Kansas Convos.

At my Father’s Funeral…

Ok, kids, come on over here and get your picture taken with your dad and I.

Is she serious?

Oh very. She had Todd and I pose for a picture before the service started.

Hurry up kids!

Wha- Really? Who brings their camera to a funeral?

Ummm it would appear that woman right there, who is your mother…standing next to your father…who are both waiting to have their picture taken with you and your sister…at my dad’s funeral. Family.


At the Dutch Goose…

Chris, I’m so, so sorry about your dad. Are you and Todd ok?

We’ll get through it.

All the time I spent hanging out with Todd over at your dad’s place. He was such a great guy. I mean, he didn’t even get the least bit upset when I set his couch on fire. Most parents would’ve gone off the deep end. He just told me not to worry about it.

Yeah, he was good like that.

After the funeral service…

Oh my god, Chris, do you remember me? I’m your cousin!

Of course I remember you (just not sure which one you are, though).

Your eulogy for your father was amazing, just absolutely incredible.  The whole time you were reading it up there I just kept thinking “I really hope he writes MY eulogy when I die. Will you?”

Suuuuure.


In a truck on the way to Topeka…

You’ll have to excuse my wife and all her chattiness, dude. She’s had a few glasses of wine.

It’s true, I have. Anyway, he thought that when he donated his sperm to her and her girlfriend that he’d still be able to have some of the parental rights because that’s what they’d agreed on, but he never got it in writing so as soon as she had the twins from his seamen she just totally blew him off and he took her to court because-

Jesus babe, you’re talking Chris’s ears off! We’re supposed to be here for him, letting him talk because he’s sad and shit-

Actually it’s okay I don’t really-

Shut up, Dude, I’m trying to explain to her that you’re number one tonight and we should be listening to whatever it is you want to talk about.

I’m sorry honey, I’m just trying to catch Chris up on everything that’s been going on since he doesn’t live here.

Well he’s MY friend but you just keep stealing his attention away from me, I haven’t gotten a word in edgewise.

Ok I’ll be quiet so you two can talk.

Silence for 30 seconds.

I can’t think of anything because you put me on the spot now!

Ok, then I’ll finish the rest of what I was saying. Anyway, the twins are teenagers now and he’s never met them yet he’s got both their names with their birthdates tattooed on his arm and his case is now being taken all the way to the supreme-

I was once able to get 4 out of 6 anal beads up my ass.

Uh…

Um wow, honey.

Well don’t the both of you sit there and look at me like I’m stupid, I’m just trying to join in the conversation.

You make me a very proud wife. Anyhow….

At the Booby Trap…

What the fuck are these?

They’re shots in honor of Al Stuke, now shut the fuck up and drink yours.

We slam them.

Oh hey what are you guys doing?

Shots.

That sounds like fun! Why didn’t you include me?

Oh I did, I put them on your tab.


At a restaurant...

Do you enjoy doing hair?

I do.

What demi brand do you use for wild colors?

Urban Shock. It fades to a lighter version of itself. Way cool.

I’ll have to try that. I just got back from a hair show in NYC.

Was it good?

Fuck no, they did a platform on layers and it was like “Really? Didn’t we see this shit done back in the 90’s? What do you have planned next, highlights done with a shower cap that you poke holes in and pull the hair through?” What a fucking joke.


At a bar…

So you live in L.A. huh?

Yeah.

My wife and I were thinking of taking a trip there.

Cool.

We like to party like that.

Ok.

You’ve got cool tattoos.

Thanks.

And your hair is cool too, big and spiky. Why do you look so rock-n-roll?

Umm, just part of who I am I guess.

Why do you have such nice big brown eyes?

I uh-

Was that gay of me to say?

I’m not gay so I wouldn’t know what gay sounds like.

Yeah? You wanna get back on the party bus we got and come back over to me and my wife’s house?

I’m good thanks. But you know, even if you’re not going to the party, it’s always nice to be invited.


Writing my Father’s eulogy the night before the funeral….

How’s it coming along?

Go ahead and read it. I’m kinda drunk so I don’t know if it makes any sense.

No problem, that Xanax just knocked me on my ass so it should make perfect sense.

Todd reads over what I’ve written.

Sounds good, just one thing.

What’s that?

It’s too comedic. It’s supposed to be a eulogy, not a stand up act.

I’ll re-work it.

His critique saves me from making an ass out of myself  at my Dad’s funeral and prompts me to write one of the most poignant things I’ve ever come up with at 2 in the morning through tears and bottle after bottle of booze. Thank you, Todd. You are my strength, my center and my hero. I hope to be just like you when I finally decide to grow up.


At the bar…

So I’ve been fucking this guy that looks JUST like Gerard Butler.

Oh yeah? How old is he?

54.

I don’t think Gerard Butler is 54.

Doesn’t matter. What matters is that he’s a pussy.

Gerard Butler or 54 year old Gerard Butler?

Stop saying he’s 54. But yes, 54 year old Gerard Butler.

How’s he a pussy?

He won’t just fuck me. I mean he will, but then he wants to talk afterwards.

About what?

How should I know? I’m trying to sleep. Last night I think he was trying to talk to me about his kids and I’m like  “I got kids of my own that I gotta hear about, I don’t wanna hear about yours too.” I told him he needs to watch 300.

Why’s that?

Because THAT Gerard Butler doesn’t talk about his god damn kids after he fucks someone, he goes out and kills a bunch of Persians. That’s the kinda man I’m lookin’ for. My coochie is made for fucking, it don’t wanna hear about your day.


At another bar…

So you think you’re a writer?

Well, I like to write, so sure.

What do you like to write?

I’m really into episodic television.

What’s that?

TV shows.

Oh. Yeah. So you’ve written something then?

Yeah I’ve been working on a pilot premise based on one of my friends.

Is that so? What’s it about?

Eh, he robbed a bank, went to prison, got out, opened a club and it flourished. Had a girlfriend that was pregnant, the baby died his club went under & he moved to Vegas knowing not a soul and has turned into one of the most sought after and successful promoters in Sin City.

Now why the fuck would I want to watch a show about that?

You ever feel like a loser, like no matter how hard you try you end up last? Like your heart is in the right place but you just keep doing all the wrong things?

Wow, yeah.

Ever feel like all you want is redemption from the mistakes of your past and your only hope of reaching that redemption is changing everything about yourself while still keeping your core intact?

Yes.

