Sunday, November 21, 2010

Bite The Bullet

I figured it out!

I should stop trying to figure it out.

I should leap before I look. At all times. Life is too short for looking. Plus, what the fuck am I even looking for? What are any of us looking for? Neon signs with arrows?

I say fuck it. Let's fuck it.

Dilly Dallying is just a silly British sounding term so fuck doing that.

Instead, I'm going to wear my sleeve on my heart.

I'm going to throw caution to the wind underneath my wings.

Instead, I'm going to go.

Greed is Good

1997. I'd been doing housebreaks all year with no remorse. In fact, I remember being somewhat full of pride for crime statistics in my area. Pretty sure I managed 5 in the space of less than 5 hours one day. Anyway, I digress. I had walked across the road into the suburb of Nollamarra and had 2 friends following for lookouts and extra baggage handling that might or might not occur.

I see a house. I knock with my newly thought out plan of sizing up if anyone was home or not. Someone answers, I ask if they've seen my mythical pet dog. No one answers? I knock harder. No one answers still? I walk around into the backyard and start wedging screwdrivers into window frames.

So no one answered but I can hear their neighbors in their own backyard doing gardening or something. I make sure to watch my every step so as not to crunch any wayward leaves or other obstacles that would make them suspicious to my trespassing. I find a back window. I begin cracking the window. Slowly so the neighbors can't hear. I push my screwdriver over the cracks, directing their breakage for minimal noise and maximum spacing.

After getting enough window broken and out of the way so I can get through, I get through to a teenager males bedroom. Laser disc player in bedroom? SCORE!!! VCR in bedroom? i can get 50 bucks for that VCR! SCORE! Rockford Fosgate Subwoofers?? SCORE!!! I walk into the rest of the house, like a kid in a candy shop mixed with a bull in a china shop. I notice another VCR in the lounge room. SCORE!! Fuck grabbing TVs. They're far too heavy and it's summer. I start looking for bags to put the VCRs and laser disc player in. I get them and situate them and both VCRs in the initial room I entered into from outside.

I hadn't bagged shit up yet. I got to thinking. These people got cash. They have just got to. Either that or gold. So I decide to start looking harder in spots people would hide shit in, i.e under mattresses, under bottom drawers, that kind of thing. While doing so, I hear a noise come from outside. I think nothing of it. Then I hear a more pronounced noise. A car door. That was definitely a car door. I immediately head for the teenage males bedroom that I have the bags and electronic equipment in.

Now, the hole in the window wasn't immensely big. I was focusing on quiet n quick, not comfort. Climbing through on the way in wasn't easy because I was trying to be quiet and the small size. Needless to say, sound was the least of my concerns exiting.

I do a superman head first leap through the hole in the glass.

I make it through cleanly except my foot. Stupid shoe catches it. Glass breaks more. I land on hands n feet like a cat and keep on moving. By this time, I am positive that I have been noticed. I head around to the side of the house, away from the driveway, from the back. Shit. A mass pile of broken dead branches n shit. Shit. There's no turning back. In a fit of instinct, I launch myself towards the tight massive pile of sharp, pointy garden refuse.

Somehow, I manage to flick myself over the fence from in between a branch and the house while running at it full steam. Now I'm in the neighbors front yard, full of momentum. Shit. Neighbors have a dog. Turn into Carl Lewis and zip past it and then jump the neighbors front wall into the street, all without missing a beat.

My nikes hit the bitumen. I hear the front security door of the asian place I was trying to rob. No rest for the wicked. Keep running. See lookout and additional hand. They give me a puppy-like sideways confused head look. I yell at them to run. I look behind me to see an asian male in his late 20s, early 30s, trying to catch me as hard as his little legs could possibly go. We easily lose him as he isn't willing to leave his house all open for very long and plus we weren't going to let him catch us, one way or another. After wards, all pissed off, hot from the heat and chase, I find another house to break into. That one was successful.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Look where your tukus took us.

Dropped off face n had to run while puffing a cig to make the train to the city. Made it. King me. Now I wonder if it was worth it. Die regaining breath infront of lifeless people while listening to a song about a persons ending. My head is starting to hurt from my lack of train tickets. 12 mins til the thornlie train leaves. Everyone scurried like rats. I concurred. Make it on that train, lazy eyed and hazy brained. Sit across from an indian version of zelda n other mythical creatures. Just another weekday.

You Flaming Mongrels.

Friday, September 10, 2010

Dark Rooms, Bright Lights.

know the margin.
it exists.
an invisible barrier yes.
but to cross it is never a good idea.
lines are drawn in the sand.
habitual line steppers appear everywhere.
a repellant there is none.
rampant biting occurs.
i sit wondering.
why wont it stop dropping a dime on me.
pick one up for a change.

a fistful of quarters was one of the best documentaries ive seen in a minute.
im on some fuck billy mitchell, go steve wiebe type shit. for sure. king of kong.
2.realise billy mitchell is a douche.
3. ??????
4.join team steve wiebe.

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Warming up to the idea of being cold hearted.

around 3 months ago while riding in a friends car, i saw a guy get run over by a car.

i once saw a car accident between a toyota FJ60 2 door 4wd utility and a shitty hyundai once years ago. it was like slomo and i remember it quite vividly coz i quite close to it. i think i was waiting for a phone box at balga bazaar coz i just got a 500 dollar loan from cuntrelink.

balga. its a strange place. i had a friend once upon a time. lets call him ronald. now the time is about 1996 and ronald is only 13-14 years old. ronald had a sister. she od'd when someone gave her heroin while she was already passed out on it. at the time heroin was everywhere. all my friends from school were using it. i saw quite a few of them od and need ambulances. ronald was with me and another friend in staying away from using needles and just smoking weed and taking any and every thing else. ronald was doing well. he was quite brazen for his age and his love of fast driving and cars aswell as dirtbikes just added up to him stealing all kinds of vehicles and bringing them back to wherever people he knew where at so he could show off. we ran into him walking in mirrabooka one day and he started bragging about how many cars hes had lately and how many police chases hes lost. we tell him to bring one past our house and go back home. within 2 hours, just as the sun was setting, we hear sirens. walk outside for a cigarette. we hear an engine revving very hard but sounding like its in vain. i look right. i see ronald. hes driving a beige 1986 ford laser and theres smashing noises coming from his backseat when he takes corners. haha. funny guy stole a car with plates in the back. he proceeds down the street followed by 2 paddywagons, a marked car and 1 unmarked chase car. we were pretty amazed with what we just saw and started instantly talking about. we quickly piped down when we realised that we could hear the chase if we were quiet. it was all tyre squealing, engine revving and sirens wailing. then it dawned on me. it was getting closer. he brought the chase back past again, the exact same way he came before too. he had also gained more of a buffer over the chasing police cars, of which there were now 3. amazingly, he did this 2 more times, making it 4 times past our house with one chase. we saw him 2 days later. we asked what happened afterwards. he tells us that he got forced into a culdesac in a newly developed area. when he went to hit reverse, a cop smashed the drivers window and tried stopping the car. he said that he just stabbed away with his flathead screwdriver that he used to steal the car with. he thought he was sure that he stabbed through that cops arm, but he ended up losing them and getting away. later on down the track, ronald ended up using heroin too, using needles and whatnot. it was sad to see. i think the only reason he started using was because all the other top thieves were junkies and he had alot of money sometimes from stealing that i guess, it was a way to celebrate when he got it. anyway, moving on. i used to know another lil dude around the way back then.....

