So last night, my roommate celebrated his 19th birthday by drinking with his friends. Typical tuesday night, right? I figured he would stumble into the dorm room around 2 in the morning, waking me up in the process, and drunkenly climb up into bed and pass out. Little did I know what I would wake up to in the morning.
Fast forward to 7:30, and my roommate Jacob (who sleeps on the top bunk) was getting up to use the bathroom. But as soon as his feet touched the floor, he knew something was amiss. I heard him proclaim that the floor was wet. Well that seems logical; I mean this is western Washington after all. Jonah probably walked home last night in the rain and his wet shoes left a puddle in the room. Jacob had a different theory, however.
It was then that Jacob accused Jonah of pissing on the floor. Jonah laughed it off, thinking it was a joke, and we all went back to sleep.
Then, right on schedule, the alarm went off at nine. At this point, the room was illuminated much better then it had previously been during the initial confrontation. Enough light cascaded throughout the room to reveal a very wet floor. Disgruntled, Jacob called out Jonah again. The story goes, Jacob woke up when Jonah came into the room early this morning. Quite awake, Jacob heard a peculiar noise. It sounded like somebody pissing into a garbage can. But...no. Surely Jonah wasn't so wasted that he was pissing in our garbage can...was he? Sure enough, upon further inspection we found the garbage can doused in urine. And not only the garbage can, but the entire surrounding area. It looked like the aftermath of a toddler trying to pee standing up for the first time. The worst part was, there was more pee on the other side on the room. How the fuck did he manage to get it way over there, in the opposite direction? Did he pull a Matrix move and arch his body backwards, directing the stream over his face and behind him? Probably not, considering the flexibility and coordination required to successfully pull off that move is daunting while sober, let alone in a drunken state. Is Jonah simply a mischievous asshole, and thought it would be funny to prance around the room in the dark while urinating? Probably. That's what I'm going with.
Jonah insists that he recalls nothing about the incident. His side of the story is that his brother has a history of pissing in the clean laundry hamper while sleepwalking, and that he must have fallen victim to genetics and carried on a similar activity. No Jonah, what you have fallen victim to is belief perseverance. The tendency to stick to your initial belief even when the evidence contradicts your stance. We have an eye-witness account (ear-witness, I should say) from Jacob that puts you at the scene of the crime within a few minutes of returning to the dorm. This means that unless you crawled into bed, passed out, and commenced your sleepwalking in a very timely manner, you were conscious and aware of your actions. Let's just attribute the incident to drunken stupidity and put it behind us, shall we?
The real miracle here is that my backpack somehow survived the ordeal unscathed. My backpack was right at ground zero when the attack on the garbage can occured, and yet it managed to walk away safe and dry. The one and only bright light in an otherwise tragic and dark moment in the early history of this dorm room.
September 30, 2009
September 29, 2009
Boombastic Banging
Why does it seem like every weird person/loser on campus flocks to me? Seriously, aside from some of the people in my dorm, I've met like five cool people here. Everyone else has either displayed an exceptional case of douchebaggery, or been terribly uninteresting. Outcasts seem to be drawn to me like Muslims to Mecca.
Is it something about the way I look? Does my band t-shirt/jeans combo somehow give off the impression that I care about how much of a chode you are, or that I want to listen to you spew some shit about your infatuation with Shakespeare? Or maybe I just have an aura about me that suggests I enjoy the company of dweebs. If so, what does that say about me? Am I a closet dweeb that just simply has not found the courage to reveal myself yet? Hmm...
I find myself in a most unwanted predicament. I'm too nice to tell these people to leave me the fuck alone and go mingle with other weirdos, yet too selective in my friend seeking process to actually enjoy being around them. So what do I do? I'm not socially confident enough to simply walk up to a stranger and initiate conversation. Which means I rely on others to make the first move, 90% of the time. The same situation applys to my romantic life. Do I just tough it out and wait for someone cool to cross paths with me? While that would be my first choice, it isn't exactly a proactive approach to meeting people. Worst case scenario, I meet absolutely no one and live out my freshman year of college as a hermit, biding my time in my dorm room, cursing the rest of humanity for not acknowledging my existence. That doesn't sound so bad, right? Fuck that noise.