And when you want nothing more than to make a new start in a new world all you are is shunned, disrespected, disregarded and left for dead. Yet you still continue to crawl through all the shit and almost drown in a pool of your own blood but never surrender because redemption will ease the pain of your past. Ever have those kind of feelings about things? Ever have those dreams that you know will make things right?

I do. I have.

Ever look in the mirror and want a better version of yourself?

Pause.

All the time.

Then that’s why you’d watch what the fuck I’ve written.


At my Father’s funeral, a mutual friend of Todd and I come’s up, tears in his eyes…

I’m so sorry for the two of you.

Thank you, and thank you so much for coming.

Your dad, he was fucking awesome. I always felt like one of his own kids, just how kind and patient he was with me. I mean, I got Todd arrested for god’s sake yet he always accepted me in his home, was always kind to me even though I’m sure I gave him every reason to hate me. But he never did.

He was incredibly awesome. We were all lucky to know him.


At the bar…

So maybe you can understand where I’m coming from since you’ve probably fucked as many girls as I have. I just can’t do one nor could I imagine one for the rest of my life. This thinking provides great opportunity but just as much difficulty. I can’t figure out which one outweighs the other.

How’s that?

Well because since I’m basically fucking everyone, that allows for more…violent situations to arise.

Violent?

Yeah. I’m on these meds and they make it nearly impossible for my dick to get hard quick. Takes like 10-15 minutes to get him up. Most girls are cool with it, but then there was this one.

What happened?

We were in her minivan…actually her mom’s minivan, and she’s jerking me and sucking me and nothing’s happening with my dick. So she gets really insulted. I try to tell her that it’s the meds and to just give me a few more minutes. She tries jerking me off one more time and still nothing. So she turns and hits me.

Hits you?

In the eye.

For not being able to get it up?

Said that my dick felt like a dead baby bird in her hand so she gave me a black eye for not being able to get hard. Said it was my punishment.

In a car…

I remember when we were dating and all the times I’d come to your house when you lived with your dad.

Oh yeah?

And he always had SO MUCH mail, just spread out everywhere and you were always trying to pick it up and keep it organized. And he’d turn around and mess it all up again. You were always so frustrated with him about that.

He was a total slob sometimes.

Just the other day I looked at my kitchen counter and realized how much mail I had accumulated, it was such a mess. I sat there and thought “Jesus, I’ve got an Al Stuke stack of mail on my counter.”

That’s epic.

We’ve been friends for so long, Chris, your dad has always been apart of my life. I’m going to miss him.

Me too.  


At the bar at Freestate Brewery…

Whatcha got there? That a journal?

Nah, just jottin’ down some notes for something.

Looks like a journal to me. You a writer or sumthin’?

Actually my father just died, I’m trying to come up with a eulogy. He used to bring me here, thought it might help, obviously I was-

Well shit, I can help you with that.

-wrong.

Just write something like “My father was my hero, a great mentor and a kind and gentle person who loved his children and our mom.

My mom and dad were divorced.

Who loved his children but hated our mother, but not too much. They just couldn’t see shit eye to eye.

Yeah I don’t think that’s quite what I’m-

How’d he die?

Massive heart attack. Came out of nowhere.

Yeah my grandpa died outta nowhere too.

I’m sorry to hear that.

He was supposed to wear his false teeth but never did. Was chewin’ on a piece of steak one day and because he didn’t have his teeth in didn’t chew it up enough, ended up chockin’ to death on a piece of meat.

Wow.  You got the day off? Is that why you’re drinking at 1 pm on a Thursday?

Eh, I left work early, the wife was pissin’ me off.

You work with your wife?

Fuck no, she just pissed me off last night so I decided to leave work early, come here and drink.

Why’d she piss you off?

She won’t fuck me.

Can’t understand why.

Me either. Makes the kids unhappy too.

That she won’t fuck you?

No, just that we fight a lot. That’s why I went out and got me a girlfriend.

That’s one way to try to solve things.

She’s older too, in her prime. I love fucking her…in her pussy.

Well, that’s usually where you put it, unless they’re really giving.

Oh she’s beyond giving, let me have my first threesome with her and one of her girlfriends. I fucked them both-

In their pussies?

That’s right, in their pussies. My girlfriend wants a baby though.

Obviously you’re not gonna give her one since you’ve already got kids with your wife, yeah?

Oh sure I’ll knock her up, figured that’s the least I could do for giving me a threesome.

You’re not concerned about making another mouth to feed?

Nah, I’ll give her whatever she wants so long as she keeps letting me fuck her.

In her pussy.

In her pussy. What’s your name?

Chris.

I’m Jason, it’s nice to meet you.

It was nice meeting you as well, Jason. I think I’m gonna bone out now.

Gimme a hug.

Ok.

And write your number down, I’ll give you a call.

Here.

Thanks, Chris. You’re pretty fucking cool.

Whatever I can do to help.  


In the car on the way to my Father’s funeral with Melissa…

Did you get the eulogy written?

I guess.

Are you happy with it?

Don‘t know. At this point I can’t even fathom standing up in front of all those people reading what I wrote in regards to the life and times of Alvin Stuke.

Did you make sure to leave out the time you got that phone call from the internet site saying-

Totally left that out.

What about the time you walked in on him in the living room with-

That one as well.

Or when your brother Todd went into his own room and found your dad in there-

Did not include that either.

And you left out the time I walked into your backyard to tan in my underwear and your dad-

Left that too-

Was already tanning in the backyard…in his underwear.

I made it a point to exclude everything that requires a sense of humor and the acceptance that humans, my father included, are without a doubt the goofiest species on Earth. It seems we all have the capacity to do the most embarrassing shit when we think we’re alone.

Good idea. Do you believe in what you were able to write?

100 %.

Then you’ll be fine, just be sure not to rush it when you’re reading aloud. People have the tendency to speed up when speaking in public.

Thanks. I love you, Boo.

I love you too, Babe.


At the bar…

So I hung out with Dang last night.

How’d she look?

The same I guess. She asked me if you were gay.

Seriously?

Yeah, I told her you were doing hair now so she thought that at the very least you were  bisexual.

You’re kidding me. I fucked her for like a month straight, why would she ask that?

Well she said “Chris always wanted to fuck me in the ass so I’m just assuming he’s gay or has bi tendencies”.

Ok first off, if I had bi tendencies I’d be fucking a guy in the ass, not a girl. Secondly, out of EVERY woman I’ve been with, Dang was the one that was always overtly happy to have anal sex. Dare I say almost giddy about the act. Now I’ve never, ever really been that preoccupied with anal sex, but she just made it seem like so much fun. It was like dessert after a great meal. And you know, sometimes you’d just rather have more dessert than dinner because you never know if anyone’s gonna serve that dessert to you so eagerly again.