i first met nathaniel* when i was 14. i was ditching high school down at the quick stop lunch bar in mirrabooka. he was only 11 then and mad short. aboriginal kid. wearing adidas and nikes. all dirty n shit. i was trying to get people to buy me smokes out the front. he asks me for a smoke. i tell him what im up to. he asks, if he helps ask people, will i give him a cigarette. i agree. while waiting he asks if i want to buy some jewelry. i laughingly decline. he tells me about driving stolen cars while sitting on a double stack of yellow pages. no one had mobile phones back then. so after i got cigs, i bounced, but over the next 3 years, i saw nathaniel around a bit. he used to hang around ronald alot. after my housemate and i found a few stolen cars in row, which i will get to later in another story, peeps like ronald and nathaniel looked up to me and my friend. we used to call nathaniel our lil gangsta. then, one day i broke into a house, and got 2 weed plants, 400 dollars, 4 model cars and some gold chains. i was happy keeping 2 model cars and 2 chains out of the 4 i had, and nathaniel told me his uncle that he lived with could sell them easily for weed/cash. we were like yeah, whatever but didnt tell them others what we had. long story short. his uncle didnt come back with cash. i ask nathaniel about it. he tells me that his uncle always takes whatever he steals and sells it to buy alcohol, tab betting slips, cigarettes and drugs. when he tries to stick up for himself, he gets beat up for it. he reminded us of a few months earlier when he had a black eye. that was because he asked. i wanted to go there and punch dude in the face hard. but nathaniel told me he has swords n likes prison. he wasnt worth that. so instead, whenever we went out stealing, we brought nathaniel along, and always made sure he got his cut. we told him to put some in his sock so his uncle wouldnt get all of it. he ended up accumulating quite the little saving fund til he blew that on cartons of stinger drinks and bags of weed. i once saw nathaniel throw a rock at a kids head, close range and connect... blood, kid crying like a girl and nathaniel loose in verbal rage, forcibly being ushered up the block. it happened at sunset. that same night, i was riding a diamond back bmx through a red light at high speed at peak hour. cops pulled me up for reckless riding. i didnt even know that charge existed. they let me off coz they had another call over the radio. something about a bunch of youths gang bashing a guy at the local video store. it was a thursday night. i later see the gang doing the bashing at my house later and they shout me weed. good times.

i was a career criminal. i know this because i used to seek methods to stay awake at night to steal. i once took acid. it wasnt a very smart move. i started out at around 1am, when i bolt cut a bike lock at the mirrabooka bus station. now portable, i thought to go spend the night/morning breaking into cars and seeing what i could find. first car, bike waiting on stand in next street. i use my screwdriver to pop the rear quarter panel window. no prob. i look at the house.
i coulda swore i saw the curtain move. but instead, i convince myself that its just the acid and that the curtain didnt move at all. then all of a sudden, the front door bursts open and some big burly guy is rushing at me yelling obscenities and im running like the wind towards my bike. i get to it but i cant jump on. hes too close. plus im off my face. hes right on my tail as im running with the bike. i let the bike go without remorse. it ghosted n stacked, right infront of the guy chasing me. couldnt of timed it better. i just kept on legging it down the block and across the road until i could hide or find something else to get my hands into. later that night, after several failed attempts of criminal activities, i find a stolen 1985 ford laser or as we used to call them, a bubbleshape. it was go fast red. there was 3 cans of spray paint in the car so i drove it down to the bus station and sprayed the whole joint. it was just daylight. like 5-6am. i then took it to a massive grass oval and did burnouts n shit for a good 20 mins then drove it out to the industrial area in malaga and did burnouts for 10 mins or so. i was thinking, i could maybe wake up my housemate n partner in crime up for a morning joyride. he wakes up, we jump in. less than 1 min into the ride, we see a police car drive past us. they double it back. we hit a side road with a park on it. i jump out while the car is still moving. i forget my shoes in a backpack with a bunch of screwdrivers in the car. my friend who was driving, had his door jam, causing his departure from the car to be not as speedy as mine. in the long run, he got caught. i had run down 1 street on the other side of the park and was hiding under a mister whippy van. i see the cops drive around looking for me with my friend in the back of paddywagon. it was around 8:30am by that time. i remember running past a family of 20 walking down the street.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

How I Learnt My 30 & 50 Timestables

the year is early 1998. i had just moved to morley from balga and was having a hard time adjusting to finding new spots to

cop stuff at and my boy from balga introduces me to a house across from bayswater waves swimming pool. open house. big

sticks. big 2 points for fifty bucks, even though that didnt interest me.

anyway, my boy introduces me to, lets just call him 'shawn' for identification purposes. now, shawn was half maori and half

aboriginal and was adopted into an aboriginal family coz he was pretty much an orphan. top guy, but a potential loose cannon.

i acquaint myself with shawn and end up there at the business/house pretty much everyday, copping sticks and smoking them

there. shawn, was quite generous in return, shouting me quite a few sessions n alcohol n what not.

anyway, shawn was the king of the business's little brother. the kings name was, lets just call him steve. steve was an ex

state champ boxer, golden gloves n all that shit. went to school with johnny kizon in balga n shit. during his boxing days,

he was loved by the whole criminal underground due to him being from balga and having a couple of other brothers who were

also reknown for crime, namely the KGB crew of the mid to late eighties.

so steve buys shawn a car one day, and to celebrate, shawn invites me and my boy from balga over for a night of drinking n

smoking. shawn is unable to leave the house coz hes selling and the customers are too sheisty and frequent to bounce from the

crib for a minute. shawn was like a footsoldier. his 'manager' at the house was a burly tat covered bikie looking dude by the

name of jimmy.