No worries. I'll find some guys and gals worthy of being graced with my company sooner or later. And who knows, if I'm lucky one of those gals will be down for some boombastic banging.
PS: You were all witness to the first, and last time I will ever use a Shaggy lyric in my writing. I'm actually kind of ashamed right now, but boombastic banging just sounds too awesome to edit out. In fact it's so awesome that I will title this post as "Boombastic Banging". No shame, no reg
rets. Word.
Is it something about the way I look? Does my band t-shirt/jeans combo somehow give off the impression that I care about how much of a chode you are, or that I want to listen to you spew some shit about your infatuation with Shakespeare? Or maybe I just have an aura about me that suggests I enjoy the company of dweebs. If so, what does that say about me? Am I a closet dweeb that just simply has not found the courage to reveal myself yet? Hmm...
I find myself in a most unwanted predicament. I'm too nice to tell these people to leave me the fuck alone and go mingle with other weirdos, yet too selective in my friend seeking process to actually enjoy being around them. So what do I do? I'm not socially confident enough to simply walk up to a stranger and initiate conversation. Which means I rely on others to make the first move, 90% of the time. The same situation applys to my romantic life. Do I just tough it out and wait for someone cool to cross paths with me? While that would be my first choice, it isn't exactly a proactive approach to meeting people. Worst case scenario, I meet absolutely no one and live out my freshman year of college as a hermit, biding my time in my dorm room, cursing the rest of humanity for not acknowledging my existence. That doesn't sound so bad, right? Fuck that noise.
No worries. I'll find some guys and gals worthy of being graced with my company sooner or later. And who knows, if I'm lucky one of those gals will be down for some boombastic banging.
PS: You were all witness to the first, and last time I will ever use a Shaggy lyric in my writing. I'm actually kind of ashamed right now, but boombastic banging just sounds too awesome to edit out. In fact it's so awesome that I will title this post as "Boombastic Banging". No shame, no reg
rets. Word.September 25, 2009
Inside the Mind of a Pre-Pubescent boy: Love
I fell in and out of love at a very young age. It was the kind of love you only find once in a lifetime.
Her name was Kelly. I still remember the first time I laid eyes upon her. The image is branded into my psyche forever, for she was the most beautiful creature to ever grace this planet. At least she was to a horny 4 year-old.
It was the first day of pre-school, 1995. Microsoft had just released Windows 95, eBay was founded, and the early stages of the media format we now know as DVD were announced. Amidst all of these technological revolutions, a funny thing happened. I fell victim to one of the most primitive and personal feelings one human being can feel for another. Love.
Walking hand-in-hand with my mother, we ascended the steps to my pre-school. All it is was the classroom in the very south-western corner of Blaine Elementary school, segregated from the higher class ankle biters. As we approached the door, an eerie hum of activity buzzed through the air. The sound was muffled enough to mask the point of origin, yet still bold enough to let it be known that "something wicked this way comes." Having reached the end of our ascension, my mother guided me to the door, which looked like it had been designed to keep something potentially dangerous inside, rather then provide access to a classroom. It ran through my mind that maybe they were keeping velociraptors in captivity here, and the activity I was hearing was the pack ravaging the carcass of some large animal. Perhaps a bison. Or my fellow classmates. Maybe this wasn't a school at all! Maybe this was where parents took their unwanted children to offer up as raptor feed, in exchange for a small sum of money! Fuck!
As my mom grabbed the handle and lurched open the door, we were pummeled by an aural/visual assault. Screaming children were bouncing off eachother like pinballs, destroying everything in their paths. Parents and teachers alike were frantically attempting to bring the chaos down to a neutral level. Crayons and coloring books were hurled through the air, body parts (from toys, of course) littered the floor, and it smelled like an odd combination of apple cider and feces. Like someone had used an entire can of Apple Cinnamon Febreeze in a gas station bathroom.
And then I saw her. Sitting by the window, dressed in a white dress that made my post-toddler era weiner go into a frenzy, we made eye contact for the first time. She smiled at me, and had I been about 7 years more mature, I would have busted a nut right then and there. Traumatized, I froze in place and contemplated my next move. Do I assert my masculinity and roundhouse one of the crazed 4 year-old boys running around? Do I spit my game and ask her if she wants to play Doctors with me? Or do I play the hard to get card by crawling around on the floor looking up the dresses of all the other girls but her? Being the inept decision maker that I was at that age, I opted to take the surveillance approach for awhile.