So you were binging?

Guilty.


At my BFF Renfro’s…

Does this get any easier?

Easier? No. But you do get used to it, it just takes time. Time to distance yourself from it. Time for life and every dumb thing you do on a day to day basis to feel like it’s normal again. But it never gets easy.

That’s what I figured. It’s not something that goes away rather it becomes apart of you.

That’s exactly what it is. Ya see, like the whole funeral thing, that’s just what I call the show or the performance. You get up there and everyone tells you they’re sorry, you cry, they go home and get on with their lives and you just kinda wait around with your thumb up your ass trying to act as normal as you can. But it’s all such a blur, it doesn’t really sink in until a couple months later when you’ve got a real stupid question and your first reaction is to call the only person that will have that answer for you and you realize halfway through that thought that they’re not there for you anymore. That’s when you fully comprehend that your dad is gone.

Yeah, dreading that moment.

But here’s the other thing you realize. That while they were alive, you never truly knew how much alike the two of you were. It’s only in their absence that you fully comprehend just how much of an imprint they left on you.  You find yourself doing things that you always looked up to them for doing in the past. Some of those things you may never have had the urge or desire to do, then one day, boom, you’re a perfect reflection of your father. Me myself, I build shit. While my dad was alive I never had one ounce of interest in building anything. After he died I got his tools, now I’m out in my garage building shit all the time. Don’t  ask me why or even how I know how to do it, I just do it and I’m good at it. Just like my dad was.

We’re the echoes of our fathers.

Indeed we are, brother. It’s the way it was meant to work.

Eulogy

Our father had a philosophy that he lived by, if it’s not fun, don’t do it. To my brothers and I it seemed that he lived this mantra to the fullest extent day in and day out. Weather if it was shooting pool at a neighbor’s or floating down a river in China, he always chose to do things that would elicit joy and happiness.

He could garner just as much satisfaction and excitement from taking a train trip across the country to sitting in his house on a cold winter day with a cup of coffee with baileys in it watching cardinals & blue jays scamper in the fresh fallen snow. Dad had a gift of finding passion in the ordinary therefore making everyday life, extraordinary.

He constantly sought to feed his mind and his soul with new experiences and knowledge. It didn’t matter if it involved traveling to distant far away lands or sitting back in his recliner with his nose in a book. The world was full of constant wonder, surprises and secrets that he loved chasing after and learning about.

Growing up my brothers and I thought there was nothing our dad couldn’t do. Sports, carpentry, scholastic endeavors, it didn’t matter. He was always a constant source of answers, insight, talent and information. Whatever he knew he got great satisfaction from sharing it with others. And share he did.

Dad was never one to say no to anyone that asked for help. It didn’t matter the time, day or cost, he was always happy to be of service. He was beyond generous and altruistic in everything that he gave. All he ever asked for in return was to see people happy & content.

From our childhood well into our adult lives dad repeatedly moved heaven and earth for us. There was nothing that he wouldn’t do for each of us boys. He supported us in any endeavor we chose and showered us with love and encouragement in any path we decided to go down in life.

His unwavering support instilled in us a sense of confidence, security, drive and permission to pursue any dream that captivated us and dared us to chase it. Time and time again he gave us his all in our pursuit to find happiness in the way we defined it. Never did he try to deviate us from the journeys we embarked on. He only fueled the engines of our souls and told us to run after our desires.

As we grew up and became men ourselves we realized the scope and depth of what our father did & was still doing for us. His love was always unconditional, his commitment and loyalty steadfast and unshakable and his forgiveness was never-ending. It didn’t matter how many mistakes we’d make or how many times we’d fall on our face, he was always there to pick us up just like when we were children and tell us to never give up because he’d never give up on us.  What came naturally to him in regard to decency, patience, love and understanding are virtues that my siblings and I will aspire to ascend to for the rest of our days.

I feel the one trait that made our father truly amazing though was his courage to be completely vulnerable in front of his sons. It seemed as if the older we got, the less he played his role as patriarch and the more he became our friend. I’d like to think that he found it cathartic and safe to talk with us about the things that troubled him, scared him or confused him to the point of worry. He found solace and comfort in confiding in us things he wouldn‘t have necessarily shared with others .

Years after our parents divorced there was a time when all three of us boys lived with him. It was one of the most memorable times ever. It was less family and more frat house. There was never a dull moment amongst us and always an adventure to go on. And even though we’d all had a strong bond with him, it seemed during that time that the fibers that were interwoven between us and him became unbreakable. In him he was our rock and source of stability. In us, the essence of him that we’ll carry on into the world.

There was a time not long ago that he and I were in a conversation and he asked “Have I been a good father? Because sometimes I feel that I wasn’t, like there was more I could’ve done.”  I told him my brothers and I couldn’t have been more blessed with such a loving and giving human being. And the fact that he was always striving to be better than the person he was the day before was a testament to the incredible type of person he was.

We think that if there’s one thing our father loved more than anything else, it was stories. He loved to tell them, read about them or listen to them from both loved ones and complete strangers. And even though he’s no longer with us, we all have stories of him that will forever keep him in our hearts. I know that Todd, Brad & I were so very lucky and fortunate to be in the story of Alvin Henry Stuke.

Years ago I was on an interview and the person interviewing me said something so profound that I never forgot it and it was this; You can tell a lot about a person and the life they led by the number of people that turned out to tell them goodbye after they departed. I think the sheer numbers of those in attendance today illustrates just how far reaching and impressionable our father was to the rest of the world.

So long, Dad. Thank you for everything, you will forever be a part of us. We’ll see you soon on the other side.  

Shooting our Mouths Off

Well, America, we finally did it. We’ve reached that apex of utter ridiculousness and absurdity that’s an all time low even for a country that spawned The Jersey Shore, The Kardashians & Mormonism. So reach over to the adult next to you and pat them on the back for being apart of one of the most sadistic and ruthless cultures in all of the industrialized nations.


 Because no one does guns like us.

Whether you’re a delusional liberal touting that all guns should be confiscated and banned or some obnoxious conservative yelling that responsible Americans are entitled to a stockpile of arms that would rival a 3rd world dictatorship, we here in the U.S.A. all have vehemently held beliefs and all play our part when it comes to our gun culture and it’s subsequent debates. And the only progress that’s come from all of our bickering is more dead citizens who could’ve been potential doctors that cure cancer or at the very least, subservient taxpayers.