jimmy was a mad junkie, but a staunch guy. jimmy had been sleeping all day in what we used to call a 'deep sleep coma' due to

being awake on meth for like a week. so, me, my boy from balga, and shawn were pretty much the only ones awake at the spot.

shawn asks us to go up to the bottleshop to grab a carton of lemon ruskies for tonight in his new car. we gladly go and

return uneventfully. so, we slowly start drinking... careful not to get too into it as customers are constantly coming n


after 10:30pm, business starts to taper off a little bit and shawn starts drinking with us properly. i remember being the one

packing the bongs at the table. so after just under an hour and a half of doing this, we hear a mad loud knock at the door. i

look at the clock. smack bang 12 midnight. shawn checks the door asking who the fuck is it. police answer, yelling to open up

immediately. we rush into a frenzied panic.

i empty the bowl of weed we were smoking out of the window and shawn runs around, making sure theres no evidence of drug

dealing laying around, which is pretty impossible. then, he asks us, "we clean?" and we thought we were. he goes to open the


i look at the table.

the bong is right infront of me.

i quickly throw it out of the window hoping for it to land in the sand in the backyard. it doesnt. instead, it smashes on

concrete slabs. cops come in. straight out, they start roughing up shawn. theres atleast 30 cops involved in this raid. they

find something to charge shawn with, i forget what and hes in handcuffs on the couch in the loungeroom surrounded by a

handful of cops questioning him about steve and anything n everything.

they discover jimmys room. the door is locked as you cant trust any junkie customers at all and plus, jimmy is asleep inside.

they keep swearing at us to open the door. we tell them, its locked from the inside and jimmy is in there asleep. they bust

the door open. jimmy is still in there asleep, totally oblivious to the raid. they start shaking him. no response. finally,

8+ cops stand over jimmy with the maglites all focused on jimmys face. he wakes up. he's sleeping on a shotgun. they ransack

his room and put all the illegal items on the dining table. by this time, shawn is being escorted away from the premises to

the police station via a paddywagon and jimmy is being questioned by some detectives in his room.

now, jimmy was on a 3 year suspended sentence for previous charges meaning technically, he should be going to jail for 3

years right now, no questions. i didnt know this though. neither did my boy from balga. they take all his illegal items

including thousands of dollars in rolled up bundles. then all the cops bounce. jimmy is left behind. he tries calling steve,

but its like 2am by now and steve is a man with a family and is asleep. so instead, jimmy gets one of his shady co-horts to

come round and drink with him.

when dude rocks up, jimmy offers me and my boy a drink too. my boy declines, but i accept. so, we're drinking drambuie at

like 2:30am, smoking 16mg cigs and making a game of it. each round is a lap of the racetrack. me n jimmy are in the lead.

everyone else pulls into the pits. we finish the bottle.

jimmy show us a jar of pure psuedoephedrine that the police didnt take coz it looks just like water. i eventually pass out at

like 430am in the loungeroom and the next morning, jimmy fucks off mad early, before steve rocks up. when steve arrives, he

already knows what happened last night. he asks where jimmy is. we have no idea. shawn goes through court that day and a

condition of his bail is that he is not allowed to reside or even be at the business house. instead, he stays with his sister

up in beechboro on turon street.

during that day, steve is at the house, trying to organise a re up on business. he's short 1 footsoldier and 1 manager

straight off the bat, so thats his first priority. he calls his uncle peter, who's in his mid 40s, overweight, and sells

sticks out in mandurah. thats steves new manager. then, he turns to me, the guy who's been giving him all the details of the

nights events and asks if i want a job. im all like 'hell yeah', figuring its wayyy better than stealing. so steve continues

to try n get the business hooked up with product and while doing this, he gets a very interesting phone call.

police... calling him asking him if hes got gear for them.

he abuses them and hangs up. he calls shawn immediately asking who the fuck gave cops his number. shawn is no dog and pretty

much steves brother but he has no idea how they got his number. then it clicks.


we figured that when the cops were questioning jimmy, they squeezed him for steves number so he didnt get locked up for 3

years. jimmy dogged it.

we listen to the police scanner and hear a call about jimmy that day. he's in bayswater with his woman threatening to kill

people. police are now looking for him, aswell as us. cops find him first.

eventually, steve gets a hold of speed n weed n i start my job as a drug dealer.

now, after that first initial raid, which we find out to be mirrabooka police, they get a mad hard on for us. they had a 30

day warrant and they proceed to raid every second day. on the day they didnt raid, they would just 'visit'. i still remember

the cops name. senior sargeant highfield. a right asshole.

uncle peter was mad smart on the cop game. he had a million n one tricks for evading drug squads. ant powder in the carpet to

fuck up sniffer dogs noses. shit like that. so, while the cops are raiding like crazy, theyre finding absolutely fuck all. i

make sure to learn all of peters tricks and even make a few of my own. we eventually try n get the cops charged for

harrassment, blaming all the drug dealing on jimmys snitching ass. it works. the warrant expires and snr sargeant highfield

is demoted to first class constable. we dont fuck around though, and get the idea to move the business to a new house.

this seems like an awesome idea coz they'd been selling out of that house for atleast a good 5 years. we decide to move to

where shawn is staying at in beechboro. it was his and steves sisters house, all government housing. we trade houses with

her. she moves into broun ave, we move into turon street. shes reimbursed for her trouble. we have one of us stay at broun

ave, giving the customers the new address. on my 2nd day of doing this, i notice police trying to pick up customers and

squeeze them for affidavits saying that we're selling. cops get nothing, and i tell every customer to tell the cops we've

shut down shop. while sitting on the front porch that night, i see the undercover cops drive past. i flip the bird at them.

they quickly do a u turn and pull into my driveway. i immediately tell them "you aint getting nothing from them are you?"

they respond with a diatribe about how theyre trying to save my ass coz im operating on a bikie gang called the gypsy jokers

territory. i laugh in their face and tell them to, and i quote "fuck off".

now, at turon street, we ran a tight ship. it was me, shawn and a new manager, chris. chris was just a lil older than me and

shawn so we were like 3 gangster ass bachelors who basically had the busiest drug spot on the west coast...easily. all of us

under 25. well me and shawn were like 18. me n shawn would take turns running shifts, and chris would run some shifts

inbetween dropping off cash and picking up more merchandise from steve.