And so for the rest of the week, I kept my distance. During nap-time, I would snag a vantage point near her and watch her sleep (creepy little fucker, wasn't I?). At snack-time, when we were served apple slices, peanut-butter crackers and Hi-C juice boxes, I would sit near her, but always have a one person gap between the two of us. I was infatuated with Kelly.
Finally, after 6 days of preperation I went in for the kill. Here's how it went.
Me: Umm...hi Kelly.
Kelly: Hi Matthew.
Me: Umm...you know my name?
Kelly: Yes, I know everyone's name.
Me: Oh...umm...do you want to dig holes in the sand?
Kelly: Yeah.
Sadly, my small talk is still at the same level it was then, but it did the trick. Kelly and I were inseperable. For the rest of the year, we ate every meal together, took every nap together, and even pooped together once. But as the program was coming to an end, Kelly shattered my entire universe. The love of my life informed me that she would be moving up a grade due to her advanced mental capabilities. We would not be able to see eachother anymore. Reluctantly, I let her go. I never saw her again after that fated year in pre-school.
I learned a valuable lesson that year. If you love someone, set them free. If they return then they're yours, but if they don't then they can fuck off and die.
Her name was Kelly. I still remember the first time I laid eyes upon her. The image is branded into my psyche forever, for she was the most beautiful creature to ever grace this planet. At least she was to a horny 4 year-old.
It was the first day of pre-school, 1995. Microsoft had just released Windows 95, eBay was founded, and the early stages of the media format we now know as DVD were announced. Amidst all of these technological revolutions, a funny thing happened. I fell victim to one of the most primitive and personal feelings one human being can feel for another. Love.
Walking hand-in-hand with my mother, we ascended the steps to my pre-school. All it is was the classroom in the very south-western corner of Blaine Elementary school, segregated from the higher class ankle biters. As we approached the door, an eerie hum of activity buzzed through the air. The sound was muffled enough to mask the point of origin, yet still bold enough to let it be known that "something wicked this way comes." Having reached the end of our ascension, my mother guided me to the door, which looked like it had been designed to keep something potentially dangerous inside, rather then provide access to a classroom. It ran through my mind that maybe they were keeping velociraptors in captivity here, and the activity I was hearing was the pack ravaging the carcass of some large animal. Perhaps a bison. Or my fellow classmates. Maybe this wasn't a school at all! Maybe this was where parents took their unwanted children to offer up as raptor feed, in exchange for a small sum of money! Fuck!
As my mom grabbed the handle and lurched open the door, we were pummeled by an aural/visual assault. Screaming children were bouncing off eachother like pinballs, destroying everything in their paths. Parents and teachers alike were frantically attempting to bring the chaos down to a neutral level. Crayons and coloring books were hurled through the air, body parts (from toys, of course) littered the floor, and it smelled like an odd combination of apple cider and feces. Like someone had used an entire can of Apple Cinnamon Febreeze in a gas station bathroom.
And then I saw her. Sitting by the window, dressed in a white dress that made my post-toddler era weiner go into a frenzy, we made eye contact for the first time. She smiled at me, and had I been about 7 years more mature, I would have busted a nut right then and there. Traumatized, I froze in place and contemplated my next move. Do I assert my masculinity and roundhouse one of the crazed 4 year-old boys running around? Do I spit my game and ask her if she wants to play Doctors with me? Or do I play the hard to get card by crawling around on the floor looking up the dresses of all the other girls but her? Being the inept decision maker that I was at that age, I opted to take the surveillance approach for awhile.
And so for the rest of the week, I kept my distance. During nap-time, I would snag a vantage point near her and watch her sleep (creepy little fucker, wasn't I?). At snack-time, when we were served apple slices, peanut-butter crackers and Hi-C juice boxes, I would sit near her, but always have a one person gap between the two of us. I was infatuated with Kelly.
Finally, after 6 days of preperation I went in for the kill. Here's how it went.
Me: Umm...hi Kelly.
Kelly: Hi Matthew.
Me: Umm...you know my name?
Kelly: Yes, I know everyone's name.
Me: Oh...umm...do you want to dig holes in the sand?