But Friday’s massacre was different than your typical run of the mill shooting. It didn’t happen at a mall, movie theatre or high school, it happened at an elementary school and had a higher death count than the Aurora, Clackamas or Columbine disasters. We Americans have grown accustomed to these types of incidents and sadly have even become desensitized in their wake where our only response to such travesties are “Well, that fucking sucks.” And then we go about our day.

The catastrophe in Newton, Connecticut however was not only different in the fact that it chipped away at even the hardest of us cynics but it also sent a loud and clear message that no one, regardless of their age or location, is safe. And to prove that point, a young man with three weapons his mother bought legally went from classroom to classroom and erased the hopeful and innocent lives of kids not even old enough to legally have a say if guns should be outlawed, regulated or allowed in this country. They were just fodder for our go-nowhere arguments about the legality of firearms.

Friday’s heartbreaking episode in our Gun Show also demonstrated that our guns here at home are an epidemic. It’s far beyond any easy fix method. Just like an over infestation of cockroaches in one’s house, such is the case with guns. In fact it’s so out of control that a lot of us feel that the only protection from guns is more guns.

Nancy Lanza, the mother of Adam Lanza who was the shooter at Sandy Hock Elementary on Friday, probably thought that in order to keep her family safe she needed three guns. You can’t get on the internet or T.V. without seeing how well that mentality played out.

We need to start looking at guns with a personification. And I think a fair one would be to give them the title of sociopath. That’s not to refer to them in a negative connotation but a realistic one. Your typical sociopath lacks conscience, the threat of consequences or how his actions could affect other people. The sociopath just does, free of the moral implications of if his deeds are right or wrong.

Such is the case with guns. They’re unthinking and unapologetic in the things they do. They don’t care about right and wrong, they just are. The gun that one might have in their home that they clean and target shoot with as well as feel safe with could be the same instrument that is turned on them in the event of a home invasion where the intruder gets the upper hand.

Bottom line, your gun doesn’t care about you. It will just as soon kill you as it would kill someone that means you harm. It’s a means to a very specific end.

Now I’m fully aware that the gun is merely a tool and it’s purpose depends on who’s employing it. But so often than not, the gun is a quick fix enabler for someone with emotionally unstable problems and this is where the true danger lies. Plus, there’s no possible way to detect if a responsible gun owner will lose their cool one day, or, as in the case of the Connecticut shooting, if the gun owners kid has access to the guns and decides to go postal one bright December morning. The underlying truth of it all is, just like God, guns are everywhere and they’d just as soon punish us as protect us.

I know some of you have the asinine argument that if we got rid of guns people would still find other ways to harm one another and there’s some validity to that. But I guarantee it wouldn’t be as severe or easy as destruction is with a gun.

Yes people can build bombs but that takes time, know how and usually an ideological agenda as in the case with Timothy McVeigh. And yes, you can kill someone with a knife, baseball bat, rope, tire iron, pillow or even a shoe if you’ve got the time and tenacity.

But all of those things can’t do it as easily and in mass numbers like you can with a gun. If you walked into a school or public place with a knife or bat you could do one, maybe two people, but then you’d be subdued by a few people bigger than you. The casualties would be scarce and the wrongdoer apprehended. Just this past Friday someone stabbed 21 school children in China, but none died. Granted it was still horrific but it didn’t have a death toll. Those kids will live, adapt and hopefully have great and meaningful lives. It’s also an example of the stark difference between a gun and any other weapon.

The gun means business and it’s business is killing as quick and lethally as possible assuming your shooter isn’t Stevie Wonder.

I’ve also heard the outlandish statements that teachers should be armed in order to sway the trend of school shootings. This is stupidity at it’s most glorious moment. Teachers already have a laundry list of responsibilities to attend to with very little monetary compensation for all that they do. But no, let’s add marksman to their requirements.

Then again maybe that’s not a bad idea after all (or maybe I’m just getting stupider by the second) because most schools already have metal detectors and lock down systems that are akin to maximum security prisons. So yeah, let’s just arm the people in charge so there’s really no difference between prisons and schools. It’s a great message to send to our children which is: Sorry, kids, but because of our so called “freedoms” you’re going to be imprisoned for your own safety because we can’t get our shit together.

Another ludicrous rant I heard was to start hoarding all the assault weapons as if they were Twinkies before the government stepped in and made them illegal. This is American paranoia at it’s finest and as with all things that are done in an irrational state of suspiciousness and distrustfulness, it’s a bad fucking idea and here’s the reason why; No matter how many guns you’re amassing at home, it’s not gonna keep your loved one’s safe because someone else is also amassing guns at their home and you can’t predict their future behavior. Seriously, folks, if you've got such a stiff boner for assault rifles, join the fucking military, they've got plenty of 'em.

There’s also the other profoundly retarded argument that it’s not only a citizen’s right but their duty to keep and bear arms as to secure our rights and freedoms from a government and to not allow said government to become tyrannical. But the tyranny is already here. We create it by being afraid of those with guns, so we get guns. More guns in circulation means more guns in the hands of people who aren’t always of sound mind and logic. This means more shootings.

On average guns account for 12,000 deaths in the U.S. annually (this number is strictly limited to assaults, not suicides or accidentals).  That’s roughly 132,000 Americans killed since 2001. Or look at it another way; we have the equivalent of four 9/11 tragedies per year. We’re doing a better job at exterminating ourselves and our way of life than our most hateful & zealous enemies could imagine. All in the name of upholding “Our Way of Life” . When terrorists killed 3,000 Americans we declared war on any and all that would harm us. But when it comes to our own domestic war with guns we just get irate during our discourse and end up threatening to shoot one another.

But such is the mentality of our gun culture and like it or not, we’re all products of it in the sense that we’re apologists for the gun, advocates against the gun, or all too often like the 20 dead kids on Friday December 14th, victims of the gun. But one thing is for certain, we’ll talk about this, argue over it, post stupid and ignorant shit on our Facebook feeds and then forget about it until it happens again in another few weeks only to do the arguing all over again with no intention of resolving or amending our homegrown epidemic.

And that cyclical consistency demonstrates that something is fundamentally flawed with us and our guns in the United States.

    

Re-CRUE-tited: Side 2

So you bought it?

Yeah. The first thing I did after I took the tape out of it’s case was put the case face down in a desk drawer and covered it with as much junk as I could, you know, just to be safe.

