test

Now listen, baby.

dotta has a virus, I'm staying up, so here's more while she keeps puki

dotta has a virus, I'm staying up and writin'

At that time back in the late 80's, crack had been discovered, and this new evolution of the potency of cocai--- , um, powder, had come into play on the bleak streets of the high-desert megalopolis of Fuckno, Californication.

With this new trade came a quick and amazingly huge amount of economic power. Some folks had begun to choose sides, wearing bandannas of either Red or Blue. These folks did not come to a knife fight with a gun.

No.

They showed up, curb side at your home, while you were relaxing after work with a nice, dry martini, and even while you slept.

They would then proceed to remodel your siding for free, with lead.

Mind you; "for free" sometimes does not mean, "at no cost to you."


It was after the Aftermath that Muy Largo and his small clan, healing in traction and casts, and shit in the "Hosstibal", found themselves looked upon with disdain from these new echelons of power. The only person who rose above the Aftermath was the "Flora Du Mal." She finally saw Muy for what he was; a huge Messican with an even larger ego, but nothing to back it up.

She distanced herself from him. Took her awhile, because of a simple reason. She was excellent at what she did. Now, when you are excellent at what you do, there is a downfall, and it is this:

You expect everyone else to be excellent as well.

This was not the case, of course. So what does a girl do? Well, she finds people who can match her excellence. People who are good with armament. There would be no more knife fights.

No Sir.


Also, she never forgave Little Joey for his betrayal of her.

In fact, she---


But I digress. I promised to tell you about the Aftermath of the Punk Fight Story today, and so I shall.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++



Now why don't you sit down with your favorite beverage, steaming or frosty, and/or something else you might ignite, while I put this last chapter to bed for you.

Here is a song for you to get into the proper state of mind for this ongoing True Story Series.








Now listen.

We were in escape mode. I should have been driving the Hearse. Joey's arm was bleeding badly, and he was in shock. The Hearse is a huge and heavy vehicle, built for hauling weight, and we had that weight in the back, with Big Bryan and Fat Jerry, but the Hearse is not built for speed and maneuverability. It is built to transport Dead People.

And we could end up needing our own Hearse, you see.

There were some people whom we had made quite angry. These bastards showed up earlier for the little tea party, the "Machismo," in order to witness the glory of Muy.

And perhaps to purchase some of his wares. They were disappointed, ya think?

Sean and Tellesco zoomed past us on the right, with that Green Bitch Ford LTD with the 429 racing engine. Sean flipped us off. Fucker. He was enjoying this. Why?


Here's why, in case you have forgotten. Recall from earlier stories how I described Sean's propensity for exploring the very edge of safety versus insanity. He walked the edge. If you recall, his experiment in Crack became his downfall. He'd finally met his match.

But not tonight. Consider this: You might feel safe in the company of a young, huge man who held so much confidence in his fighting ability, and you would be correct. If he was on your side, that is.

But the other consideration is that with such physical prowess and the need to prove it, this young man went and looked for situations to showcase his ability.

You would be put into harms way because of this.

He was always looking for trouble, and he always found it.

And this is what he did next.


Sean took a turn and swung that Green Bitch around on a side street, and he went past us again. This time, on the left side, in the opposite direction. He threw a beer can at us as he passed. A half-full beer can. This thing hit the windshield and sprayed beer all over the glass. Fucking Sean.

As he disappeared in the rear view mirror, a thought occurred to me. What if Joey tried to follow suit? I looked over at Little Joey, and saw that he was just hanging on.

This was not good. Dude was about to pass out.

Now, I don't know about you, but there are things you can do when you are about to die in a car accident.

The reason I told you about this sort of thing in the previous chapters was not simply to show you how recover from a car accident while you were crashing, and to save your life.

This is not a Public Service Announcement blog, you bastard.

Pay attention.



I was telling you that thing before this bit simply for the "foreshadow" aspect."


Maybe I should give you a tune while you become re-elucidated.


Press play, re-up your shit, and let's continue.






++++++++++++++++++++++++

You have heard quite a bit about a certain foreign car manufacturer who has recalled a bad design. I can recall many of those in my own life.

But check this out: If you find yourself in a vehicle that suddenly goes full throttle and wants to kill you, what do you do?

Why, simply this: You put that transmission in N. That stands for No. That stands for Neutral.

That stands for "Let the bitch go blow her own engine, I'm gonna regain control and Not Die."

In Neutral, the engine can keep racing, but the car will not.

And that was the first step, when Little Joey passed out, while driving the Hearse.

I chucked that stick into "N," careful not to go into "R" because we weren't done with the Tranny just yet, no need to drop her out of the chassis just yet.

Next step was to hold the wheel steady so as not to it the many obstacles one might find inside any of the structures off of this street,.

Third was to get to the brake pedal.

And these are steps that one finds the ability to do, if one simply does not "Throw Your Mittens Up Into The Air And Scream Into The General Direction Of Your Death."

Do not give up. If you crash, steer yourself through it after the impact, and perhaps you will survive.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++

That was why I told you all of that previous shit.

So I did what it took to survive.

Little Joey told me later on that he had somehow received a long and dark purple (with green fringes) bruise down his right shin that night. Must have hurt like a mutha fucka.

After taking the drive out of the Tranny, I held the wheel steady as I slammed my Doc Marten towards the Brake, no matter what was in the way. Lucky for Little Joey that I didn't take his right leg off below the knee.

We squealed to a stop in the middle of that street, for some reason slipping sideways, passenger side forward, but we hadn't gone shopping.

Like, in the businesses on either side of the street.

Big Bryan and Fat Jerry tumbled into the back of the front bench seat, and this made the vehicle lurch forward another inch.

I carefully pulled Joey over to my side, just as Fat Jerry got out of the little side door and jumped into the front. Good thing I got Joey out of the way. He would have been crushed.

Just then, Sean came squealing to a stop beside us, on my side.

He leaned out of the window of the Green Bitch.

"Hey. There are some angry Messicans behind us. GO!"


Jesus H. Christ.

Thanks a lot, Sean. Thank you for showing them the Light. Their new religion was the Death Of The Pale Faces, and we were their new subjects.

+++++++++++++++++++++

To be continued tomorrow.

The Wrong TDC click

Well you've done it now.

Welcome to the wrong side.

Might as well sit back and go with the flow.

Here's a song to put you out of your misery, or add to it...


Well. Here's a link to some snappy clothes from 1934. Enjoy.


Maybe when you get all dressed up, you can meet your girl in an outhouse for some fun?

Hopefully, it doesn't leave a bad taste in her mouth.

Just blame it on the teachers.


Or blame it on the neighbors who don't know when to take their lights down. Need a guideline?

Well, since you've clicked the wrong link to get here, there is only one thing left to do, and it is this. Listen to the song below for a hint as to where to go next.





God Help You. God Help Us All.

(I don't even want to put my name on this sad site.)

































































































































































































































































































































































































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