Whenever you get a kernel panic from your Mac, don’t ignore the chance to make Apple, Inc.’s day and send them something off the wall… enjoy.  Peace, Shecky M.

Absently, he twiddled the keys in his right hand, draining the last dregs of the day’s horrid, cold, coffee, anticipating the sad, gray drive home in the sad, gray sedan, to the sad gray house and its complementary sad, gray meal. He exhaled loudly, slid the key into the ignition, and fired up the family econo-box-mobile. It purred like a sewing machine watching a quilting bee.

He pulled out of the sad, gray parking garage, onto the sad, gray exit ramp, and drove out into the sad, gray evening to drive along the sad, gray boulevard. The sad, gray skyscrapers looked on, their sad, gray expressions brightened by the sad, gray gargoyles keeping a sad, gray vigil as the sad, gray twilight gave way to the blessed inky darkness and bright lights of night.

It was perhaps 3 miles until he realized that here, in his sad, gray conveyance in the middle of the sad, gray traffic jam, that his radio was unusually silent. His last connection to a younger, brighter world of possibilities, and yet here it lay dormant, a sleeping sentinel allowing all of the sadness and grayness to consume what was left of his sad, gray world.

He turned the knob and knew he had made it as close to home as any do in the sad, gray reality we accept too readily.  And this was the soundtrack, shrill cadences snarled out by Sting, music provided by him and the rest of The Police:

“Another suburban family morning. _ Grandmother screaming at the wall._

“We have to shout above the din of our Rice Krispies™ _ We can’t hear anything at all. _ Mother chants her litany of boredom and frustration, _ But we know all her suicides are fake._

“Daddy only stares into the distance _ There’s only so much more that he can take. _ Many miles away something crawls from the slime _ At the bottom of a dark Scottish lake._

“Another industrial ugly morning _ The factory belches filth into the sky. _ He walks unhindered through the picket lines today, _ He doesn’t think to wonder why. _ The secretaries pout and preen like cheap tarts in a red light street, _ But all he ever thinks to do is watch. _ And every single meeting with his so-called superior _ Is a humiliating kick in the crotch. _ Many miles away something crawls to the surface _ Of a dark Scottish loch._

“Another working day has ended. _ Only the rush hour hell to face. _ Packed like lemmings into shiny metal boxes. _ Contestants in a suicidal race. _ Daddy grips the wheel and stares alone into the distance, _ He knows that something somewhere has to break. _ He sees the family home now looming in the headlights, _ the pain upstairs that makes his eyeballs ache. _ Many miles away there’s a shadow on the door _ Of a cottage on the shore _ Of a dark Scottish lake……………” _ (Synchronicity II ©1983 Gordon Sumner/Andy Summers/Stewart Copeland/The Police, used here for Creative Common purposes and not for profit)_

Oompa Loompa’s Opus of O Five

fuck an oompa loompa lollipop guild bitch go hang yourself like Scarecrow in the trees whichever one didn’t have heart i know you fucking don’t

in the background of the scene where you belong you accidently made it into my life story by luck just like the Oz’s editing goof or was it on purpose not sure about the movie you were sent to me to learn how to hate a person a bitch in leyman’s terms

also taught me that karma does come back to bite you right in my skinny white ass i treated so many girls wrong and had no hurt feelings or second guesses about my actions hindsight is a beautiful thing though and i have started apologizing to each one of them over the years they have been receptive and cordial deep down, they still hate me for my irresponibilities of their love i took their love for granted and i did love their souls at the time, i only loved mine at the end of each drunken golf filled day and pushed them away because i was scared of love and now, i am again after finally giving a shot to this horrible person after two lonely, depressed, wasted years at Indiana-Kokomo a life wasted? no, but like Vedder said, “A life wasted, but I am never going back again!”