From what?

The case being a talisman to conjure Satan once the music started. Figured the more stuff piled on top of it, the less effective it’d be.

You’re gay.

Seriously, the first song “In The Beginning” gave me the creeps. The music sounded like something you’d hear at a human sacrifice and the static tinged voice talking about “in the dusts of hell with the blackest of hates for he whom they fear awaits you” was all pretty intense.

So, so wicked, I love this band. What‘d you think of the rest of the tape?

Silence

You didn’t listen to the rest of it did you?

I had to turn it off, I got too scared. Felt like the devil was gonna shout at me instead of me at him like the title suggests.

What. The. Hell?

Trevor, watch your mouth lest I fill it with sand again.

It was in the proper context, Mom. By the way, do you have any extra underwear? Clean preferably.

Not if you’re going to use them to make a parachute for your G.I. Joe action figures again.

I wanna gift wrap ’em in some nice pink tissue paper for Chris because he’s being a girl.

Then the answer is no, he can wear his own mother’s underwear and seek counseling. I know several psychologists that specialize in positive transvestite assimilation identity.

Trans what? Never mind, I thought you were my friend, man.

Not this second. And if there was some sort of way that I could simultaneously tell everyone you and I both know how much of a sissy you are and how disappointed I am in you right now I’d do it. Lucky for you that sort of technology doesn’t’ exist. Now go finish listening to that tape and don’t bother calling me back or calling me your friend until you do.

Click.

And then I was alone. I’d just bought Motley Crue’s Shout At The Devil and had made it exactly 1 minute and 30 seconds into it before I had to turn it off out of fear that Lucifer was going to pay me a visit via my stereo speakers.

I’d called Trevor (since checking these guys out was his big idea) for a little moral support and instead I was handed an ultimatum. I could either pledge my allegiance and soul to an entity that resided “in the dusts of hell with the blackest of hates” OR I could forever endure Trevor’s razor sharp heckling for not doing so. Once I saw my choices like this, shacking up with Satan for an eternity seemed like the easier of the two options to live with.

I went into my living room where my mother and two younger brothers were watching some cartoon show and envied how simple their lives were while I was on my way to face the most ominous evil of my existence.

I thought about asking my mom to accompany me on this spiritual suicide mission should the unleashing of this malevolent force be too much for me to handle and she could save the day by burning the heretical horror with the flames of her moral Christian outrage and Bic lighter, but then I thought better of it. This was something I needed to do alone. So I pulled up my big boy underoos and went in by myself.

I came out 6 hours later forever a changed person.

Yes, I’d ended up listening to the tape the whole day. By the end of it only one observation burned in my mind. It wasn’t if my newfound idols were a gang of lunatics with a lust for sex, drugs, & violence (which they were) and if they had a complete disregard to consequences, social backlash and jail time (which they did), but rather,  how my life had ever seemed remotely exciting before Motley Crue had broken in and entered it.

Up until this day I’d been force fed a steady influx of coerced religion, personal responsibility and  regulated pop culture influence (i.e. break dancing, Rick Springfield, baseball and Saturday morning super hero cartoons) it was almost as if I’d been primed to accept something as polarizing as Motley Crue and all the ethos they promoted.

These four heathens from L.A. ignited a roaring flame in an otherwise dark life of mediocrity. From their long hair and post-apocalyptic Mad Max regalia to their bone crunching music filled with messages of rebellion, hedonism and contempt for any and all rules, laws and universally accepted behaviors. This pack of bastards and their immoral code of conduct instantaneously became my new anti-heroes and mentors.

You can call it liberation or brainwashing depending on what side of the barbed wire fence your ass is sitting on. I preferred the former. Even before my indoctrination of Motley Crue  I’d come to a disappointing realization about my life; I was already sick of school and only 5 years into what was going to be a mandatory 12 and another 4-6 after that for college because the environment that I was being brought up in espoused that. Go to school, finish school, go to more school to get a job to have a family and every day will be a repeat of the day before it. For me that outlook was bleak and uninspiring.

Listening to the music of Motley Crue changed all that. It promised that life could be an adventure, it could be lived outside the box, in fact, it encouraged you to set that fucking box on fire as well as raising a Molotov cocktail to the institution that manufactured the box. It preached a different sermon than the ones being drilled in my head from attending church twice a week.

Go out and live instead of living in fear. The fear of god, the fear of judgment by others and especially the fear that you shouldn’t be the person you’re supposed to be. I could be a pretty insightful 10 year old when I wanted to be. And I took that message to heart. Everyday COULD be different. Filled with girls, long hair, cool clothes and a devil could care less attitude. In fact, the way I saw it, the best (and purest) way to attain this type of lifestyle was to be a musician in a rock band.

I called Trevor back after my 6 hour audio journey of enlightenment.

I listened to the entire tape, over and over again. Motley Crue are my new favorite everything.

See? I told you how awesome these guys are! You know what we should do now?

What?

Start our own band, we can be just like Motley Crue.

Can we call it Motley Chris?

NO! I’m not going to be in a band named Motley Chris!

I’ve already told you, Trevor, NO BANDS! You’d make a better magician than musician.

How’s that, Mom?

Because you can disappear when I’ve grown weary of you…like right now, it’s late and past your bedtime. Go to bed.

I’ve gotta go, we’ll talk about the b-a-n-d. Tomorrow at school.

You need to go to bed now, Trevor. You become mentally incapacitated when you’re tired.

How’s that?

You think I can’t spell when I’m in fact the one that taught you to. No bands, only bed!

Talk to you tomorrow, Chris.

Bye, man.      

Remember, remember the 7th of NoVember.

This November 7th marks a historic day in the history of all things historical. I’m not speaking in regard to it being the day AFTER our nation chooses just who is going to take this broken horse of a country out behind the stable and finally put it out of it’s misery. My excitement towards the 7th day of this month lies in the fact that it will be the 25th anniversary (silver for those of you wanting to buy a gift in observation of this momentous day) of me losing my virginity.

That’s right people, I’ve been exchanging bodily fluids, lies, excuses, regrets, currency and communicable diseases with girlfriends, pseudo friends, internet dates, strippers and total strangers for…a quarter of a century and still going strong. I’d even go so far as to boast that my proficiency rivals that of any modern day assembly line with a 90% approval rating…because I don’t pay attention to those who criticize and just don’t care about the other 10% of the people I’ve been with because I was intoxicated for days or months at a time.