turon street was instantly bustling with loads more traffic. neighbours noticed. i remember always frequenting a local corner

store for junk food n i got a sausage roll that gave me food poisoning for 2 weeks. after a very busy 3months, we eventually

get raided by first class constable highfield from the mirrabooka police station....again. he was mad pissed we got him

demoted. i was still sick with food poisoning when this happened. i had just finished my shift, and had just gotten paid from

dealing. i was waiting for chris to come back from a drop off n to take me to bayswater train station so i could go spend my

pay in the city, buying shoes, clothes, cds, new bongs n shit like that. chris gets pulled over up the street, so he couldnt

even warn us.

at this time, we had 2 brothers working for us, to give me and shawn more time to spend the cash we were making. lets call

these 2 brothers addy mac, and mac addy. they were from the country and always needed their hands held on deals coz their

math skills were bad.

addy mac was supposed to running this shift. he has 2 packets of speed left when highfield busts in. he chucks the 2 packs in

the ripped up couch and thinks they wont find it. i know they will. police immediately rush me and start talking shit to me.

shawn wasnt at home at this time and so he was safe from any charges. the only one cops recognise is me. when highfield

busted in, i saw something in his eyes that i have only seen in the eyes of a thief when he breaks into a store. that gleam

of desperation and eyeing anything and everything rapidly. i like to call it 'junkies eye gleam'.

i figured he was just desperate to catch us in the act. i get taken into my room and strip searched, and while ransacking the

house, they find a bunch of stolen goods in my room. not really giving a fuck, i gladly accept accusations of receiving

stolen goods. highfield is in the loungeroom, ransacking the couches and finds my 600 bucks on the floor in a sunglasses

case. he immediately rushes to my room where im just doing up my belt and confronts me about it asking 'wtf is this?". with

an apathetic sheepish grin, i reply, thats my dole(welfare) money. he retorts with a punch to the face. i fall back and look

at him puzzled, like WTF? i stare at the cop who just strip searched me in disbelief and tell him, 'you saw that shit, thats

police brutality'. he just laughs and highfield joins him in the laughter. i proceed to call them both fuckin' pig dog cunts.

highfield returns to the loungeroom and proceeds to search. he finds 1 electric cattle prod, 4 machetes, 2 samurai swords n

some knives. knowing that im already copping a charge for the stolen goods, i take it upon myself to own these weapon charges

too, as i figured addy mac n mac addy wouldnt be able to hang in a cop shop without giving up someone.

police continue searching and find the 2 packets addy mac chucked in the couch. i really didnt want to cop an amphetamine

charge, especially when i didnt even use the shit and i wasnt even working it at that exact moment.

i look at addy mac n mac addy n give them a dirty look. i tell the cops, it wasnt mine, i dont know who the fuck it belonged

to and told them it was probably jimmys from months back coz it was the same couch from broun ave. they dont buy that but i

stick to it. they say they're going to charge someone for it and tell us to sort out who that will be. i give addy mac n mac

addy another dirty look. i tell the cops, it aint mine, but if you have to charge someone with it, then it might aswell be


so, the cops, happy that they have gotten enough loot for the day, decide to haul me away to mirrabooka police station, which

is ages away from beechboro. as theyre doing so, steve rocks up, alerted by chris that the police are there. cops aint got

shit on steve....ever. but they know hes the boss. they talk shit to him as they put me in the back of an undercover car. i

tell chris n steve that im going to mirrabooka police station n that i might need bail. they nod.

as the cops are taking me there, one cop tells me that he hates steve with a passion. he says that when he trains at his

local police and youths club (pcyc) in balga that they have pictures all over the walls of steve there in his boxing days. he

says it pisses him off and he wants them to get taken down. he also adds that he would pummel steve in the boxing ring to

which i respond with a "pfffffft...2 of his younger brothers would beat the shit out of you, let alone steve himself". his

colleagues agree, to which he responds with, "yeah, but i would just use this" and points to the semi automatic pistol on his

hip. i call him a bitch from the backseat and get taken to the police station.

while there, highfield tells me he doesnt want to charge me for the amphetamines. he says he wants to help me out. yeah,

right....but i really dont want that amphetamine charge. he says, he will either charge me for the amphetamines or the

receiving stolen goods. i take the stolen goods charge, which was a bad mistake now that i look back at it, but i know what

motivated me that way.

it was the junkie eye gleam. i knew what highfield wanted. he wanted that speed. he didnt want to write up the speed in the

evidence log at all. he wanted it for himself. i let him have it so i wouldnt get shit cop behaviour and so i could get the

fuck outta there without getting beat up more. he tells me i would have to say no speed was taken. i decline a video

interview anyway, get processed, and get released the fuck outta the police station and walk down to mirrabooka bus station.

i see some peeps i know there from my thieving days. i give them daps and tell them the score. i call a cab, and bounce the

fuck back to beechboro.

once back in beechboro, i see that business is back on already. i give everyone the lowdown on what happened and we go into

damage control. less than a week after the raid, we get mysterious government cars up n down the street. we identified them

as the local housing authority. they issue us with a notice to get out of the premises and if we dont, steve n shawns sister

will forever lose this house and police will evict us anyway and potentially charge us in the process.

this doesnt sit well with us. not knowing what else to do, we decide to move back to broun ave, the old spot. barely there

for a week, and we get word from a prostitute customer that cops are squeezing customers already. she says she got squeezed

and gave us up. chris pimp slapped her n told her never to return. shawn knew what was coming and bailed on business for an

outback bush vacation. loyal to the business, i stayed with addy mac.

addy mac was a speed junkie himself. it was a wintery morning, around 11am. i was watching the windows for customers and

cops. shawn calls me and sings "the heat is on" by glen frey through the telephone. i call him an asshole and hang up.

meanwhile, addy mac is in the back laundry with his cousin linton. theyre shooting up speed with syringes.

then, i spot something.

for what seemed to be minutes in my head i was thinking "jehovahs witnesses". suits with no coats, and ties flying in the

breeze. walking in a pack of 4. i snap the fuck out of it and identify them as detectives and immediately rush towards the

back laundry where addy mac n linton have just disposed of a syringe down a floor drain. yelling "cops, cops, get the fuck

outta the way"... addy mac immediately turns and runs out the back door.