she fooled my soul and then flipped the switch transformed my thinking to devilish trick or treats the treats were fucking nice tantric sex, backscratches, biting and waking the Terra Trace neighbors up with her tribal sex chants the tricks were fucking devastating dropping my friends, my hobbies, my job, my place, almost my car, and my entire bank account, plus two credit cards maxed the fuck out

you toiled and soiled yourself in Junkyville without me having the slightest clue that is my fault my naivity and stubborness everyone told me you were an addict but i believed you they said you were cheating but i believed you they said you were a liar but i believed you they said you were crazy and fuck, they were right on all accounts

you faked it all being my best friend soulmate to the end

about a three years and half of bullshit Bloomington inspired clouds that shit is over just sun in my rearview as i leave the pain behind and head home to K-Town the City of Firsts, soemtimes the City of Worsts atleast you can’t find me there because you will be crawling back so i am leaving broken glass all the way down highway 37 to 31 you are done old news, hit the recycle bin because the intarmural all star Kent Ben -son is through, fake ass chicken head (Project Pat shoutout!)

like Gambino says, “You’re fake as fuck, like a flesh light” haha, that he gave me for birthday 21 oh wait you always forget birthdays mine, your moms, dads, sisters but never your own and everyone is right, that bday fact proves it, you are the selfish one, not me just because you buy people bullshit gadgets, toys and clothes, materialistic garbage that you throw away in a few months or years, doesn’t mean that you care about them you show that you care for someone through love, affection, caring you mastered those things: you love yourself more than anyone i have ever met and those model agents see that, that is why they ain’t calling back babe rude awakening, you are living a fucking lie every second, minute, day and year that passes your pathetic life

you promised the world and fulfilled none of it Fantasy Land is where you rest your stanky ass, ratty hair look in the fucking mirror before you drop your bullshit New Age psychology on Kent that you don’t even follow your fucking self I seriously hope they don’t graduate you because you are the last one who should be giving advice, but then again your classmates I met are all quacks too

you will never save a fucking cent a penny no matter how much your post graduate job pays because you waste it on vodka, whiskey, gadgets, smokes and dope that is why your belly has became Buddha-esque Ooompa Loompa, dabbedly doo you never eat more than a few Ritz at my crib when you stay just smoke squares (and I guess dicks from what I hear) bump up and take myriad shots of bottled posion your belly is mad at you keep popping bullshit pills in it and it is reacting it harshly sit ups might help though I will set you up with the Benson workout plan squats, crunches and a lot of sweaty sex (you remember that part anyway, never fixed that AC, thanks Terra Trace!)

it is all my fault though that is why you cheated fuck you didn’t want to accept it now i know the painful truth heart shattered soul broken and you end our relationship on the phone, through an electronic fucking message stay classy and get some lotion for those ashy ass knees soul broken, mind racing the difference is now: instead of hurting myself i am loving myself and all the fucked up idiosyrcincies about me that you despised and told me made me seem crazy to others well, good, i am crazy, was crazy in love with you, now crazy with this fury of hate with my thoughts

cutting demons out my life starting with you the evil leader the Queen Bitch the protagonist or antagonist, i fell asleep that day in literature you took the notes for me shitty ones Selfish Sally Mae

punching me outside the apartment busting my back window with my metal 3 Wood Big Bertha keying, then denting my Taurus with your prescious, bullshit Britta water container just like the Evian your drink, you be backwards, Naive, and believe everything you read

they tell me his name was Preston was he worth it? i hope he fucked you good because you fucked my head up good for every other girl I meet in Bloomington or Kokomo you used to date him in your hometown? I thought your boonies-like hometown was just your family are you into incest too!!?? did you love him more than me when you were feeding me your bullshit lines?

thought you would one day be Mrs. Lucas or atleast a live-in girlfriend i wasted over three years of my life on you but no more sweet thang sour fangs i wish you the best never call the apartment phone because Pat doesn’t want your trouble i have a new cellular number

enjoy the sociopathic lover you ran back to I hope he doesn’t hurt you again but I won’t be there to stop him anymore

You are the best liar I ever met Bitch Ooompa Loompa hit the basement because done with your fat ass is Kent

As Eric left New Orleans, the gypsy woman pierced his weak vision and broken soul. Reoccuring nightmares. Eric stumbled through the South, ending up in Nashville, Tennesee.  Burdon was queer in a land of the manliest man. Go Volunteers! Go UT!! Years before Peyton Manning arrived or was even a glimmer swimmer in Archie’s sperm.