“But, Chris, what humble beginnings did you come from?“ Is a question no one’s bothered to ask because no one gives a shit about the answer. Well friends, I’ll go ahead and tell you about the day that changed my life forever anyway. Besides, what else is there to do right now with your mobile device while you’re on the toilet, Jon Dove? Or working out at the gym, T.J. Likes? Or still hanging out in your closet, Mike Delfs? Or planning an all out armed Christian revolution if Romney losses, James Johnston? Or watching your husband plan said armed revolution Angie Johnston? Or trying to remember where your keys & I.D. are Stacey Lynn? The answer is; Nothing. So, enjoy…

It was 1987 and Def Leppard’s Hysteria album was dominating the airwaves just as Tawny Kitaen laying spread eagle on a Jaguar for Whitesnake’s “Here I Go Again” video was dominating MTV. I had just turned 14, my parents were newly divorcees and I‘d been stuck in the same catholic school for the past 8 years.

Top that off with gorging myself on a steady cultural diet of hair metal music and Cinemax After Dark movies (Emmanuel were a fave) and the sexcapades both those entities espoused and any 5th grader could predict that I was well on my way to becoming a teenage sex statistic with either an unplanned pregnancy or STD.

Two months prior to 11/7/87 a girl by the name of Stephanie Meyer had started at our school. She was a new face and had a long history of changing schools as often has her meth smoking, bartending mom changed boyfriends and addresses. I’m fairly certain that one can already surmise just what type of home life she had and why it would make perfect sense that she became the Yin for my Yang as well as the yin to a dozen other’s yangs also.

Steph (as she hated to be called) and I had been “going together” for quite some time because she liked Mexican guys, or as her white trash vernacular dictated; Beaners. During our tenure we’d made out, wrote letters and gave ourselves the same theme song Tawny Kitaen used for attempting to have intercourse with a motor vehicle on MTV. We also had one minor break-up which was quickly remedied by me wearing a fedora to school the next day and winning her back on my wardrobe alone because even then girls were stupid when it came to douche bag swag.

The 7th fell on a Saturday and Stephanie had called me that morning to tell me her mom was out of town and we should hang out. I quickly concocted a story to my mom about how I wanted to meet some friends at a local recreation center to play basketball and video games that just happened to be down the street from Stephanie’s place. My mom, acting against her better judgment (which would become a recurring thing in all matters Chris related for the next 4 years) agreed to drop me off at the Rec center and told me she’d be back in 4 hours.

This gave me a two hundred and forty minute window of opportunity to eradicate my virginity once and for all. Most if not all teenage boys view the losing of their virginity the same way a cancer patient views remission. This may sound a bit dramatic to the laymen (females the world over) but if you ask any puberty stricken guy if he’s stoked about the prospect of being a virgin for the rest of his life and the consequential  social backlash attached to it, his answer is a deafening “FUCK NO!“ To us virginity is a curse. It’s The Original Sin we’re born with and our job is to exorcise, vanquish or cure it A-S-A fucking P.

I’d spent countless years wondering how I was going overcome the congenital condition I suffered from and now, on this day, it seemed as if a solution was in sight. Some might even call it providence.

Stephanie met me at the Rec center and we immediately did what most kids do without money, a car or the moxie to suggest having sex; we walked around aimlessly. Finally after two hours and many miles later, she suggested we go back to her place. I’d like to say that I remember it beat for beat but it’s been twenty five years with lots of drugs, alcohol and grey hairs filling in that time. I can remember that her room looked just like a room from an after school movie about kids who have sex and something terrible happens.

Posters on the wall, a bunk bed she shared with her older sister who I can only guess was busy doing the same thing at some other boy’s place. Clothes strewn about and a personalized license plate one of her mom’s boyfriends had stolen off a car that said “CUDDLES” on it.

I remember everything was so…easy. There weren’t any awkward moments, everything seemed to transition the way I’d watched thousands of times in movies. I had no idea how to move so I just faked it and figured slower was better. Which seemed to work because this shit went on for almost an hour.

I know, I know, when I tell others about it, they, as am I, are surprised that my maiden voyage out into the seas of sexuality lasted so long without any cataclysmic mishaps. I can't explain it either but the funny thing is, I never came. I'm guessing for all the low-grade education I’d gotten on sex from music and movies, no one bothered to mention the bonus part at the end, or better put, the bonus part that signifies the end. And truth be told up til then I’d never masturbated because again, it wasn’t in any of my reference materials and I think any of my guy friends that were doing it at the time sure as hell weren't going to talk about it with any other guy at the risk of being called a homo. Simply put, I had no idea my little fella could do that.  But I was informed on everything I needed to know from someone I never wanted to hear it from soon enough.

We finished and got dressed, I walked down the street and sat up against a tree outside the Rec center as I waited for my mom to pick me up. The sun was setting and the leaves had already turned and covered the ground yet it was still mild out. I fell asleep while waiting and that’s when I experienced the next best thing about sex, the after sex nap. Angels and dead people couldn’t sleep this peaceful.

The sound of my mom’s car horn put an end to my very first post-coitus slumber and on the ride home she could tell something was different about me and that’s when she figured it was time to get her own hands dirty.

You know, Chris, masturbation isn’t a sin. It’s the act of touching your private parts to give yourself pleasure. God doesn’t frown upon that, contrary to popular belief.

Wha-

He does however frown upon sex before marriage.

I-

When you have sex with a girl and ejaculate inside her, she can get pregnant. That can cause problems, just ask your 16 year old cousin Sarah. Ejaculation is the act of spewing seamen. It’s a white discharge that comes from your penis. It makes babies…

But-

…except in the case of your father. He told me his seamen couldn’t do that. That’s why you and your other brother are adopted and why we were all surprised when I got pregnant with your youngest brother. Your dad blamed me for having an affair. As if.

Mom, I-

Heavy petting is also an infraction upon God. Better to just keep your hands to yourself and on yourself. But don’t let your brothers catch you doing it, I don’t think they’re old enough to get anything out of it and they’ll  probably end up hurting themselves.

This is all-

A talk your Dad was supposed to have with you but guess who gets stuck doing it. Did I ever tell you I was going to become a nun before I met your father?

Several times.

Then you know what I’m saying about God’s likes and dislikes are legitimate, yes?

In the end my own mother filled me in on some of the more embarrassing things pop culture had left out about sex as well as giving me a thumbs up, or open palm salute, to jerk off. Stephanie and I went on dating through out the year with a lot of fights, tears and break ups and I think it’s safe to say she had sex with most of my friends and a lot of strangers as well. Surprise, surprise.