at the time i had a full grown, fully trained rednose pitbull by the name of tyson. best dog i have ever had. i tell it to

attack shit, and it did. the neighbours behind us had a nasty habit of jumping the back fence to score drugs. we didnt like

that, so one day i skitched tyson on them. they were running for the back fence like mice trying to escape a cat. anyway,

tyson saw addy mac run for the back fence and instinctively, chased after him. addy mac was too quick for tyson, as he caught

him by surprise, but i was kinda ripe for the picking. just as im about to jump the fence, i feel a tugging on my adidas

shorts. fuckin' tyson. i yell at him n kick him off and jump the fence.

i land awkwardly, and a matchbox filled with 2 eightballs made into packets falls out along with my ericsson ga 318 phone. i

keep running through my back neighbours backyard. i hit their front gate with a vicious nature and clear it with the

quickness. now, all that is infront of me is a small park and a busy walter road west. i get to see addy mac again. hes

already half way across the park. being a fulltime weed n cig smoker, i try to keep legging it, but i can feel a stitch

forming beneath my ribs already. i try to push past it. now, im half way across the park and addy mac has already crossed

walter road west and is in side streets.

i look back to see a cop, dressed in a suit minus coat, jumping the same gate i jumped. i attempt to run harder, but my lungs

are protesting and the stitch is getting insanely bigger. i dont stop though. at this point in time, i had a epiphany.

this shit is like a motherfucking movie. me, urban young youth drug dealer. him, cop chasing me with his tie flying over his

shoulder as he ran. shits a motherfucking movie.

i get to walter road and im trying to cross while not getting run over by a bus and running along side the road. the cop

catches up and by this time, my lungs are fucked. i try to cat n mouse my way around him but he just straight up tackles me

down and drops his knee into my back.

im done.

cop cars flock all over the park. mad cars are slowing down to watch me be arrested by like 15 cops. they drag me back to the

house and interrorgate. again with the strip search. i call them fags for it. afterwards, they sit me down on a bunkbed we

had in one of the rooms. it had metal tubing with plastic stops over the ends to make it look nice. we used to put rolls of

cash in the tubing and replace the plastic cap. that day, i know i stashed 8 grand in 1 side and the other had atleast 10

grand. cops kept asking me where all the money was at. they only got me with like 450 bucks in my pocket n 30 sticks. i put

my hands up in the air, each one right next to the metal tubing containing the cash and tell them "i aint got shit for yall".

theyre oblivious and im smiling in their faces.

i find out that the raid is a joint venture between morley police and 79th division of the city. 79th division is like a

major crime squad.... usually strictly for serious cases.

morley police provided intel on us, which included not using the front door as we had ours mad reinforced at a cost of like 2

grand. while still at the house, morley police told me that they didnt care where the fuck we went, just aslong as we were

out of their area. another cop gloats to me about the guy that caught n tackled me. 'youre one unlucky bloke, that officer

plays for east perth football club'. i comment to the cop that tells me this that he is wayyy too much of a fat fuck to ever

catch me and that he should lay off the donuts. i catch a punch to the gut. such a low blow seeing as i had both hands

handcuffed behind my back. 79th division then take over the arrest and take me to an undercover car. 2 cops. 1 detective, one

constable. detective in plain clothes and the constable in uniform.

on the way to the city, i eavesdrop on these 2 cops having a conversation. it went something like this.

uniform: you know, theres talk around the station that you took an extra 2 last week.
plain clothes: yeah, but we all took 2.
uniform: yeah, but theyre saying that you took an EXTRA 2.

the plain clothes detective went to retort before they both remembered im sitting in the back seat. they ask me if i heard

anything to which i respond with a 'heard what?'.

playing dumb can be an asset.

they take me to curtin house in the city and we go up to the 4th floor. i get put in a plexiglass holding cell in the middle

of their desk filled offices. they go to talk amongst themselves. i notice that their demeanour has become quite friendly.

i think to myself. how the fuck am i going to get back to morley?

they return and ask me if all the money seized was mine. i get to thinking, i need cab fare. either way, ive lost that money.

i should shoot for getting back to morley. i say 50 bucks was my dole (welfare) money. they look at eachother. they tell me

they'll see what they can do about that and ask if i want a smoke or a coke. i accept both. they go to get them.

now, all government buildings in australia are strictly smoke free. its a law n shit. i didnt have any cigarettes on my

person when i was arrested, yet they came back with a winfield red and a can of coke. i smoke n guzzle. while i do so, they

inform me that the only way i would be able to get that 50 bucks back is to say that no money was seized in a video

interview. remembering what highfield did before, i agreed. i do a video interview and in it, they make a point of asking me

if any money was seized in the interview. i smirk, look at both of them and say no. afterwards, these pigs are being mad nice

to me, like a long lost nephew or some shit. i just wanna get the fuck back to the spot. they process me, and im released.

on the elevator back down, the plain clothed detective escorted me. in the elevator, he opens his wallet. theres my 450

bucks. he pulls out 50 bucks and gives it to me along with his card. he tells me that if i ever get in trouble with ANY cops,

to give them his card and he would sort it out for me. as soon as i got out of that elevator, i ripped that card up. i still

remember his name though. detective michael bone. what a pig he was.

i catch a cab back to the spot and go straight to the backyard and retrieve my phone and the matchbox. i call addy macs phone

to see what happened to him. he hit the side streets, jumped some peoples fences and stole random clothes off of their

clothes line in the process, to change his identity. smart move. he makes it all the way back to turon street undetected. he

tells me when he was half way across the park, he could feel himself slowing down. then, he says, the amphetamines kicked in

and his arms started pumping harder as he ran faster. i remember thinking... "you lucky bastard".

ok, thats enough. i have plenty more stories that happened during this same time frame plus before and after but its like

4:30am and i need more caffeine and nicotine simulation.

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

I can tell this story coz I got caught and it was ages ago.

