never trust a block parent
let's talk about feelings.
like that feeling you get when you first wake up and realize you've spent the night sleeping on someones' front porch; when the "big questions" come screaming down on your damaged brain the way seagulls attack a trash barge. it's in your best interest to ignore these questions for the time being. the only clues you need are that empty bottle of gin and those dark red stains streaking your jeans. these are your trail of bread crumbs, and they're telling you to flee.
the neurons that control balance and sensible walking aren't functioning yet, so you'll have to do without. do not waste time trying to make sense of your surroundings. just pick a direction and go. any direction. it does not matter. the only thing that matters is the fact that you're fucked and defenseless on the ugly side of town.
be patient, answers will come. just keep moving.
don't look back at the house. "what if i know this person?" i can assure you that you don't. and even if you did they're not a true friend because you had to sleep on the goddamned porch.
keep in mind that anyone you pass along the way is going to react badly, because you look and smell like you've spent your night desperately dry-humping a dead mule atop a compost heap in an ancient swamp. also you're muttering vague profanities to yourself. don't take it personally.
once you're a few blocks away the old brain pistons should be regaining a little momentum. this is a good time to take stock of things. a quick tooth and finger count. next, examine the contents of your pockets. keep an eye out for red flags; anything that indicates the presence of fighting, fucking or psychedelic drugs. this activity should waste a few minutes. if, the next time you look up, you're still in unfamiliar territory, you may have to rely on Plan B.
roll up your sleeve and locate the spot on your forearm where you jotted down your address and some emergency phone numbers with permanent marker the night before.
if you failed to do this you're an irresponsible child.
expect to be barbecued by the sun and feasted on by strays.
like that feeling you get when you first wake up and realize you've spent the night sleeping on someones' front porch; when the "big questions" come screaming down on your damaged brain the way seagulls attack a trash barge. it's in your best interest to ignore these questions for the time being. the only clues you need are that empty bottle of gin and those dark red stains streaking your jeans. these are your trail of bread crumbs, and they're telling you to flee.
the neurons that control balance and sensible walking aren't functioning yet, so you'll have to do without. do not waste time trying to make sense of your surroundings. just pick a direction and go. any direction. it does not matter. the only thing that matters is the fact that you're fucked and defenseless on the ugly side of town.
be patient, answers will come. just keep moving.
don't look back at the house. "what if i know this person?" i can assure you that you don't. and even if you did they're not a true friend because you had to sleep on the goddamned porch.
keep in mind that anyone you pass along the way is going to react badly, because you look and smell like you've spent your night desperately dry-humping a dead mule atop a compost heap in an ancient swamp. also you're muttering vague profanities to yourself. don't take it personally.
once you're a few blocks away the old brain pistons should be regaining a little momentum. this is a good time to take stock of things. a quick tooth and finger count. next, examine the contents of your pockets. keep an eye out for red flags; anything that indicates the presence of fighting, fucking or psychedelic drugs. this activity should waste a few minutes. if, the next time you look up, you're still in unfamiliar territory, you may have to rely on Plan B.
roll up your sleeve and locate the spot on your forearm where you jotted down your address and some emergency phone numbers with permanent marker the night before.
if you failed to do this you're an irresponsible child.
expect to be barbecued by the sun and feasted on by strays.
posted by mike | 1:33 PM
4 Comments:
it's the do's and don'ts of sketchiness. i like it. i've long thought of implanting some sort of microchip-like tracking device in your neck so that when you wake up somewhere weird, at least I can find you.
you can't Big Brother me....
if not a big brother, than you at least need a mommy. heh. and no- alcohol is not an adequate parental figure.
adeqat?
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