It was a very realistic introduction to just how confusing and vicious sex can be for a kid wrestling with the emotional burdens of adolescence. I sometimes wonder since she was my first impression on relationships that somewhere I came to mistake dysfunction as being normal. Then again, maybe I just like crazy women because they make me feel sane.

I lost touch with Stephanie after my 8th grade year but I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised to find out she had a myriad of children, addictions, diseases, stage names or any combination of the four. Then again, maybe she’s picked herself up by her stripper heel straps, overcome adversity and started writing books about vampires and werewolves being in love. But I seriously doubt she’s THAT Stephanie Meyer. Mainly because I’ve checked already

Re-CRUE-tited

“Ow go the liez, in gooooez mah kniiiiife”

Did you understand that first line, Chris?

No how could I? You sound like you’re trying to scream with rocks in your mouth.


It was the summer of 1984, my friend Trevor and I were both 10. We were sitting at his kitchen table and in between bites of his spaghetti-o’s he was excitedly trying to emulate a song he’d heard the day before at an older neighbor kid’s house.

Ok, see if  you can figure out this next verse, I’ll sing it louder, maybe that’ll help.

“Pulled owwwwt hiz liEEEF, consider that baaaazterd dead!”

Trevor, for the love of all things holy, quit trying to sing, you’re awful at it.

Sorry, Mom. Well?

Nothing.

Fine, I’ll say it then. “Pulled out his life, consider that bastard dead.”

Did you say… “bastard”?

Yeah! That’s the name of the song. Can you believe it? How cool is it that a band has a song named Bastard?

Trevor, are you cursing again?

Not that I know of, mom. What do you think, Chris?

Scary.

Scary?  How?

 I don’t know, just the name, and the words to the song. Using a knife to pull out someone’s life. Sounds violent and dangerous. Both those things usually scare me.

Well not me, man. I’m way hip to it . You should be too.

Who sings this song? I’m certain it’s not on the radio.

It’s this band named Motley Crue. They also sing songs about shouting at the devil.

I’d never heard of this band before, but the mere mention of their name, Motley Crue, conjured up images of some very ruthless, demonic human beings that probably looked like something out of a Stephen King movie. Only a week earlier I had painstakingly listened to Eye of The Tiger a million times over so I could write out the lyrics for Trevor so he could sing it the right way. Now he wants to sing about killing bastards and yelling at the devil?  What kind of evil spell was this musical group casting upon the masses? What the fuck was happening to my best friend?

Trevor, what’s happening to you?

I’m just becoming totally awesome. Why?

Why? Because we’re into stuff like Michael Jackson and break dancing, remember?  We listened to an interview with Boy George on the radio a couple months ago, we wear bandannas and parachute pants.

No, no, no, Chris, I wear parachute pants. Those things that you wear and call parachute pants are some sort of imitation things you found in the girls section at JC Penny’s.

I’m short, normal pants won’t fit me so my mom had to buy me a girls pair. What’s this have to do with anything?

I’m moving on, no more boring stuff like break dancing, parachute pants and bandannas. I’m all about Motley Crue and having looks that kill.

Looks that-

It’s another one of their songs, you should get into them too, we could even start a band just like them!

No bands, Trevor, you can’t sing. Find something else to do.

You’re not being supportive, mom.

I refuse to support tragedies, son.

A week later I was standing in the tape cassette section of Kmart. In the past I’d perused this isle in search of Joan Jett, Rick Springfield and a very played out copy of Alvin and the Chipmunks :Chipmunk Rock. Now, I held in my hand the dastardly, sinister Motley Crue’s Shout at the Devil. Absent on the cover was the androgynous but safe look of Joan Jett. Or the PG rated picture of Rick Springfield and his cool guitar or the drawing of Alvin, Simon & Theodore’s faces etched into Mt. Rushmore.

This tape’s cover had four men and or women on it looking as if they were in hell and so close to the devil that shouting wasn’t required to be heard. All of the members looked like they could kill, maim, destroy and apply make-up better than any woman I’d come across in my decade long existence on this earth.  

As I stood there holding the tape I knew I was in possession of something dark, unpredictable and vicious. It’s contents and ideals would eventually expose me to a seedy world of sex, violence, rebellion and the pursuit of great looking long hair.

What I didn’t know at the time was that which I held in my hand would be a major influence on me well into my adult years. This was my gateway moment but I had no idea it was happening because truth be told, the four people on the cover of this album were scaring the absolute shit out of me. Yet I was strangely magnetized to it. It was such a polar opposite of everything in my life that I couldn’t put it down.

It was calling to me, beckoning me, recruiting me.

I quickly turned it over and scanned the song list;  In the Beginning, Shout at the Devil, Looks that Kill, and there it was, Bastard. Trevor hadn’t been lying. Other song names were Red Hot, Helter Skelter and one aptly titled; Danger.

I checked the price; $7.95. Then I pulled out my Velcro wallet and checked my funds;10 bucks. I grasped the tape, took a deep breath and went to find my mom so we could proceed to the checkout line. While waiting in line with her, she inquired about the little souvenir from hell I was about to purchase.

What music are you buying?

Now even though I hadn’t heard one single note from these guys, I knew they’d be instant contraband in my home.  When I was in kindergarten I loved KISS, my mom bought me their records, a lunch box, bubblegum cards and even made me a wig out of yarn that I could wear around to try to look like Ace Frehley.

Then she heard from one of our loud mouth neighbors that KISS was an acronym for Kings In Satan’s Society. The next day my mother, my primary enabler, collected all my beloved KISS paraphernalia and did a good old fashioned effigy burning to cleanse our house of the evil. To make clear, she preformed a ritual that hearkened back to the days of the dark ages and set fire to anything that had to do with the music of the damned. Not even my yarn wig was spared.

Needless to say, I knew that if she became privy to the contents of  this particular tape I was attempting to purchase that she’d instantaneously set it ablaze as it made it’s way to the cashier via the conveyor belt. I had to be sneaky.

Uh this tape? It’s like a Halloween kinda thing.

It’s July, why are they selling Halloween stuff now?

No idea. Trevor was telling me about it though. It’s supposed to be pretty scary.

Scary? Chris, you have problems sleeping at night as it is.

Well this shouldn’t be THAT bad…

And your little brother hates it when you crawl into bed with him because you’re too scared to sleep alone.

Mom!

