8

This story was written on January 22, 2010. The tale begins after the links.




Pour it, spark it, whatever you like, my friend. Simply enjoy your time.

Thank you for spending your valuable free time with me.

Well, the CARS Stories ended last week.



Where do we go from here?

Press Play, and get ready, baby.

Put your seatbelt on.



* * * * * * * *


You’ve made it to the Weekend at last.

All together now, "Ahhhhhhhhhhh."

Now get all set for another excursion into the mind of your bud "willies."

I will be starting a new series of true tales for you, Dear willies Enjoyer.

These are called "Punk Tales."

There will be some links first, and then, after, the start of a new True Story Series for you, if you care to check these out.

If not, no prob. Go have some fun while you can, before we all die of drowning from the water levels rising due to Global Warming.


Here are the links for you, in case these are why you come here.


________________________________________


Forgive me for my sleepiness, but these fur-balls that wake your bud "the willies" up all night long (those fucking assholes) are nearing the ends of their life spans.

Thank God.

By the use of the word "Our," I mean, "My Lady and Dotta and Dog."

These three above-mentioned family members own cats, you see. I do not. Cats do not even taste good on a grill.

By the use of the word "Dog," I mean, Awesome Dude. Yes, my dog owns a cat. He loves pussy. Don't we all?

If you call this Awesome Dude "Gay," I will kick your ass while Awesome Dude humps your leg.

Would you like to have one these cats?

Anyways...
________________________

Some Links. If you care help lift.

Can you not lift 300 pounds? OK, when you are about to die, why not make an attempt?

In case you are afraid of that much weight, why not consider softly floating through the air from 22 miles up?

There is no need to be hiding out like a turtle under a rock. Join life.


Why not explore your options for becoming Air-Born with coffee, like a pig does? Hey, coffee GOOD.


If you happen to fly through the air, don't ask stupid questions. Especially to the Aussies. They hate you.


But you can show those Aussies that you, also, are weird, like them, and me, with these 15 different weird things.

Maybe it might matter. Or not.

*************************************

Now about a certain thing I promised to tell you about from the earlier CARS stories that you have read.

Therapist



The start of this next ongoing series of true stories occurred after I had left Fuckno in the mid 80's to go back home.

Now that there is another true tale to be told in the future; about Geographical Change And Why This Concept Never Works.

But I'd left Fuckno (to get my head together) heading to my homeland of the State Of Insanity (ME.) and then, following that brief spell of failed University Education, went, again, back to the asshole of the world, Fuckno, CA., and found my old pals again.

And, get this, they missed me.

There are no words to describe the amount of joy they had when I returned, nor, in inverse proportion, the amount of sadness I feel now in writing this, because I was, somehow, their savior.

Dayamn.

God Help Their Souls.

____________________________

So we began to offer "altered states of reality," by the blotter tab, to other lost souls.

One must never do this.

Forgive me for beginning this new series of tales with some background, but it will pay off. It is kinda important, for showing you how you must make ground-chuck out out of a Rapist's Face.

Especially when the Rapee is an old friend.

___________________________________


Hokay, here we delve.

Here is a tune from an old Cheech and Chong movie to get you into the right frame of mind. Or, to prepare you for The Ugly.

I am no stranger to The Ugly.

You will be no stranger as well, after these True Tales.



_________________________________________________


There was Joey, and there was Kahle, and there were others, like Fat Jerry, of whom you know already. How I met those two fuckers I will share next time.

Let me start off by telling you about Kahle.

Me and Joey met this bad-ass chick and her cute yet scary female friend at a city park Fuckno after we drove there with his puny Mazda pick-up and then we left with them.

We got the goods, he driving, me with Kahle's friend on my lap (Boner, I mean, Bonus) and Kahle sitting, well, "bitch," which always means, "straddling the stick shift." Don't ever do this "sitting bitch" thing in a pick-up, or else you will lose 2 points on your Man-Scale, and your balls will get hit with -3.5 hits.

Anyways, please feel free to make jokes about the chick on my lap that night such as the old "Say Hello To My Little Friend," because that night, it turned into the Beatles song, "Why Don't We Do It In The Road."

But first, this:

We went to a cemetery, with freshly-pimped Boones Farm bottles clinking on the floor boards in a brown bag.

___________________________________

The basis for these true tales must be set.

Understand these three following things:

Music, as always, drives everything.

Back then, the style of clothing represented the music that one "believed in."

Your attitude and personal style will always be exhibited in how you present yourself to the world.

Why couldn't I have grown up in the seventies, with Led Zep, Jimi, and this shit?

Instead, chicks in Fuckno were listening to Mod shit like this.

You had Madonna-Wannabees? Fuckno had pre-goth chicks, thirty years ago.

Me? Punk.

I was always into the Punk/Drunk thing. Go figure


But these mainstream punk bands were cool, as well.

And some early ska. For Jambo and Bunny. Never thought I'd use these two names in a sentence without the words "Mutual Fiery Destruction," or "Automatic Weapons."

That was the music.

I was back in town, you see, Joey had gotten into some new musical stuff. It was weird back then , but simply Gay now. Here are 30 seconds from lala to show you. Allow your pop-ups for this, in order tho show you what the hell I mean, cool?


So we ended up in a cemetery, with copious amounts of cheap-ass wine that tasted like Kool-Aid.

And then, in a country road.

This is where I shall leave you now, TDC Enjoyer, until next time.

Perhaps a Sunday Side Show?

Hmmmmm....


---willies out..