So, I'm 17, its a hot summer in december and i was liking the idea of becoming a career criminal. i thought the house behind my house was inhabited by peeps who might have money and me being the thieving lil asshole i was back then, i had that house marked like the backseats of buses.

so i organise for 2 of my friends to come over in the morning when my moms has left for work.

they come. we shoot some bball while talking over how we're going to do this. coz it was my house and my mark, it was all pretty much left up to me and im just silently winging it, but verbally cementing my initial ideas.

i get the idea to chuck the basketball over the back fence. i then walk around the whole block so i can knock on their front door.

i knock.

no answer. no one home. so far, so good.

i wipe sweat off my forehead and procede around the side of their house, open their gate and walk into their sand filled backyard.

i grab the ball. i throw it back over the fence into my own yard.

i then make like im walking back through the side gate but just as i get to the back of their house, i go straight for their sliding door.

i fumble around in my pocket, pick out my flathead screwdriver, and push it into the window seal.



tap, tap, tap.


i remove glass, using my sleeves to hold the glass as i had clearly forgotten the ghetto method of socks on hands.

by this time, my 2 friends had already jumped the back fence and were eagerly awaiting behind me.

because the pane of glass i broke n removed was so low to the ground, i had to put myself into a position that makes me look like im doing push ups.

i get in. its a tiled 3 bedroom house and the date is 28th of december, 1997. 3 days after christmas.

i look in the lounge room. nintendo 64, 3 controllers, 6 games, 2 rumble packs and 2 memory packs.

it had just been released that christmas. we're all grinning ear to ear and holding back high fives.

i look around.

pioneer home theatre amp. classy.

jamo surround speakers. pricey.

sony 3 disc mini hifi. the shit back then.

backyard. 1100 kawasaki ninja.

ontop of fridge. keys and helmet for said bike.

none of us boys were game enough to take that bike. we were sure if we did, we would of killed ourselves on it.

we keep looking.

new olympus camera.

big day out tickets.


i start looking for things to contain all these items in as i cant just run down the street with these in my hands, broad daylight.

i find an eski, a suitcase and big school bag.

we take everything bar the jamo surround speakers as they were them big woodgrain fuckers and were about as tall as we were.

we open the back sliding door now. my 2 friends run out first. one jumps the fence. the other passes him stuff. then he jumps. all thats left is me and my eski full of goods.

i make moves. pass over the eski cooler to my friend and jump the fence too.

now, as i jumped the fence, i notice that my immediate neighbour, lets just call her sally... she sees me, but doesnt say anything. mainly because she uses drugs and her neighbour is an open house weed/speed dealer. so basically, im in the clear.

i get around the side of my house and immediately let my friends in and we put everything on my bed in my bedroom.

i go to get us all a cold drink as its a really fuckin' hot day and just as we're having our first gulps of some sweet ass juice, we hear someone running around my house.

it was my other immediate neighbour. he says that his immediate neighbour, lets just call him dan(he was in his mid 40s w/family and beard), told him that someone just broke into the house behind mine and they jumped into my backyard so he was running around looking for them.

i tell him that i heard someone run along the side of my house near the laundry and he assures me it was just him. i was trying to make an alibi.. ha! oh well... he informs me that police have been called.

after hearing the running n the news about the cops coming, my friends were shitting themselves. i showed them a spare bedroom to hide in.

i quickly strip down to my boxers, watch TV and drink my juice.

new jersey drive is on. ive seen it a million times but i keep watching for alibis sake.

then, as im grabbing another glass of juice, i see a cop looking over my backfence and talking to "dan".

i walk outside, still in boxers.

"wheres ya fuckin' 2 mates?" says dan.

"what the...?" i said.

"you and your friends broke into that place and jumped the back fence" retorts dan.

"you need to get some fuckin' glasses... dont ever accuse me of shit again".

he gets irate, but the cop settles him down, jumps my back fence and starts addressing me

he asks if he can come into my lounge room. i say sure.

he comes in. from this point on, my friends in the spare room can hear every word in the conversation.

he inspects my moms stereo in the lounge room. i assure him its legit, and that i am in no way, shape or form a thief and that ive been chilling all morning, drinking juice, eating scrambled eggs and watching new jersery drive. i started outlining the movies plot. he wasnt interested.

he then asks where my room is. i tell him its down the hallway.

he asks to see it.

now at this time, i know the stolen goods are all up in my room....

...and my friends were hiding under beds n rugs in the spare bedroom, but when they heard that shit, they told me that they were like fuck it, we're done, game over n the rest n just came out n sat on the bed in the spare bedroom waiting for the cop to come in.

but yeah... cop asks to see my room.

"can i see your warrant?" is my reply.

he smirks and grimaces at me and says "now youve just made yourself the number one suspect"

"its my rights."

he proceeds to yell threats n shit up in my face to which i do not budge telling him that if he doesnt have a warrant, then he doesnt have shit.

he tries to scare me by saying he can get warrants as easy as *clicks fingers*.

we go out to the front so he can get his partner to pull the paddywagon up the front of mine, all the while telling me i dont know what kinda shit i have just gotten myself into.

"pffffft". <--my response.

he goes to radio some shit in and his partner comes to play good cop to his bad cop.

i shoot for sympathy. "my house got broken into last month... shit is always going on over here coz of all the junkies...i heard them jump my back fence this morning and run past my laundry."

he tells me he knows about the dealers in my cul de sac. he leaves me alone and goes to talk to other neighbours. the other cop who think he has me sussed keeps a hateful eye on me and talks shit.

meanwhile, the sympathy cop has gone and talked with sally. sally tells him she saw 3 aboriginal guys jump the fence with the stuff, run past my laundry, and jump into a blue daihatsu charade n drive off.

sympathetic cop comes back and asks for a word with 24hour warrant cop. 24hour warrant cop just shakes his head.

then, they both walk up to me, and i still have no idea what sally has told them, if anything... im still thinking im done for....they walk up... and....APOLOGISE PROFUSELY.

and i was just like, damn straight!!

they bounce. i walk back inside and make various happy whooping noises.

i open the spare bedroom door. my friends hearts in their stomachs. they see me and are all like "WTF just happened?"...

i explain what happened. they are just mad full of praise for me not giving in and giving them up.

we take all the stuff out of my room and stash it in the roof.

i go outside... make sure theres absolutely no cops or neighbours around.

coast is clear.

me and my boys bounce.

then, on new years eve, we sell everything for 550 bucks.

not much looking back on things, but back then it was.... especially for some weed heads on new years.

but yeah... 3 years later, i was a possible suspect in a murder case and had all kindsa cops looking for me at my moms. she told em i wasnt there. she told me she wanted me to clear myself. i had no problem with that.

i go in, give DNA, get cleared. then the murder detectives tell me mirrabooka police want to talk to me about an unrelated matter.

im like, whatever.

they pull me up for that break. INFRONT OF MY MOMS. haha, she had no idea so i just vehemetly denied it infront of her to the point where im swearing at the cops for charging me. they tell me they have my fingerprints by the point of entry. i tell them my ball went over the fence, it was probably when i got that. they tell me they got the print off of the tiles where i slid under the glass.

i still deny.

i get to court and plead guilty. it was juvenile offences and being a new adult, i couldnt get any time for what i did. just shitloads of fines and community work.

in court, they said it was 10 thousand dollars worth of goods.

and all it took was 10mins.

god, i used to be sooooo devious. i swear... i would of kicked my head in had i caught myself breaking into my house. but thats another story. ;-)

Its a cold world and shit aint cool.

i was on the news once. i gave an interview about juveniles on the street w/weapons. i had a screwdriver that i used to use to break into stuff.

i didnt want to do the interview but my heroin influenced friend talked me into it.

so, while im explaining with gestures and such what i would do with this screwdriver if someone ever tried to rob me, i look over the newsladys shoulder and see my 2 heroin taking buddies entering into said newsladys car.

they rummage around, and then jump back into their stolen car and speed off with a skid.

i giggle, mid interview. she doesnt know why.

