Wow, why don’t they make these toys anymore? I’d buy three. These kinds of toys left it up to the kid to really imagine what the hell was going on…nowadays?…Sheesh Jim…get real.
Wait, so what happened to all of those futuristic background matrices? Where did they go — WHY THE HELL DID EVERYTHING LOOK COOLER BACK THEN?
“Ipsi conjungi pluribus.”
It’s a common saying amongst the Latin speakers of the world past and present: He has joined the majority. Or the above quote. This is a referral to the afterlife/death. I for one, think it would be a fitting tattoo for yours truly.
There was a point in my life where I used to make holes in walls. I’m not kidding, I’ve done this kind of delinquent bashing many-a-times. Mostly in my youth. However, once, when I was 26, I punched a hole clean through a bathroom door.
At the time, I was very, very drunk. I remember waking up on the rooftop the next morning (after all my bed contained my friend, who must have had what I had, but doubled.)
It was hot, and there were trains all about (this was in South Willie-burg Brooklyn). I had the faint recollection of talking to a hundred different faces that night…
Anyways the damn door. I broke a door, and had to fix it. That was the goddam rule. I went to Home Depot, bought some door fixing shit, and went back to the apartment. I remembered it was early, I was hung the fuck over, and fixing a door, all the while my roommates and sleep-over friendlies were passed out in the haze that was a summer roof-top party.
I didn’t ever throw another house party like that again. It was fun, but when you get drunk and start punching doors to prove a point, that’s when it all just melts into another half-priced hangover.
Bring me a bottle of Hendrick’s, and fire up the ol’ victrola, because it’s straight shootin’ from here on out!
Speaking of straight shooting, I usually turn into a drunkwolf on Friday nights. Sometimes I’ll make it home, other times, I’ll just lay face down in a ditch, hoping no one finds me or bothers me for directions. That’s the worst, when you’re laying in a pool of your own froth, and someone comes up to you,
“Hey man, are you ok?” Yah man, just — “DO YOU KNOW WHERE I COULD FIND SHANG-GRA-LAAA?”
Sheeesh Jim…people these days.
