Scary Old Bum-like Prison-tatted Drug Clown

Well I read back over the ‘Logan’s Run’ entry here and I’ve decided that I’m being too hard on myself.  I’m not wearing a suit and tie, I don’t have an office and a secretary, I don’t have to kiss my boss’ ass on the daily.  This realization is a little too late though.  After taking on the position I’ve been subconsciously resisting my perceived chains.  Hard drinking, rock music, chasing women around.  Not the best of activities for a would-be professional, but fuck it man, what the hell else am I gonna do for the rest of my life.

My first day at the office was pretty chill. Igor had text messaged me around 5pm.  He was done with his finals and wanted a night of alcohol fueled decadence at the Pink Elephant.  I instantly agreed.  This time it was with the conditional that I couldn’t go out and get crazy like I normally do because I now have a job.  An early morning obligation that prohibited my breath stinking like malted hops and strong cough syrup.  It was good though, for both of us, to celebrate our minor life successes.

I smashed the gym to bits with a furious workout, quickly showered, and barely had a drink poured before Igor was knocking on my door.  First stop was Saguros for some Mexican eating.  I ordered a breakfast burrito and some rolled tacos.  The breakfast burrito was disgusting.  I hate to admit to this because I take so much pride in the excellence of my local taco shops but it’s true.   The burrito was fucking terrible.  There was barely any egg in it at all.  It was nearly completely filled with ham.  Disgusting disgusting ham.  Now don’t get me wrong, I fucking love ham.  Simple due to my hatred for Muslims I have embraced with full force their delicious forbidden fruits.  But this ham was sick tasting.  Cold, fatty, cubes of low grade ham.  Because I was boozing up I knew I needed food, but it was a mistake.  Let me just put it this way, there’s a reason that “cubed ham burrito” is not a menu item at ANY Mexican food place you’ll ever go to.

So I was drinking only beers.  Igor was feasting on vodka cranberry, and even though we went drink for drink he was much more wasted than I was because they pour a stiff beverage in North Park.  Since there is not a ton of hot mindless young girls (and boys) – not so much the college crowd but more the locals and the art scene – the bars are forced to compete with juke box selections, drink strength, and quality of bands.  Its more my speed than the endless guttural gropings convention guests, business travelers, aspiring local business fags, out of town tourists, and bums.

The result of my cubed ham burrito was that my stomach was messed up all night and with the beer and laughter to mix it all up was forming an endless stream of super nasty smelling/tasting burps.  I kept blasting them into Igor’s face when he would turn his head to check out a passing chick.  He was on the verge of barfing it was so bad.  He told me in no uncertain terms that it smelled like something was rotting inside me.  We bounced from the elephant to scholari’s office and sat entertained by a long string of terrible karaoke.
Quick summary:

The night ended uneventfully.  Igor and I pulled back to my place to smash each other with some Tekken before finally crashing out.
The next day was basically a recovery day for me.  I was super tired and bounced between sleep and awake for hours on my couch.  There was a program on the Discovery channel about a fossilized dinosaur that was discovered with all its guts and skin intact.  This program somehow crept into my dreams and caused me to have the strangest sleeping hallucinations that I can ever remember.
I woke up feeling insane, and began to question whether or not I actually was losing my mind.  I am desperately afraid of going insane.  I think back to times when I seriously believed that I was losing my fucking mind.

My mind has at times become my enemy.  It has transgressed me and I have attempted to kill it for the sin.

Friday turned into a long drive to my home town.  I scooped up my buddy Jeff, who affably referred to himself as “Fat-a-billy” because of all the weight he had put on in the past few months (and the fact that he’s now become a sailor jerry tattoo covered rock-a-billy punk).  He’s been on a strict diet of fast food and alcohol, and it shows.  The funny thing is that Jeff was always the skinniest dude in the bunch when we were a lot younger.   We continued north into Anaheim.  Social Distortion was playing at the House of Blues and we were gonna bash beers off each other to the strumming of Mike Ness and the rest for the whole night.

**Just a quick note here, NEVER go to the HoB in Anaheim.  The place is the FUCKING WORST!  It’s right in the middle of “Downtown Disney” and it totally fucking SUCKS!!!  I am NOT a fan of Disneyland, and when I see a Social D show I do not wanna be surrounded by kids with mouse ears on and tourists and old men.  FUCK OFF!  Go home you fucking ASSHOLES and stay out of California.  Go back to whatever Midwest trailer park you crawled out of and take your Christianity and mouse ears with you.**

We were double beer’ing it, aka a beer in each hand, and it’s a good fucking thing.  There were way too many kids and losers around for my liking.  I wanted to be in a dingy venue filled with scary looking punks and skinheads, not a bunch of Disneyland losers.  I mean, it is a Social D show, and Mike Ness is, although iconic, like the metro-sexual of the punk world – now more than even in his pretty-boy youth as he currently wears caked on make-up on stage making him resemble a scary old bum-like prison-tatted drug clown more than a tough/cool punk-a-billy rocker.  So yeah, there are always gonna be these like greaser types with leather jackets and slicked back pompadours that look like they took hours to prepare, but not a pack of losers who never even heard of Social D before they got comp’d tix by purchasing a family getaway package from the Disney corporate machine.  The band finally came on and luckily it was all a sweaty violent mess until at the end of the show only myself and a big tatted up skinhead were left standing in the mosh-pit.  All the pretty boys and joker kids were pretty much pummeled to bits in the fray.  It was good that even in the mouth of the monster that a few true punks were able to regulate the posers in the pit. I guess money talks and bullshit walks sometimes. Now it was no death metal pit, don’t get me wrong, but it was still a lot of fun anyway.  Social D pits are more like “hey man, I’m gonna smash your face with my shoulder – but as a brother”.  You can really see peoples’ personalities come out in the pit.  Who is a dick, and who is a coward.  Who wants attention and who wants to just have fun.  Who wants to hurt people and who wants to help them.  Who’s got something to prove and who doesn’t give a fuck.  It’s like a litmus test of personal character.

After the concert we drove around frantically all over Disney-dumps until we found a dark parking lot to take massive pisses.  Back to South OC and some fast food until we split ways and I made the long tired drive back to my Shagri-la here in San Diego.  My bed never felt so comfortable.

I woke up today aching with a thousand bangs and bruises all over my body.  It was a good show.  Jeff called up to see if I made it home safe and tell me that the elbow that he got infected when he was in jail a week ago got banged up and was totally swollen this morning.  That makes Noah and Jeff who both got broken elbows in mosh pits with me.  I think I’m bad luck or something.  Anyway, it feels good to be so tired and achy and dammit it feels good to be alive.  I think that even though I got a steady job that everything is gonna be alright.

Until next time….

Popularity: 5% [?]

Related posts:

1. Igor
2. Astro-Zombies
3. Dodgeball Bitch Boy
4. Totally Drained
5. “Crappling”