To prove their manhood, three rednecked theives approach and demand EB’s sunglasses and cash.  Eric chuckles like when a fat man sees a dessert cart at Pastariffic.  He throws the first punch at Cutoffed Jersey Man’s flat yet round orbital features, instantly drawing blood and a wounded Labordoodle-like whimper. The Blob and the third assailant slowly, yet unmethodically attack Burdon, but he quickly and easily sidesteps the gigantors and grabs a 2X4. Hacksaw Jim Duggan tough guy! HOOOOOO! USA! USA!

He proceeds to whip some enlarged carny ass!  After little Eric takes their wallets, watches and gawdy chains, Burdon seeks out a pawn man, a shylock or a man with watched down both arms and legs.

EB walks the alleys with eyes racing the new environment, graciously looking for good hearted gnomes, whiskey, lots of it, and Swisher Sweets.

As he enters the Pawn Man’s storefront, he sees a gnome, but the gnome is not moving or mumbling.  Appears frozen.  The gnome is for sale or trade.  Burdon believes the pawn man captured the intelligent gnome stuffed him like they dead animals they hunt.  He still talks to the gnome, who is strangely dressed with a bright orange, Santa Claus like hat on.  The gnome refused to respond and Eric was bummed.

Frustrated, Burdon sells the watches and chains for 15 bucks total and leaves through the front door.

He lights a grape infused Swisher, and enters the topless bar for warm whiskey and warmer titties.  Black.

Brown.

Yellow.

Olive

and pale white titties smack around Eric’s shaded lenses.  The broads attempt to remove said lenses and EB smacks their grubby hands, then smacks their flappy, jiggly asses.  He likes the jiggly ones.  One phillie leads to V.I.P. where she shows him her new tatoo.  And slides a condom on the Animal.  They fuck quick, but passionate.  Liquid heat oozed between their legs.  Selena screams Eric’s first name and squirts down his slightly torn trousers as he cums in his latex profilactic.  She buys him a beer and tells him to pick her up at close, around 2:30.  Eric disinterestedly nods and drowns the beer on his sweaty scalp and swollen vocal chords.

Eric demands the bartender join the fun and show her abnormally large breasts, for a women of her stature, and she says later on when more Johns convene on the murky estabalishment.  He mutters, “Fuck it. Where is the pool table?”  She points across the alley to a sign disclaiming the establishment as RACK-EM: Pool and Karoake Bar.

Eric signs the singer sign up list.  Dylan’s ballad “Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands”  Not a crowd pleaser after ten minutes of Johnny Cash ripping vocal chord type songs by the locals.  However, two girls swoon on his every syllable and follow him around like herpes.

As he embarks on a 5 dollar pool match with a quarter and a penny in his pocket, the girls, probably 15 and 17 years old, invite him to their daddy’s pool explaining that he is on business across the sea.  Eric nods as he drains the yellow 9 ball for a four dollar and seveny five cent profit.

Demanding the keys, the girls introduce him to Daddy’s cherry red Jaguar.

He fucking floors it out of the gravel parking lot spitting rocks into innocent automobiles surrounding the billards bar.

About three blocks from the hall, they jump into a pool oddly shaped like a Nike symbol.  The girls quickly strip naked and corner young Eric.  Eric grabs the tanner and taller brunette.  Ravages her left breast while the shorter brunette goes underwater to taste some semen.  Nipples between bloody knuckles. He bites and nibbles nipples, necks, breast, pussys and lips.  Also, thrusting his fingers into wet, warm caves of ectasy.  Both sweet girls panting, cumming, squirting outside and inside the enormous chlorine container.  Eric cums on both of their smiling faces and perky breasts.

Now, he demands beer and whiskey.  The younger one runs and fills a Radio Flyer full of Paps Blue Ribbon, Jack Daniels and plenty of ice.  Eric smiles for the first time since arriving from Louisiana.  The first time since his father, the gnomes and that gypsy woman.

CHESSNUTT (2005)

downtown Indy Project Pat and me smoking in the alley we see a sailor hat on a younger dude take a second look: it’s fucking Cody Chessnutt!!!

he asks me to put out the square he is allergic we chill with him in the bus drink a few Heinekens and i had him sign mt CD The Headphone Masterpiece classic

we open the door for him he instantly takes the crowd over with The Seed and Looks Good in Leather

he plays for about 90 minutes all my favorites many Coronas cigarettes in the alley

he invites back onto the bus Cody does smoke! just not nicotine i partake and get faded with my idol

shit is unreal

2005 was a good year we also hung out with Jurassic 5 that year Charlie Tuna called Scott hilarious but that is a story for another day

TAKE CARE

and let me know if you find Cody!