Kelly: Yeah.
Sadly, my small talk is still at the same level it was then, but it did the trick. Kelly and I were inseperable. For the rest of the year, we ate every meal together, took every nap together, and even pooped together once. But as the program was coming to an end, Kelly shattered my entire universe. The love of my life informed me that she would be moving up a grade due to her advanced mental capabilities. We would not be able to see eachother anymore. Reluctantly, I let her go. I never saw her again after that fated year in pre-school.
I learned a valuable lesson that year. If you love someone, set them free. If they return then they're yours, but if they don't then they can fuck off and die.
September 21, 2009
College...
So day two of dorm life is officially under way here at Western Washington University. First night, our window cannot close all the way. And just my luck, a train roars by practically every hour, blasting that fucking horn as if dozens of small children were frollicking on the tracks and the train was issuing a warning. Seriously, what are the trains honking at? Is it really necessary to do that non-stop through the entire fucking county?
This is abuse of horn privileges, if you ask me. You know those asshole train conductors probably have some god complex and get off by rousing an entire city from slumber. Issue the warning, alert your presence to everybody, and then shut the fuck up, trains.
What else...oh yeah, the food here is rad. I had me some roasted beans and tofu on some rice last night with a huge salad drenched in thousand island dressing. And for breakfast I massacred some hashbrowns with eggs, flapjacks and orange juice. I'm eating like royalty here. Western might as well take it to the next level and hire all the hot chicks on campus to wear bikinis and hand-feed us all of our meals.
My sleeping situation is terrible right now. I have an old, run-down spring mattress. At certain areas of the bed the springs dig into my body and it's just torture. I can only assume the damage done to this bed was the result of years of banging taking place upon it. Not exactly comforting, but maybe at some point I can add to the legacy of the mattress. Ladies, if you're reading this, you can become a part of history. Feel free to ask.
The roommates are cool. Yup.
The info fair was a frenzy. The chaos was comparable to piranhas swarming bloody waters after a kill. Apparently people do not know how to stick to one direction, because there were dumbasses everywhere working against the grain of the flow of traffic, and zig-zagging through boothes like idiots. Seriously, it isn't that hard to just circle around Red Square. There's no need trying to play connect-the-dot using the boothes. Assholes.
Well, that's all I have to say concerning college so far. Horror stories are sure to come as the semester progresses. Stay tuned.
This is abuse of horn privileges, if you ask me. You know those asshole train conductors probably have some god complex and get off by rousing an entire city from slumber. Issue the warning, alert your presence to everybody, and then shut the fuck up, trains.
What else...oh yeah, the food here is rad. I had me some roasted beans and tofu on some rice last night with a huge salad drenched in thousand island dressing. And for breakfast I massacred some hashbrowns with eggs, flapjacks and orange juice. I'm eating like royalty here. Western might as well take it to the next level and hire all the hot chicks on campus to wear bikinis and hand-feed us all of our meals.
My sleeping situation is terrible right now. I have an old, run-down spring mattress. At certain areas of the bed the springs dig into my body and it's just torture. I can only assume the damage done to this bed was the result of years of banging taking place upon it. Not exactly comforting, but maybe at some point I can add to the legacy of the mattress. Ladies, if you're reading this, you can become a part of history. Feel free to ask.
The roommates are cool. Yup.
The info fair was a frenzy. The chaos was comparable to piranhas swarming bloody waters after a kill. Apparently people do not know how to stick to one direction, because there were dumbasses everywhere working against the grain of the flow of traffic, and zig-zagging through boothes like idiots. Seriously, it isn't that hard to just circle around Red Square. There's no need trying to play connect-the-dot using the boothes. Assholes.
Well, that's all I have to say concerning college so far. Horror stories are sure to come as the semester progresses. Stay tuned.
September 18, 2009
Horror Whore
You know, I wish horror movies these days were actually scary. What happened to the movies that used to induce nightmares for weeks after the initial viewing, and make me question every shadow and every movement out of the corner of my eye? Now all the horror movies rely on cheap disposable scares, gratuitous nudity (always a good thing), and sadism. There's nothing scary about watching rib cages splinter and internal organs gushing out of open wounds. I'm pretty sure that douche nozzle Eli Roth and all the people responsible for the Saw franchise sit around at conference tables and circle jerk over photographs of mutilated corpses while they brainstorm ideas for their movies.