15 minutes later, while me and some friends are walking back to mine, we get pulled up by police and the newslady. she explains that she just wants her bag back and that we could keep the 4 phones and 200 bucks she had in there. keep in mind that its 1996/1997. she even offers 250 bucks reward money and gives us a number to call.

i get home, grab 40 cents, walk to the phone box and start looking for my thief of a friend via a phone call to his home. no answer.

i walk back home and on the way, he drives past in the same stolen car. i yell out to him to stop. he does. i ask about the bag and demand he give it to me so i can get the reward money.

he shatters my poor, broke as a knock knock joke world by saying that he threw it out while going 100 on the freeway.

damn. 1 week later i watch us all give interviews on channel 7 news. sorry susannah carr. you should of offered us money.

i should write more of my criminal anecdotes here. im pretty sure this shit is out of reach of the long arm of the law due to statute of limitations or something.

once... when i was selling... ummm... lets just call it speed.... my old aboriginal neighbour was a customer. he was a father of 3 kids. him n his wife lived in a government housing joint that was identical to my place next door.

anyway, i sold to him on saturday morning. 2 packets of vroooom. early that afternoon, some friends came around coz i was always generous with the green smoking stuff and the brown liquor, and we sat around all afternoon making deals and getting slowly shitfaced.

then come 6pm, we get a mad frantic barrage of knocks at the front door. it was the neighbours wife. she was clutching her arm and acting like she was set on fire. then, everything kind of slowed down and i could make out what she was yelling....

"my husband just shot me.... the kids are still in the house.... call the police."

now, we were a business. this was bad for business. she knew this. but we had to. so, the police were called.

i was living on a main arterial road at the time. police immediately shut the road off and rerouted traffic around. that was 1 less thing to worry about. didnt want customers showing up to be greeted by tactical response groups.

then some detectives informed us that they were evacuating the area and we needed to be gone. they also needed our permission to use our house for monitoring. we had to agree. signed shit, and snipers briskly walk into our abode.

another constable at the door motions us out in a 'get in the chopper' kind of way. he didnt look up at our faces. this same constable used to raid us at another address we had earlier in the year. he was a real cunt. raiding everyday on a 30 day warrant type shit. we got him demoted from detective to constable because we were too smart to be caught. harrassment charges were threatened.

anyways, so while this cunt of a cop isnt looking, im running out of the front door, holding my nutsack coz thats where ive got an ounce n a bit of speed.

neighbour continues to hold his kids "hostage" in a siege like scenario. news vans are everywhere. its the #1 story on the news that night. i call my moms and stay with her and my sister who was visiting from the usa at the time. the next morning, i get a call saying that he gave himself up at 5am that morning (i guess he was coming down or something) i get ready and head back to my spot.

i get there, and sure enough, as soon as crime scene investigators are done with whatever they were doing, the police reopen the road and customers begin flowing back into my driveway.

later that week, i talked with the niece of my old neighbour. she said that apparently, the bass of my subwoofer playing the nas - it was written album drove him crazy.... well, that and the drugs. guilt was instantly induced.

but yeah... that was another anecdote. i have forklifts more.

Its a cold word and shit aint cool. Dont snowflake out.

The 1st snowball down the hill....

BIKE THEFT.....from 3 or so years ago.

stealing a bike can very much be the bag of unidentified tricks.

for starters, you dont know if it has pumped up tyres. stealing a bike with flat tyres isnt recommended.

theres also the chain/gears. are they working ok? coz if they aint, the bike is not rideable, making you look like a broken bike stealing douche.

environment around the bike.

suss out everyone, even if its a parked car across the street and you cant see if anyones in it, assume that people are in it and dont steal the bike, or if you think its empty, dont hesitate and just steal the bike

hesitation is a major thing with crime. if you hesitate, you will either....

1. make yourself look suss, and therefore more likely of being caught.

2.chicken out.

3.fuck around when you didnt have to.


well, to continue my story, i went to steal the bike after staying awake past 24hours. i also had just picked up 4 bags of weed. i was also bugging out on ipod music and it was around 10am.

beaufort street, shops near grand promenade. peeps know which ones.

seen a giant mountain bike just sitting there.

walked down the street, took my shoes off, re did the laces (for possible running) and walked back towards beaufort street.

walked up to the bike, grabbed it. hmmm, nice seat.

went to ride off when i realised......

the chain is off the gear sprocket.

so i jump back off it and start running.

then i see where the chain is off. i quickly stop, fuck with the chain, put it back on the gear, and proceed to ride off down the road.

now, doing all of that with the ipod going wasnt the smartest idea coz i swear to god, i felt like cars were chasing me or something just because the obvious levels of fatigue and the ipod being so loud....(QWEL - THE NEW WINE)

but yeah, i stole that giant mountain bike. it sits in my courtyard now with the other womens mongoose mountain bike that my GF stole weeks earlier.

then, later that night, i went up to the gas station on beaufort street. i only wanted 2 drinks and 2 icecreams. got to the checkout and i also stole 2 cherry ripe chocolate bars.

somebody stop me. im outta control.

criminal mastermind in the making.