Horsemen Chapter 5 The Creek Party

As I embarked on my first trip to Galveston, I wondered why I had never been there before.  Turns out it was about twenty minutes from town, good people, hard working farming people.  I dont exactly understand the farming industry, but I know these men and women are essential to our survival.  Plus, they like to drink and play cards, so they are A plus in my book.

I ride out with Milburn, listening to hip hop.  We arrive to a huge farm house with an endless gravel driveway.  There are two dogs running free, barking at what they believe to be strangers, basically protecting their land.  These two brothers loved to hunt. Any animal out there was in trouble when these two were free.  I would later learn to enjoy them on the hunt for owls, confused why they couldnt climb a tree to get those wise birds.

It seems like it took 23 minutes to finally conquer the long ass driveway, but we are there.  It is dark, not many lights outside and I stumble on a few steps that I would later master.  We enter this enormous palace and see there are 3 people watching the Cubs-Reds game.  Cubs played great that year, so I imagine they were winning.  I can’t remember because I was trying really hard to act cool and not at all nervous.  But I was fucking shaking not knowing what to expect.

The three were Chris, Suzi, and Kinder.  Chris was very welcoming and Suzi didnt know what to think of this goofy kid entering her luxurious home.  She has seen me a hundred times at BW3’s, but carded me everytime.  Looking back, I was probably intimitated because she is a pretty, confident woman and I imagine I came off shy and unconfident when I ordered a beer from her.  I would later learn what a great soul she has.

So we lounge, crack some beers and watch the end of the game, Cubs win, I think.  This is when Chris asks me if I want to watch another video.  I loved the Flair Kinney Kong one, so I said sure.  He revealed another hilarious video where they had all made a bet that he wouldnt take a dive in the freezing ass creek besides their house.

Boy, did he.  He lunges into the frigid water and surfaces yelling, “Give me the shit, give me the shit, give me the shit!!!”  Probably his most famous line until we hit Cincinatti and yelled, “I aint done damn partying!!!”  But that comes later.

The video just proved that I was going to be safe moving back to K-Town and that I was about to make some lifelong friends at this Pirate Bar.  Oh yeah, I didnt even get to see the Pirate bar that nite.  That would come on my second visit to Galveston, Indiana, 15 minutes from everywhere…

Horsemen chapter 4-poker

As I embarked on my first trip to the Pirate Bar in Galveston, I felt many things.  The first being who the fuck has a pirate bar at their house.  I quickly learned one of the baddest motherfuckers walking would have such a thing!

I was also nervous, excited, hopeful, stone cold sober and filled with many other feelings I cannot recall.  Let’s just say I had no idea what to expect.  And damn, did this place blow my mind.

My first trip was with my poker buddy Milburn.  WEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSS!!!!!  We had met at the Thumb, he helped run the game and was one of the finest players in town.  Was always a step ahead of the guy he was in a hand with.  Really tough to play against because he doesn’t give a fuck.

This nite was the nite our beautiful little poker game ended.  We had been running three games a week, Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday.  I would deal two times a week and play once, the Saturday game, it was a 50 dollar freezeout at noon.  I liked the schedule because I was guaranteed 200-300 dollars a week from dealing that I could play pretty freely and loosely during the 50 dollar Saturday game.

We ran a pretty tight ship.  If we didn’t know you or you weren’t brought in by a card player, you could not join the game.  Despite the restrictions, we could get 5-6 tables going on certain nites, over 50 players!  But this one day, we decided to let two guys in that nobody had ever seen or known before hand.

It turns out that they were two undercover excise police officers.  They had scoped the bar all day, asking the bartender way too many questions about our game.  We, had this point, had become a tad greedy and welcomed their 100 plus dollars into the game.  Hey, they looked like suckers.  And suckers usually have fat pockets.