What makes movies like John Carpenter's Halloween so timeless and endearing is their ability to produce genuine and explicit terror in the viewer. Halloween had no outrageous hollywood budget to computer generate creatures from another dimension to scare people. Halloween doesn't show innocent people ripped to pieces by torture devices or limbs graphically severed from bodies. Halloween relies on simplistic film-making, in every sense of the word. By giving a brief glimpse of Michael Myers in the background of a continous frame, Carpenter allows the audience to create their own fear. Nothing significant happens on screen, but the tension builds nonetheless, simply because the viewer knows that something is coming. And when it finally does, the result is so much more satisfying then a maniac jumping out from behind a curtain.
I could turn this post into a 10,000 word appreciation of Halloween, but that's not the point. As an avid movie fan and a self-proclaimed nerd, I find myself missing the Golden Age of horror. I became nostalgic after watching the shitfest that was The Mist a little while ago. However, if you don't think the end ruled, you can eat all the dicks.
The problem with that movie was it relied too much on aesthetics to scare people, and not enough on creating a solid atmosphere. Stephen King is the master of horror, and yet almost every movie based on his work is laughable in its execution. And that is because Stephen King knows what is scary, not the people making movies these days. You know who got Stephen King right? Stanley Kubrick. If you do not know what I'm talking about, you can eat all the dicks left over from the people who didn't think the end of The Mist was rad. And when both of those groups of people have their stomachs stacked to the brim with dicks and can no longer continue eating, everyone who thinks Rob Zombie's version of Halloween is better then Carpenter's can finish the job until every dick on earth is consumed.
Seriously Zombie, way to rape the legacy of the best horror film ever made by making Michael Myers a trailer trash chode that had daddy issues. Nice job missing the point entirely. I mean sure, every movie after Halloween 2 was already pretty successful at raping, but at least those abominations were original works.
Rob, you should be thankful that every dick has already been eaten. Consider yourself lucky.
September 16, 2009
Upcoming Releases
The rest of 2009 is looking pretty damn good as far as new albums go. Some of my favorite bands are putting out new records in the coming months, and I for one, am stoked. So I figured I'd do everyone a favor and compile a list of upcoming releases I would recommend you check out. Don't worry, there is something for everyone in here. Dig in.
Will update as more stuff is announced. This list seems rather small, so I'm getting the feeling I forgot some stuff. Feel free to leave a comment recommending albums to add to the list.
AFI - Crash Love, 9/29
Baroness - Blue Record, 10/13
Between The Buried and Me - The Great Misdirect, 10/27
Blacklisted - No One Deserves To Be Here More Then Me, TBA
Brand New - Daisy, 9/22
Built To Spill - There Is No Enemy, 10/6
Converge - Axe To Fall, 10/20
Dethklok - The Dethalbum II, 9/29
The Dillinger Escape Plan - Option Paralysis, TBA
Doomriders - Darkness Come Alive, 9/29
Every Time I Die - New Junk Aesthetic, OUT NOW
The Fall of Troy - In The Unlikely Event, 10/6
HORSE The Band - Desperate Living, 10/6
Lucero - 1372 Overton Park, 10/6
Baroness - Blue Record, 10/13
Between The Buried and Me - The Great Misdirect, 10/27
Blacklisted - No One Deserves To Be Here More Then Me, TBA
Brand New - Daisy, 9/22
Built To Spill - There Is No Enemy, 10/6
Converge - Axe To Fall, 10/20
Dethklok - The Dethalbum II, 9/29
The Dillinger Escape Plan - Option Paralysis, TBA
Doomriders - Darkness Come Alive, 9/29
Every Time I Die - New Junk Aesthetic, OUT NOW
The Fall of Troy - In The Unlikely Event, 10/6
HORSE The Band - Desperate Living, 10/6
Lucero - 1372 Overton Park, 10/6
Matt Skiba - Solo Album, TBA
Nile - Those Whom The Gods Detest, 10/3
Nile - Those Whom The Gods Detest, 10/3
No Age - Losing Feeling EP, 10/6
Ringworm - Untitled, TBA
Ringworm - Untitled, TBA
Rise and Fall - Our Circle Is Vicious, 10/27
Ruiner - Hell Is Empty, 9/22
Russian Circles - Geneva, 10/20
Ruiner - Hell Is Empty, 9/22
Russian Circles - Geneva, 10/20
Skeletonwitch - Breathing The Fire, 10/13
Strike Anywhere - Iron Front, 10/6
The Swellers - Ups and Downsizing, 9/29
Strike Anywhere - Iron Front, 10/6
The Swellers - Ups and Downsizing, 9/29
Teenage Bottlerocket - They Came From The Shadows, OUT NOW
Tegan and Sara - Sainthood, 10/27
Thrice - Beggars, OUT NOW
Why? - Eskimo Snow, 9/22
Thrice - Beggars, OUT NOW
Why? - Eskimo Snow, 9/22
Will update as more stuff is announced. This list seems rather small, so I'm getting the feeling I forgot some stuff. Feel free to leave a comment recommending albums to add to the list.
