag and some depressed looking shit on his face.
‘Whats up Jon?’ I ask
‘Ahhhhh my’s sfucking girlfrien’s a bitch...fuckin’ sslut isssleeping with another guy tonite’ He slurs back
‘Shit man, wana go start a fight? Or drink those beers I think you have in that bag there’ I point to said bag.
Jon’s face gets all smiley...’that’s the fucked-up things bro...I aint gotta no place tooooo drinkem’ since the ol’ ladys fucking this other guy.’
‘K....lets go fight’ I say
‘Nahhh bro...I don’t wana gets arrested again...’
At this point we start to knock on about 5 different doors around Frederick, hoping that one of the poor slobs Jon knows is up and about (maybe the coke-head crowd woulda been the best to see at this time in the A.M. After finding not nerry a one house to imbibe ourselves in I offer a local alley-way:
‘Hey..what about just drinking down there?’ I point down a fucking alley - of course
‘Sssshit - yeah. Yes. Why didididin’t I think of thatsshit?’
We finish the sixer, break some bottles in the dumpster, yell that people in Frederick need to wake ‘the fuck’ up and head our merry little ways.