So we don’t blink an eye and start the game as usual.  Around the fifth deal of the nite, I look up.  I am dealing the back table, around a corner from the bar and had no idea what was coming.  I am looking at the players and fellow dealers in front of me and something strange is happening.  I figured it was a bar fight or some random act of drunkeness from a patron.  Boy, was I way off…

I stop dealing and stand up.  Next thing I see is a shotgun.  Then, two, 3, 4 shotguns and excise police uniforms.  FUCK ME!!!  I had never been in trouble, but I could get arrested for dealing a friendly game of fucking poker!  Unreal, this society is these days.  The government just has to have their hand in every money making thing we do as a society.  More on that later.

So they storm and tell everyone to freeze.  They take everyones’ ID’s to check for warrants.  We played with a good group of outstanding citizens.  Guys that gave back to our community.  And the funny thing is we were in the process of legalizing this game and giving a portion of the money to Wheelchairs for Kids, for each game we played.

Anyways, nobody had a warrant and the players were free to go.  However, they told us five dealers to stay behind and hand over all the money.  I don’t remember exactly what the count was that nite, but over two grand.  They pocketed that, all our chips, and even the fucking poker tables themselves.  Ruthless.

So I am shitting a brick!  We sat there, for what seemed like hours.  Finally, we are all free to go except the main dealer, Scotty too Hotty.  Turns out, he took all the blame and said we were just helping him out this one time.  He was always a genuine, stand-up guy and this instance just proved the fact.  Luckily, he didnt get in any further trouble, but it did affect his well being.  Scotty was just a poker man.  He either played or dealt everyday of the week and this crackdown affected his livelihood.

In the end, Scotty found a great girl, got a 9-5 job and now has a beautiful baby.

After the fiasco, I needed a beer and I need some laughs.  Scotty was still shooken up and wanted to just go home.  So Milburn invites me to head to a Pirate Bar in Galveston with he and Kinder.  And then, I found out what a Pirate Bar is.  And also, what the fuck a creek party is.  Haha, good times ahead readers!

Horsemen, Chapter 3 (Lil Dick Kinney Kong)

So at this point, I was back in Kokomo.  Most of my old friends were still in Indy, which I had just moved home from.  And David was in California, doing his acting and modeling thing.  It was still one of the coolest moments of my life, seeing Dave on Las Vegas, Curb Your Enthusiasm and the Three Doors Down video.  Look it up, David is the one getting thrown in the pool.  That is my boy, do your thing kid!

I started playing a lot of poker and met a plethra of cool people, young and old. But the guy I really hit it off with was Nick.  Nick’s family owned the Tom Thumb where we played cards.  His grandfather started the business and by this point, his father and aunt ran the bar.

Nick was best friends with Marty (MAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRTYYYYYYY if you are at the Pirate Bar), and I knew Marty through UPS and my main man Larry Laylowe the Third, Jr.  Marty was a blast to hang out with, but Nick and I connected more on the poker front, talking strategies and how to bluff these old guys we played with.

Nick’s sister was Jenna, an ex girlfriend from way back.  I am talking Adam Sandler Red Hooded Sweatshirt way back. No wonder she dumped me, all I wore was that damn hoodie!

So Nickie and I got really close. I would stay at his place when dad kicked me out.  His damn DVR cost me a painful memory: the Tarheels were playing Georgetown in the Elite Eight and the recording cut off before the game ended!  UNC lost, we just didnt know about the record after the ballgame procedure yet.

Lil Dick Kinney Kong

It is Nick’s Bachelor Party at the Thumb, and I dont know too many people besides Nick.  I could talk to a wall by this point, so I was good.  We had fuiden, watched IU blow their season to Alabama, unreal.  We had Gordon, DJ and a bunch of other studs. That was a lost season, uh, disgusting, lets move on.

After the game, this crazy looking, red bearded guy sets up a big screen projector and asks if I like wrestling.  I say, well, HELL YEAH, I do.  He asks if I like Ric Flair.  I flash the Four Horsemen sign and says I have to stick around.  I was trying to catch a second date with a girl, I am glad I didnt.  She was lame and never allowed me a second date anyways.

So the crowd gathers around the big screen and the magic begins…

The video was a homemade wrestling documentary about the Nature Boy and Mean Gene Okerlund.  This crazy red bearded man played Ric Flair and the mustchaced, menacing looking kid played Geno.  The video was only about three minutes long, but it is part of Kokomo history now.  Almost everyone that is somebody has seen this damn thing.