Album of the Year, guaranteed.
September 15, 2009
Inside the Mind of a Pre-Pubescent boy: Stealing
When I was 5 years old, I made my first venture (the first of not very many) into the seedy underworld of criminal activity.
It was an overcast day in the Northwest, and my father and I were making a trip to the grocery store. This particular trip was no different then any before it. Only on this fated day, anarchy would run rampant in the check-out aisle of Cost Cutter.
The cart was full, and we were standing in line, like any other law-abiding citizens. And as you know, in the check-out aisles at these stores are shelves full of luxury items. Wonderful, teeth-rotting, stomach-churning, obesity-inducing products that no normal 5 year-old child can resist. So I asked, "Daddy, can I get a tootsie-pop?" His answer? "No." Little did he know that this simple act of refusing to satisfy my request would spark an incident that would corrupt my feeble existence forever.
Nobody says no to me! How dare this cheap asshole insist on keeping me from my beloved cherry tootsie-pop! And so I took matters into my own hands. There was one lone, isolated cherry lolly sitting atop the rest. Like a bunch of insolent, worthless peons holding up royalty. The lolly seemed to taunt me, just begging me to rebel against my father and remove her from her pedestal. During my hesitation, one particular life lesson handed down to me from my parents made it's way into the picture. "Never steal, Matthew. No matter what." Fuck authority.
So with my hand, previously pure up until that moment, I shoplifted a tootsie-pop from a Bellingham Cost Cutter. To this day, I have never felt more alive. On our walk back to the car, I was already planning out my life as a committed thief. "Next I'm gonna steal a candy bar and then I'll steal all the video games I want and then I'll rob banks so I don't have to have a job ever and it will be so much fun because work is boring and stealing is awesome!" Running through my head was a maelstrom of theoretical criminal activity, and had I followed through on all those fantastical ideas I would probably be serving a life sentence by the time I turn 20.
The heist was finished, and as I hopped onto my booster seat I removed the score from my pocket. I undressed the lolly, removing the red paper garments, exposing its erotic sugar-fortified figure. I made love to that lolly in the back-seat of our Toyota Tercel. My tongue ran up and down the contours of her form, exploring every nook and cranny. Alas, the performance was interrupted by my father, who had discovered me in the act of oral pleasure. He demanded I tell him where I had gotten the lolly, and I confessed to my crime. I had come so far, only to have my dignity and criminal integrity taken from me.
My father marched me back into the store, as tears streamed down my face, lolly still in hand. We returned to the same cashier, a pretty woman most likely in her early 30's. He explained the situation to her, and then asked me to repent for my crime. Defeated, I gave-in to his request, and apologized to the store-clerk. With a smile on her face, she accepted my apology. And then something miraculous happened. A revelation of sorts. Her hands disappeared behind the counter, and she pulled out a plain paper bag. "Go ahead," she said. "Pick one." Within that paper bag was a discovery that brought joy to my heart. Dozens of tootsie-pops of all flavors. My beloved cherry pops, the pretty-damn-good-but-not-nearly-as-good-as-cherry orange pops, the delicious blue ones, and a couple of those shitty chocolate ones that only losers eat. It was a collective orgy of lollipops, and I had been granted permission to take one free of charge. The clerk informed me that every aisle had one of those magical bags, and all I had to do was ask for one.
