sometimes i like to beat myself up over the less than pathetic life that i have made for myself....instead of actually getting off my ass and changing my behavior i would rather sit and whine about it to anyone that will listen, or bottle it up inside until i drink. on a daily basis i like to think of what would have happened if i actually had a 9 to 5 personality..that just wasn't in the cards for me......never was. no matter how much i beat myself up over shit that can very easily be fixed there is always someone that makes me glad i am me..in hollywood it is very easy to find a lower companion, some douche walking around in a bandana with a fedora over it, some true religion jeans, thinking that the chucks they are sporting maks them "punk rock" or "edgey" to make you feel much better about yourself............
i never understood the whole clone fashion, although i have fallen victim myself....but when i was a kid it wasnt really cool to rock your ripped levis tucked into your untied workboots in my area...i lived in a town that was raised on football, it seemed like what you did was go to high school, then get a job as a cop, firemean, or D.P.W. worker.......everyone looked like the situation or ronnie d, except for a handful of us metalheads who would find someone to buy us our 8 pack of budweiser nips (pony's), make sure the batteries in the boombox were fresh, and find a nice bus bench on the boulevard. trick was to find the benches at the red lights because back then 8 out of 10 camaros were full of hot girls soaked in hairspray and oddly colored clothing aimlessly cruising down the blvd listening to snow or poison chainsmoking virginia slim lights 120's that they stole from there mothers.....if they got caught at the light, they were yours for at least 65 seconds. the avaiable ones always seemed to be a three pack in a fiero, and never able to fit you in, they alwasy screamed "we'll come back we promise!!!" fucking douchebag guidettes. ......ripping the cellophane off of my brand spanking new blizzard of oz cassette tape and popping it in the deck to listen to randy rhodes slide into the first riff of "i don't know" while i glugged down my ice cold bud was all i really needed anyway.....i could never keep the top of the marlboro pack from ripping off back then....my jeans were so tight.