It was classic Nature Boy.  The big lights, the big stage, styling and profiling, lear jets and limousines.  They had it all!  “And for the first time in the New Year, we have a new champion!!!” was the opening line by Geno.

The whole video was aimed at their friend Josh, who I knew from basketball.  That guy was amazing with the ladies, still is.  Inspiring to watch him work.  He also used to stay with a friend of mine in Bloomington, where I stayed a few times before moving there for school.

They mocked Josh in every way possible and it was CLASSIC.

I had to hang out with these guys, they were my kind of people.

The main culprits end up being 2/5 of the Horsemen.

Chris was the wild, red bearded man and the star of the video.  Tiny Dancer Bliss played Mean Gene and had the line that you can still hear around the bars in town, “For the first time in the New Year” line.  We love imitating Geno and he nailed it.

After that night, I had no clue how close I would become with this crew and had no idea the hell we were about to raise at the Pirate Bar in Galveston, Indiana.  WOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!! as only the Nature Boy Red Beard can.

Horsemen, Chapter 2 (JR Jewelery)

So I met the boys through playing cards at the Tom Thumb, a bar I used to bartend at as well.  Great local bar that I had my first official drink at many, many drinks ago.  My dad and I sat down at the end of the bar, he said this is where my grandfather, my mentor, now my angel, used to sit. He told me JR would drink PBR’s with Tommy, Ron and the rest of the boys.  Years later, I would met these guys through bartending, my grandpa had a good crew with these fellows.  They are true, hardworking, genuine guys.  Looked out for me many times when I would let my mouth run a little too hard. Damn whiskey, they call him Whiskey Kent for a reason, more on that later.

So dad and I order my first beer as a 21 year old, I was trying to order NewCastle and the bartender, Crazy Gary, looked at me, well, like his name says, crazyily.  He informed they don’t have those, so I ordered whatever pops did, Miller Lite I think.  Dad told me classic stories of grandpa.  My favorite was about dad’s friend.

Dad’s friend loved high school so much, he intentionally flunked senior year twice.  So when he finally graduates, he is 21!  So they planned a trip to Indiana Beach to celebrate his long awaited graduation.  They never thought it would happen.  Like Kevin Garnett says, “ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE!!!”

So pops and his best friend go to pick the graduating friend at his grandpa’s house.  His family wasn’t around, but his grandpa let him stay with him.  So they knock. Knock, Knock. Finally, the grandpa slowly and rather hungoverly opens the rackety door.  He tells the boys that their buddy, lets call him Styles, isn’t getting up today.  Pops doesn’t know how to take that, so they go to check on Styles.  He is passes out on the kitchen table, surrounded by mason jars of moonshine.  It was the 60’s, so it was probably a little more potent than we use to drink at Colts tailgates.

So they try to wake Styles up with no luck.  They threw him over their shoulders and put him in the trunk of their convertible.  He rides there all the way to Monticello.  They get in there and party without him.  The girls are in herds and the beers are flowing!  Suddenly, they hear the trunk making noises, Styles is alive!!!

And he wakes up and starts drinking, not even wondering why he is in a different city, or why he just woke up in a trunk.  My kind of man!!!  So they party throughout the nite, celebrating his graduation, being alive and being young and dumb.

The next morning, JR shows up to join the party,  JR was a 7 and 7 man.  After he had about, well, to keep the symmetry, 7 7 & 7’s.  He notices Styles watch and asks him where he bought it.  Styles never had anything nice growing up, but he was very proud of his new watch.  It looked just like my grandpas.

Jr being his inquistive self, asked if it was waterproof.  Styles wasn’t sure.  JR said where did you buy it again.  Styles said Stricklers.  Grandpa said me too.  He said mine cost a little more because it was waterproof and questioned, again, whether Styles’ watch was.  He said Im still not sure. I will ask when we get home.  JR said it was no big deal, dont worry about it.