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Half assed = Being cheeky

can someone kill all the shit i dont like?

pretty please with a popped cherry bomb ontop?

cats and blankets are not giving me summer type thoughts.

buttfuck summer anyway.

its nearly my season.

where people bitch about being cold and what not and im on the train again picking up green medication that doesnt keep my penis eternally hard.

i probably ignored you in the process.


i wish it snowed. the whiteness in the morning is such a nice, uplifting change from the derogatory kitsch like life i lead on a second by second basis.

i live hand to mouth. you live ass to mouth.
in and out like dealers with a stash house.

shivers, goose bumps n spine tingles. sounds sexy.

winter is a sexy 3 months.

july is just an all round awesome month. most cancerians can concur.

i wish i could kill people more than i wish i could heal people.... does that make me evil?

i think it makes me experienced.

healing sounds so naive.

killing sounds so hardened.

i just know the score.... me - 0... world - 1.

time for an equaliser i think.

i will smile to your face. i will chuckle at your anecdotes. i will even grab you a drink from my fridge.

i will also dream about killing you later....very messy like.... but thats all in the details.

neuronic topic.... stop it!

iphone? i wonder if theres a factory in china making jphones... or perhaps lowercase lphones.

its a possibility....only if theyre lead painted.

i wonder if i will kill someone before i die. perhaps i will be that someone someday.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

This Is Your Day......with Benny Hinn.

bitchslapping peeps til they fall over proclaiming that they feel the power.

damn straight you do.

i just bitchslapped you like it was the 90s.

healed your smart ass comments with some brain damage.


do retarded people type/write like they talk and even more to the point, do they think how they talk.

i think i've asked this same kind of question through multilingual people. what language do you think in. its an interesting folly im sure most people have boringly indulged in.

how did i get to this thought?

what brought me this far?

amalgamation between professor steven w hawking and tony hawk.

verbally, its professor tony w hawking.

imaginatively, its a paraplegic guy wearing dickies, helmets n kneepads with a voice synthesizer duct taped to the skateboard he is bound by rope to.

i know, i know... a picture is worth a 1000 words... and that was only like 20, tops.

i would say 'i digress' if only i was making a point.

i usually make more points than an artine factory worker.

but hence, 3am with a lack of cigarettes has left me in quite the mental ruin.

i light my last tobacco friend and toss the lighter hurtling towards my clutter filled coffee table.

its rife with marks made from a lack of coasters and my abundance of apathy.

i watch black n white korean war movies. its better than the home shopping entities that haunt TVs at this time.

One Minute To Zero.

its quite the vulgar flick for a pre 1960s movie.


from in, meaning not, and somnus meaning sleep.


my legs rage to lay out while my brain screams to sit up and write or read something.

all perspective is subjective. fuck my legs and brain. they dont know the score.

they can wait til im fucked up off of some acid for my ritualistic thanking of the legs.

they do so much and ask for so little.

unlike my selfish hands. always accumulating attention from me.

i dont live for weekends. i die a little every weekend.

"when i fall in love..... it will be forever....."
"when i fall in mud..... it will leave me tethered....."

something about a woman in uniform that arrests me.

i've always thought of my brain as some sort of sweatshop for thoughts. even as a kid, i have always had this sweaty factory image with thousands of innocent children tapping away on typewriters.... with monkeys on their backs.... smoking cigars.

all that said, i liked to think then. probably still do now... usually just as long as im under the influence of something or rather. directionless pondering. its what i do.

as if you didnt already know.

call now to have your prayers answered.

look into these tear streaked faces.

fuck you, pay me.

Monday, March 29, 2010

so..... im flying around in the sky now.

sunday...... sweet, sweet sunday. sydney, suckers!!! shit. salivation. seriously. shes sweetness. sordidly scrumptious.

hold on, TIME OUT.

fuck an S. i should be freakin' this in all D's. ;-)

dangerously developed. daring dancer. delightful demeanour. decisive. devilish.

sharp as a DART. DEAR like DEER... in headlights.....leaving me DUMBFOUNDED.

she knows who she aint. hehe. sunday.

Thursday, February 18, 2010

The Good Ol' Dirtless Burial

so i wrote a whole bunch of depressing shit a while ago.

not intending a relapse, so im burying these writings online.

and so it begins.....

"another kick below the belt while i attempt to stand on my own 2 feet....

..its my eternal, ongoing hand to hand combat with life that has me spewing up this reenacted lung blood.

Lung blood = a good sign that youre dying... usually expressed in real life through a wanting of killing oneself in the most efficient way possible, whilst at the same time, experiencing an overwhelming expression to punch yourself in the face.

im @ a crossroads......again.

and all my friends tend to worsen my burden.

ive had enough!

tough stuff like this, leaves my stomach in a tight twist.

wishing to be performing abortions.

rid me of this, ridiculous ridicule that rapidly rotates the recesses of my ravaged mind.

let me defecate this thought. allow me respite from myself.

loved ones hurt me, but i dont want them to know...after all, my life is a lie.

i could fight with the tower of pisa over who needs more support.....and win!

i effed(F'd) my life with a lie.

i worry whats the fuss all about?

if i had 8 arms, i'd be writing something else by now.

the shocking truth about electricity!!

i am the little flame that burned.... down your school.... you owe me!

pardon this arsonist, subtle to trouble, bigger than dolly partons tits.

if a tree burns down in the forest, and no one is around to make a buck, is it still climate change?

ocean = a world of tears.

i cry flames.

a bird is chained to the sky.

a free slave, is an ignorant (happy) slave.

whats a fly without wings?

there is no space in time and no time in space.

the universe is anti-pedantic.

mankind. a meticulous failure.

girlfriends. elegant weapons. worries.

white blood cells dont punch time clocks.

casting shadows with black light can be done by lighting a candle.

me, writing now. death by candlelight.

days with secretaries are tedious coz they are.

a volley of answers will break your bow before you even fire off a warning question.

2 things i dont brake for. green lights and critics.

why make sense when you wej uhg inbing.

why make sense? god doesnt.

wingmen never get props.

a stain isnt a stain on your brain. then its maintained as a memory.

triggers are traps.

a fool and his money are soon famous.

gamma ray the glamour, like hammer to hamstring.

pain with extreme pain.

everything, if answered, is said coarse,
so trying to stay happy is like beating a dead horse.

i want to be a soft toy. they never have hard days.

why dont babies and nurses live in nursing homes?"

.....and so that was a depressed emo sounding me.
shitty wasnt it?
good thing i bury shit like a feline with diarrhea.

*lights a match*

Stomach Aches should just be named Stomaches

Whenever i heard that r.kelly and notorious BIG song 'fuckin' you tonight'... at the start of it... and biggie is all like "theres another one.... and another one..." i always related that to dropping the kids off at the pool.

maybe its because that album had a skit of him talking about shitting on a girls chest.

who knows, who cares? well, i do, but i dont count.... maths sucks.

soo what doesnt suck?

usually small things are quite cool.

as are cakes.

mix them together and videos of monumental awesome are erected in dishonour.

whenever i hear this, mad dash to the bong and TV is made.

merrie melodies is for suckers... modern madcap cartoons were where IT was at in 1961.

and then theres the coolest story ever bro.

but yeah... im back n dropping blogs like a lumberjack is chopping logs.

word to the mother.