(Sven Prim. Awesome pic creator)
Well hey there, you willies Enjoyer. Welcome to a little diversion from your normal life into the depraved world of your weekend bud, me.
I promised to tell you about how I met Bryan, and so I will. Now, the music included below in those little grey boxes that I always post for your enjoyment (hopefully) are today not ones that you may want to hear.
These are some old Punk nuggets, and surely, you have some Dave Matthews or John Mayall that would suit you better, no harsh if you do.
When you are in TDC Enjoyment mode, do what you like, and fuck the rest, I always say.
Get your Sunday thing going on, bud. Let's have us a time, shall we?
Here is the first song that you probably won't like, and these get weirder. Hey, it's what I do. But if you do enjoy them, for some reason; as always, you can double click the box and a new window will pop up, and you can check out the artist, as always, every time.
Bad Religion. New Dark Ages.
You will never understand Laurie Anderson, Joan Jett, or this German chickie. Nina Hagen.
But what a fun ride they always gave.
This is not in any way more accessible. Poor Frank.
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Bryan had been in Joooovie, which was his term for being in mini-jail. He'd tried to strangle his step-mom, and their relationship was stressed, for want of a better term. Do not fuck with Big Bryan. But he came out of there somewhat rehabilitated, and at least, not institutionalized. That means that you have enjoyed your butt-fucking experiences in jail, and would like to go back for more.
Bryan had never been butt-fucked, for he was an angry young man, and he actually had grown quite large from lifting weights in that sort of place, and now he was out, free to make new friends.
There was a time in Fuckno, Californication, when folks rode on ten speeds and did not wear the sort of gay apparel that some do now. No one wore an aerodynamic helmet, (although it would have been quite wise to do so) and the neon body suits and ass-cushioned bike shorts of those we flip off who ride in the street and make us late for work these days were no where in sight back then.
They had them bath houses, you see.
I'd saved enough money from mopping up bodily fluids at the biker bar each morning before school to purchase the first vehicle I would ever own, and certainly not the last.
A deep blue Raleigh ten speed, with thin tires and aluminum rims, but no basket nor handle bar tassles. I loved my bike. She would take me everywhere, and anywhere.
This was how I met Bryan.
He had some sort of what we called "Pig Bike," which means that it was bastardized from cannibalized parts from stolen bikes.
We met along the way quite a bit, each morning, as we hopped off our rides while entering Roosevelt High. He lived across the street from this fine, Messican-dominated institution, and I had come down southward from way up north on Cedar Street. Bryan always rode his bike from his house across this street, so that he would have it to escape during lunch hour.
More on that later.
Being from away meant that I could choose any high school I wanted to attend. I wanted to go to this school simply because I had mistakenly thought I'd fit in better.
The next year, I would transfer to the red neck/Oakie school and this was also a bad idea.
You see, I'd thought that being native would help me fit in at Roosevelt High, but they never asked about my heritage. Being a half breed and looking much like my Irish dad (but without the red hair) did not give me any bonus points in a school full of pop-locking Messicans.
And being from Maine and "talking funny" did not help me at McClane High, either, the next year.
I always was the "outsider." Boo fucking Hoo.
Anyways, at Roosevelt, Bryan was also an outsider. I was a poor Injun who looked Caucasoid, and he was an actual full Caucasoid, so we kind of had the Caucasoid radar out.
Bryan stepped up. He said, "Why you going here?"
He was looking at my polo shirt that had the "o p" logo stitched in.
"o p" here means, "Ocean Pacific," and this gear cost quite a bit back then. Prolly still does.
My shirt was sewn together by my mom on her sewing machine, from a cheap sewing pattern we'd picked out at a sewing/hobby shop, and she had embroidered the "o p" while the shirt was all twisted around on her machine; that is what I'm guessing.
It read, "o d" as in Over Dose.
But bless her heart. She had meant well, and I never, ever told her about the laughing and pointed fingers I got whenever I wore it.
That's my mom, yo.
I'd never meant to break her heart. Even later, when I did.
Next weekend, I'll tell you about how Bryan fucked up my chances with trinity Sanders by cock-blocking me from her.
This actually helped me out quite a bit.
She was very much into snorting red hearts, and these were not Valentine's Day candies. They were speed.
But it wasn't Bryan's intention then to save me. He was simply a horny, muscly, ex-jooooovie who saw a chance for some fine pussy, and I was always "the nice guy."
At least, back then.
Next weekend, shit'll get weird.
It's what I do.
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LINKS
Let's start off with a sunday comic for ya.
Cupcake cannon. Yum.
Men with talents.
Hero: Bystander stops robbery.
Infographic against pollution.
Cool pics of an underwater river in Mexico.
Ice Cream Man From Hell. Yayaaaah!
Antidote: Intelligent expounding on the future of robot wars with humans. Inevitable?
Until then, this is the best we can hope for. Robot that washes dishes. Wait, isn't there some sort of dish washing machine already? I forget what it's called...
Anyways...
The following pic is from this cool Hispanish site to explore, jefe.
io9 thing: Ironman vs. Dirty Dancing.
Getting to know the crazy man who lives under the overpass. Interesting. Let's make fun of the poor.
Laughter plan?
Timeline of rock music, nice.
Speaking of music, vinyl has been making quite a comeback. Hell, I really do enjoy the warmth and closeness of the sound, when I take some old shit out for a spin on the deck. I need to invest in a clutched direct drive. My dotta tried to scratch on the platter and busted the rubber band. Now I have to go and make a new one. But here's a cool pic of an LP groove, magnified.
Like this.
Slightly NSFW gif of Olivia Munn.
Well, there you go, another reason to miss out on the Sunshine.
God Help You.
God Help Us All.
---willies out.
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