Hours later, Styles was perplexed why JR wouldnt stop asking him questions about his new favorite thing in the world: his new flashy watch.  He was a good old boy, he now wondered if he was ripped off by the jewelry man,

So as the nite went on, JR had about, well, let’s say 7 more 7&7’s.  He wanted to ask Styles one more time about the level of waterproofness of his watch.  Styles is beginning to get mad, which most of the boys had never seen, unless someone was asking for it.  And he finally said, why do you keep asking me JR.  JR then did his signature shit eating smirk.  He said well, let’s find out now and pushed Styles into the lake!  And said shit, I guess it wasnt waterproof because that motherfucker will never work again and the surrounding crowd erupted in laughter.

You might think that was a horrible mean spirited joke.  But JR was just having fun.  When they got back to town, he took Styles to Strickers and bought him the same watch.

Plus, he bought him a waterproof one in case they ever went back to Indiana Beach.  haha, that is why I miss my gramps the most.  He just wanted to smile and laugh, exactly how I am trying to live these days.

Travels of an Idiotwind

Inside the warped views of a confused kid with too much shit on his mind.

Wednesday, July 4, 2012

July 4th, 2003

25 cent wings 50 cent beers Pat, Sean, Scott, me 1030 we call it a nite

no cell phone for me then

walk home from the bar after meeting Sean May one of my favorite Chapel Hill Tarheels his pops played for the General they go undefeated in 1976

we see Ken Nunn that day in his cherry red convertible

walk into Terra Trace our new place room 247 i think?

2nd floor above Liz and Alicia

looking at the pool, check the answering machine unreal

it’s dad saying he found mom unconscious floating in the bathtub on West Mulberry 1548 now, it is 1048 can’t drive shaking too fucking much Project Pat takes the keys red Saturn we can’t talk because i am crying too much 2 hour drive he gets us there in less

walk into the hospital St Joseph’s she is in a coma dad almost crying me crying he tells me the basement has flooded all our baseball and basketballl cards floating in the murky flood infused river Kurt and I ride a leather pillow like a fucking boat! the only way we could smile was to be with each other

she stays in the coma for 14 long, hard days Uncle Mark flies in from California to help I can’t move I missed my mom

she wakes up from said coma they say it was a stroke from too many cigarrettes and caffeine i say bullshit

brain damage neurologist thinks it’s MS

fast forward to 2005 i am student teaching at Northwestern Elementary Kokomo, IN she has stroke number two fuck my luck

visit every lunch break and after school crying writing crying writing drinking every day with Hale at Bdubs and Thumb

fast forward to 2007 they know now it is MS fuck those doctors she still can’t walk right or think right

fuck life sometimes do i believe the devil?

why would God put her through all this pain?

like Krystal told me, I can’t let that one event nine years ago ruin each July 4th

i will enjoy my golf today my friends the pool the whiskey and the girls

July 4th is no longer a nightmare day it is a holiday again and thank you Krystal for showing me that I love you always will enjoy everyone

I love you all and will see you soon or later but Take Care and keep living

Love, Kent Andrew

Posted by Kent Lucas at 5:00 AM 

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Kent Lucas

I strive for excellence through: I haven't figured that out yet...

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*[5:00 AM]: 2012-07-04T05:00:00-07:00

they have no clue what to say

what the fuck to feel

seems like wild weakness to me

weakness equals jealousy

jealousy equals love and hate at the same time

jealousy leads to endless envy

envy transforms to horrendous ass hate

hate acclimates to unproven pain

unproven pain travels to strange places, like homicide and suicide

suicide leads to devils and brimstone

brimstone burns the skin

my new skin is fireproof and i no longer fear the consequence of my sins

my sins are me

me equals sin, sin equals Benson

Benson is another word for domination

hookshots and hookups

ball wins and tan skin

on the two eighteen year olds today

the old man still has it

dick rock hard

cum thick as my skull

they scream for me, i listen but don’t hear

i can hear Jimi! i can’t hear bitches

or snitches

or the brand new stitches on my inside lip

Speedway is a fucked up land

karma will get those three fools

they will be surrounded by communal stools

in the county pen or jail

while Kent sets sail

like Columbus finding a new land to lay my restless soul

and i will keep fucking because i fuck good

keep drinking my whiskey because i cherish the taste

keep singing because my voice is soulful

and take my crown to the grave

crack a beer with my grandpop

and take a seat on the throne, at the top

of this game, this world, this life…