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Welcome back to willies Land on the weekend. For those of you who were lucky enough to have Friday off as well, it’s nice to wake up and realize that you still have two more days to do as you wish.

Nice of you to begin your leisure here.

Here is another chapter of the Punkology Series for you to check out if you like. Links will follow below.

Grab your favorite Jethro bowl of what-have-you and crank up a tune to hear while you delve deeper into this true tale I have been telling you these past years.

A bowl of cereal, a bowl of medicinal herb, or like me, a bowl of beer?

I told you that the Bangor rockers we love up heah in Maine called Space Versus Speed would release their Tea And Cocaine song soon. Here it is, released two days ago, on Wednesday. Yum.



(errmmmm. Hokay. They made their video private. Guess I scared them off. Pussies.)


Bryan rode up to the sidewalk along the complex of duplexes where I lived on Chestnut Street. I looked up from my Celica’s engine as he neared, squinting in the hard Fuckno, Californication sunlight.

“Bryan, you ole dog. What you been up to?” I wiped my hands on a rag.

He laid his bike on the grass and came over to my bitch. “No good.” He smiled and stuck out his hand. This guy did not engage in secret handshakes or hand jive or any of that stuff. Straight forward hand shakes was all he dealt, like a proper Englishman or some shit. Still does it to this day. Nothing wrong with that at all.

Only a few times did he ever offer the raised-arm brotherhood thumb-grasp, and one of those was in a Trinity chapter you’ve read previously.

“My hands are dirty,” I said, knowing full well what his response would be.

“Makes no difference to me.” You knew he would say that. That’s the kind of guy he was.

Since I’d been suspended from school that week, and was awaiting my court date for punching Lorelei's Exchanged Dad, Bryan played “hooky,” which was slang for “ditching school” back then in the previous century. (Now go get me my walker and make us a nice pot of tea and co--- ummm...) He'd ridden up Cedar street and then taken Dakota Avenue over to Chestnut. He was a welcomed sight.

“Will, I hear you got in trouble with a foreign chick. How come you didn’t tell me about it?”

I motioned him to follow me inside the apartment. “Let’s grab a Pepsi.”

Cool air conditioning greeted us as we entered, and our footfalls echoed the way that mostly empty apartments do.

We did not have money for much furniture or many wall hangings, and there were no rugs on the industrial-grade tiles that were glued directly upon the concrete slab beneath. The cold tiles were nice against your bare feet during the hot day, but they were hard like ice at night.

I’d become used to their cold hardness beneath the dirty clothing I’d slept on during the first couple of months when we’d first moved in, before I saved up for a mattress.

Back then, I would lay out the clothes I’d worn that day on the previous day’s layer, and then cover them all with a sheet. My bedding would get thicker and more comfortable the closer to laundry day we got.

Laundry day’s night would be a real treat. A sheet against tile upon concrete will give you hemorrhoids all over, so to speak.

I’d read that Ninja Assassins would sleep on a bed of rocks and become used to it, which somehow made my poverty seem heroic. It would have been, if it had been due to moral choice.

At least Galen and Spamela had their sleeping bags we’d brought along from Maine.

+++++++++++++++++++++++

I handed Bryan a Pepsi from the fridge and we headed back out.

“Dude, I guess I got a little in over my head.” That soda tasted very nice under the angry sun.

Bryan sipped from his own bottle and leaned against my bitch. “That happens when you dive in head first. Uh, Will, Trinity’s been asking about you.”

I snorted. “Yeah, she probably knew more about what was going on than I did, and it happened to me!”

Bryan nodded. “I’ll have to fill you in on what’s been going on at Roosevelt, man.”

“Huh. I guess so.”

That school which shared the same thoroughfare as MurkLane High was in a state of turmoil. The Hmongs and Laotians were engaged in territory spats, and there had been a drive-by shooting when Bryan was out on the front lawn. All he heard were shots and screeching tires, and he’d leapt behind a bush and wet his shorts.

From the puddle left behind by the sprinklers.

At least that was what he told me, in case I ever heard otherwise later on…

The Hmongs and Laotians had come to Fuckno as payment for their assistance to the U.S.A. Military in Vietnam in the previous decade.

They had come with their steely kill skills.

Muy Largo never saw my face that night I first encountered him, and of course, he eventually would, as well you know from the Punk Fight Series. But he knew that Bryan knew me.

Now why did he not approach Bryan? Simply this, he had larger concerns than an embarrassing night when he let a gringo narc infiltrate and then escape from his clutches, before his boys had gotten picked up by the police later that night.

Sure, I looked gringo but I am a half-breed. I am Penobscot. I am also half white, but I can’t prove it. Hehehe (That line is from my cuz James Francis)

Muy Largo was going to attempt to join forces with one of the Asian Sides in the turf fights.

Join me next time for the continuation, if you like.


LINKS


Kids today, what ya gonna do with them? How about applaud some heroism? This kid stood up for a teacher who was defending someone for their gaiety, and in doing so, got suspended from teaching.



Teacher might want to learn how to ditch Big Brother and disappear?



Antidote: excellent 3D computer rendering from, get this, 2008. Never seen this before.



I’d like to vacation in the Maldives, if they don’t have any hurricanes when I do. But these are some nice pics.




Tiny Carpenter ant pic. Electron Microscope Photography.




You know those tilt-shift pics and videos that make normal sized things appear to be miniatures? How about some Van Gogh pics? Here ya go.




Pokemon real life movie for adults. Huh.














Excellent Music match to this: 2 Cats 2 Birds: Ninja Fight.





Well thank you my friend for joining us here at the Mighty TDC, owned and operated by Richie Fowler.




God Help You.

God Help Us All.




---willies out.












One More For Ya.

Carl Petersson played the last third of the Egyptian on the piano, and I wish I could play like that. Camille Saint-Saens 5th Concerto…












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