Plus, you play with his ears while you’re in his bed uninvited. He hates you for that as well.

I-

And you’re not sleeping with your father and I…

Fine! I promise I won’t let myself get that scared.

Nor playing with OUR ears…

Ok, I get it already!

Good. Are those girls or boys on the cover?

I can't tell.

As in you're not going to tell me?

As in I don't know.

Why does it have the word ‘devil’ on it? IS IT LIKE KISS?! Will I have to burn it later?

No! It says shout at the devil. They’re probably mad at him.

So is it Christian music?

Sure, Christian Halloween music.

Trevor told you it was good?

Yeah.

Didn’t he also tell you he was half black?

He did.

That kid is whiter than the snow. Eccentric, just like his mother. Really smart. I guess really smart means you’re also really weird.

Then I’ll make sure to keep myself just dumb enough to stay normal. Any chance you want to buy this for me?

No. The last time I bought you music you threw a fit and made me return it. Never again.

You bought me Olivia Newton John…for a Valentine’s day gift. It felt very weird.

What? You liked her in Grease.

I thought she was hot in Grease, at the end of the movie when she changed into all black clothes and did her hair up.

Such a disappointment. She was so cute and proper through that whole movie then changed to a bad girl just to impress a boy.

It impressed this boy.

I fear the type of women you’ll grow up and be attracted to.

TJ Trippin' - Numero Dos

Inside Strip Club… 

Wow dude you weren’t full of shit, these girls are beautiful.

Told you. And I’ve already found who I want.

So soon?

It’s the Viagra. At this point in time, my dick is making all the decisions.

Well at least the more alert one of you two is making the decisions. What could possibly go wrong?

 I’ll see you in a half hour.

Now YOU’RE leaving me too?

Drink some beers, they’re only 2 bucks, just relax and enjoy the show.

Do they offer donkey shows here? Because I’d hate to be forced to see something so bizarre on such a large scale, quite literally.

No, no such thing exists.

Really? I thought it was a Mexican past time or sport or at least something depicted on their currency.

I’ve tried to find them. As mythical as the Loch Ness Monster. See you in 30.

20 minutes later…

You’re back 10 minutes early.

I know, the little bell boy bastard came knocking on the door saying the time was up. Totally jewed me out of my Mexican experience.

Why would a brothel-

Hotel.

Sure. Why does a hotel have a bell boy knocking on the doors…at any given time?

It’s a sham to get the girls out of the room quicker so they can get back to the club and get another customer and so on and so fourth. Total blue baller to my nuts and my wallet. And on top of that, I still had to tip him.

For what?

Giving me a towel.

You don’t look like you took a shower.

It’s for the girl, to clean herself afterwards.

Then why are you tipping him for her cleanliness?

Fuck if I know, man. It’s just the way things are. I told you this place was backwards.

I thought the prostitution industry was one of the few honest trades down here.

It is, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exploit the consumer.

So wouldn’t you say it’s all cyclical?

Why would a bike have anything to do with this?

Cyclical. As in it all comes around full circle. The Americans come down to exploit the girls and the bell boys come out and exploit the Americans.

Okay, first off, I’m not exploiting anyone. I’m merely doing my part to contribute to this country’s fledgling economy, help some girl pay her rent and make her feel validated. As far as I’m concerned, the fucking bell boy is infringing on all the good that I’m trying to do humanitarian, fiscally, socially and emotionally wise. You try to help people and all they want to do is fuck you.

While you’re fucking them, until you’re time is up.

See any girl that you like?

I like ‘em all.

Are you going to pick one?

I like my integrity more. And that’s not to diss you in anyway. I totally understand your mindset, I just don’t share it.

Yet. Have a few more drinks, things will start to make sense.

How’s that?

Just wait and see.

Hey guys.

Dale, how was the orgy?

Eh.

Eh?

There were only a few girls, had to kinda wait around in between blow jobs and fucking them...with a bunch of other dudes.

Yeah I would suppose those things don’t  run as smoothly as seen on TV. Dicks flopping everywhere, girl pulling pubic hair out of her mouth mid oral copulation. Sounds more like an infuriating 20 cock pile up on the freeway of sexuality as opposed to some type of mind blowing sexual liberation in the fast lane, or carpool lane in your case.

You guys get laid yet?

I did. This guy on the other hand…

What’s your issue?

I’m just not feelin’ it. It all seems so…impersonal.

Impersonal? What’s more personal then getting naked and having sex with someone?

Sharing my hopes and fears with them post coital bliss. How can I do that when they don’t speak English?

Dude, there’s men’s clubs down here too.

I thought this was a men’s club.

I’m talking to go get men to have sex with.

I’m not gay.

Well ya sure fucking sound like it. BUT, I’ve got something else planned for us, might make you feel a little more…relaxed. Let’s go.

Where?

Yeah, Dale, where?

Hotel.

There’s one next door-

No not one to fuck in, to get for the night.

We’re staying here, like, until tomorrow?

Yeah. I told you I had our whole trip planned.

But-

Hotel…for sleeping, not sex.

Wow, only $40 for a room that I can’t use sink water to brush my teeth with on the account that I could get some kind of blood borne bacteria. Why don’t they just put that in their welcome brochure?

Alright, fellas, let’s get curbside.

For what?

Our ride.

Ride?

I called an actual house brothel, more low key place where we can drink some beers and hang out with some hot girls and get naked for $70.

Wow, the price for house hookers is a bit more.

Housebroken fee perhaps?

Curbside…

So do we need to hail a cab?

Hail, no.  Heh, get it?

Oh we get it, Dale.

How are we getting to said house brothel?

They’re sending a driver.

Whoa, whoa, whoa…are you saying this flop house has shuttle service?

Indeed.

And we’re going to utilize it?

Sure, why not?

Yeah, man, relax, it’s gonna be fine.

Oh is this the part where you use the business model of Dominoes Pizza delivery guys now? But instead of them bringing the pizza to us, they’re taking us to the pizza? Are you two fucking profoundly retarded? You’re just going to trust some stranger, in Tijuana, to take us somewhere? What if we get kidnapped?

Well then I guess we’re about to find out.

How’s that?

Because he just pulled up.

Where?

Across the street in the black SUV.

Oh, awesome, those are the unofficial death cars of Mexico. Every pic you see of a cartel shoot-out has at least one mandatory black SUV…riddled with bullets, blood and bodies.

Let’s go, sissy.

Can I at least bring my beer so as to get drunk enough to warrant this bad decision?

Sure.