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Monday, February 28, 2011


Welcome, well met. If you were Arthur Dent, I'd advise you to get your towel at hand. Instead, I'll ask you if you have your bowl ready. As always, Honeycombs, ice cream, coffee, Cheetos, Snicker bars, beer or what-have-you is indicated here. Enjoy yourself during your time off however you see fit.

Let's rock this shit.

Sean saw me pull up in a gold muscle car with gold tinted windows and hop out, and then he watched the car creep away. This car was going to be hidden for a while.

He perched atop the roof of his own duplex, lying back, soaking up some rays. I did not even see him. But he took his time in the cool air of the warm spring-like day. It was winter, mind you, in Fuckno, Californiation.

Remember that he never got to meet Katheena, and this was as close as he would ever come to doing so. He had his own pursuits, this young man who would go on to tenderize meat in many different ways, if you know what I mean.

I stood inside my door, full of spent adrenaline, shaking, feeling queasy, and not knowing what to do with myself. The smoke in the gold car had not put me at my ease, and I fought the urge to look out the window from a corner of the curtains.

My sisters and my mom were not home. Lucky me. The world felt weird. I hadn’t ever been involved in such deeds as that day.

It jumped the fuck out me when someone knocked at the rear door to my duplex.

“Knockety knock knock knock nk-nk-nk-nk…” Then I recognized who was doing this.

Fucking Sean, home on a school day.

He stood there in the open doorway while I held the knob in my hand. “What you been up to?” He was looking me up and down. Nothing ever escaped his attention, and even though he might not tell you, he could get a good idea about you even before you yourself might know. Then he would start with his questions, pointed and poking like a stick to a dead body.

He had his own formulas, equations, if you will, even if he never wrote them down for anyone else to see. He even had an equation for an aftermath.

I looked him right in the eye. "Nothing. I been up to nothing."

He smiled and came in. "Just what I suspected." He went to the fridge and looked around in it. "Want me make you a sammich?"

I had no appetite, but I didn't tell him that. "Yeah, make me one, too." It would take his eyes off me and my mind off Gilbert's home.

He liked to make sandwiches out of whole packs of Carl Buddig's sliced meat, and several slices of Von's store-brand "Cheese Product Murrican Slices."

Check this out. Sean hadn't smoked yet; all he partook of was brewskies. And even when he did finally partake of smoke, he did not lose his insight and quick wit as many do. If anything, smoke sharpened these characteristics he held.

Or, perhaps even if they did diminish his skillz, it was from such a high level that none of us mere mortals would even notice.

I'd prefer to think not. That would be sad for the rest of us.

Side note. Remember when I told you that when he was smoking, he enjoyed his food even more, to an exponential degree, insofar as to fill up his belly, go outside and purge, and then come back in, rinse out his mouth, and continue on savoring.

He would, indeed, eat you out of house and home.


Binge and Purge would follow him into his athletic career.


Sean eyed me over his sandwich and can of cola. "You not touching your sammich."

I picked it up. "Sorry, Mom. Busy day."

Sean chuckled with his mouth full and took a sip.

It was pretty good, and I found that the munchies had finally arrived. Sean used a lot of mayo on his bread, and even though it was a shitload of meat and cheese, it tasted damn fine.

He said, "You been doing some bad things, huh."

I nodded. "Yup. Some fucked up shit."

He guzzled his Pepsi and wiped his mouth with his paper towel. A loud burp rumbled out of his mouth from way down deep, and he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his Buddha belly.

"Ahhhhhhh. Nothing like a good sammich. Your momz needs to stock up on lettuce, tomatoes and some pickles."

I took another meaty bite. "I'll let her know."

Then Sean leaned forward. "You been paying someone back for your school suspension."

I just looked at my sandwich as I chewed. That was his affirmation.

"The gold car was a bad idea." He looked too smug as he said this.

I did not respond at all. Two things: how did he know about Katheena's car, and he was pissing me off.

Sean chuckled quietly to himself, leaning back again and rubbing his belly. "What was your mistake?"

I didn't know what the fuck he was talking about, but I was getting a bit hot under the collar with his smug belly rubbing.

I put my sandwich down and stared at him. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Sean's eyes opened back up. He looked incredulous. "I am asking you 'What did you fuck up?'"

I nodded. "Everything."

"No, dude, I mean, there are always at least one or two things that makes someone want to go back to the scene of the crime. Then they get busted. You gonna wake up in the middle of the night and remember one thing that you forgot to do, or undo, or take back with you. Promise. And then you will want to go back and try to fix it. And you will get caught."

I didn't know what he meant. It was too soon after the events of that day for me to start going over and over and over and over them, replaying them in my mind until something would indeed stick out.

An error.


But he was wrong about one thing.

I would NOT be waking up in the middle of the night to a sudden realization.

I would be awake all fucking night long.


Merry Christmas to you from TDC’s own Florida Bobcat and his trusty sidekick Bandit.

Merry Christmas from Fast Cast as well.

TDC’s Laz has a son who will be going to the Orange Ball for his school Stanford.

Here’s a pic of him in the yellow Sponge Bob hat on the right.

It's a pic. Did you try to click it to play?


Ahem. Sorry, Here it is in the next link.

Starting at 1:40 in this video, after the ad.

His son Ben is the Manager in their wacky web page.

Now for some wacky TDC Weekend links.

Merry Christmas Elmo sings Happy Birthday to Jesus. It’s actually quite correct, wouldn’t you think?

Christmas Light Show from the dude who does these things each year from his house and front yard. Snowball Blaster, The Game.

Antidote: Bizzarro Simpsons.

Top 100 videos of 2010 in 310 seconds.

Did you forget what happened in 2010? Here’s a video for you, poor forgetter.

How folks actually use Twitter.

Short read about what Cash Cab is really like.

Neil Armstrong talks about what the Moon Walk was really like.

But let’s say an astronaut slipped and floated away from the space station. Would they be able to save him/her?

Back to Earth. Why the rile up of the future King and horse of Britland? Here’s some news, and lots of insightful pics about the tuition thing there.

Wikileaks has a new competitor, without the legal hassle. How?

God Help You.

God Help Us All.

---willies out.

One more for ya.

Sean was right about a lot of things. How the hell did he know such things? Was it all from personal experience? (Umm, probably not.)

Was it simply intelligence? (Well, that figured into the equation to a degree, but not solely.)

It must have been something else, and I wondered what that was.

I would soon find out that it had quite a bit to do with his mom and aunt's fucked up family.

Thank you for reading all this time. These are the tales of a burgeoning young punk, and soon, the Punkology flag would be waving atop its vessel, so to speak.

Hoist that rag.

Fuck Yes.





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