I learned a valuable lesson that day. Stealing sounds pretty rad in theory, but you just end up getting caught mouth-fucking a lollipop in the back seat of a car.
It was an overcast day in the Northwest, and my father and I were making a trip to the grocery store. This particular trip was no different then any before it. Only on this fated day, anarchy would run rampant in the check-out aisle of Cost Cutter.
The cart was full, and we were standing in line, like any other law-abiding citizens. And as you know, in the check-out aisles at these stores are shelves full of luxury items. Wonderful, teeth-rotting, stomach-churning, obesity-inducing products that no normal 5 year-old child can resist. So I asked, "Daddy, can I get a tootsie-pop?" His answer? "No." Little did he know that this simple act of refusing to satisfy my request would spark an incident that would corrupt my feeble existence forever.
Nobody says no to me! How dare this cheap asshole insist on keeping me from my beloved cherry tootsie-pop! And so I took matters into my own hands. There was one lone, isolated cherry lolly sitting atop the rest. Like a bunch of insolent, worthless peons holding up royalty. The lolly seemed to taunt me, just begging me to rebel against my father and remove her from her pedestal. During my hesitation, one particular life lesson handed down to me from my parents made it's way into the picture. "Never steal, Matthew. No matter what." Fuck authority.
So with my hand, previously pure up until that moment, I shoplifted a tootsie-pop from a Bellingham Cost Cutter. To this day, I have never felt more alive. On our walk back to the car, I was already planning out my life as a committed thief. "Next I'm gonna steal a candy bar and then I'll steal all the video games I want and then I'll rob banks so I don't have to have a job ever and it will be so much fun because work is boring and stealing is awesome!" Running through my head was a maelstrom of theoretical criminal activity, and had I followed through on all those fantastical ideas I would probably be serving a life sentence by the time I turn 20.
The heist was finished, and as I hopped onto my booster seat I removed the score from my pocket. I undressed the lolly, removing the red paper garments, exposing its erotic sugar-fortified figure. I made love to that lolly in the back-seat of our Toyota Tercel. My tongue ran up and down the contours of her form, exploring every nook and cranny. Alas, the performance was interrupted by my father, who had discovered me in the act of oral pleasure. He demanded I tell him where I had gotten the lolly, and I confessed to my crime. I had come so far, only to have my dignity and criminal integrity taken from me.
My father marched me back into the store, as tears streamed down my face, lolly still in hand. We returned to the same cashier, a pretty woman most likely in her early 30's. He explained the situation to her, and then asked me to repent for my crime. Defeated, I gave-in to his request, and apologized to the store-clerk. With a smile on her face, she accepted my apology. And then something miraculous happened. A revelation of sorts. Her hands disappeared behind the counter, and she pulled out a plain paper bag. "Go ahead," she said. "Pick one." Within that paper bag was a discovery that brought joy to my heart. Dozens of tootsie-pops of all flavors. My beloved cherry pops, the pretty-damn-good-but-not-nearly-as-good-as-cherry orange pops, the delicious blue ones, and a couple of those shitty chocolate ones that only losers eat. It was a collective orgy of lollipops, and I had been granted permission to take one free of charge. The clerk informed me that every aisle had one of those magical bags, and all I had to do was ask for one.
I learned a valuable lesson that day. Stealing sounds pretty rad in theory, but you just end up getting caught mouth-fucking a lollipop in the back seat of a car.
September 9, 2009
UR READIN
After years of postponing the inevitable, the time has finally come to accept that I need a place to write. A place to spew the shit that is constantly racing around in my head, yet goes unspoken because I'm too lazy to put pen to paper. Whether it's to post some mindblowing, poetic realization, or to voice my discontent with something, everything I have to say will come here. I'm an aspiring writer (isn't everybody these days) looking to attain my English degree from Western Washington University. My ventures into the world of written word will most likely come up from time to time in the near future on here, as well as any other projects I may be pursuing. Of course, nobody who reads blogs actually cares about the initial posting, where the author simply sets the stage for the coming performance, so I'll end with my favorite quote.
"To be nobody but yourself, in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else, means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight: and never stop fighting." -E.E. Cummings
"To be nobody but yourself, in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else, means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight: and never stop fighting." -E.E. Cummings
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