Youth 2

I have to discuss the terrorizing of the family. For legal reasons, I feel I should use fake names on this one. Rich N., B. King, Tom W., and myself were the primary culprits. You know who you are.
For the sake of argument, let's pretend the family was Armenian. Fuck it, the families name was Grace. The statute of limitations has to have expired by now. The mother was Armenian, the father was a fat white guy who bought his wife somewhere, and the son was a little fucking pussy. We never liked this kid, yet he tried to buy our friendship at every turn. Food, drink, drugs...whatever. We weren't proud enough to turn anything down. The penultimate moment came on a Saturday. I'm a little hazy on this, but I think we showed up early in the morning while the parents were at church. Made several horrible drinks. Scotch, creme de menthe, and rum is delicious. We didn't know any better, we were about 14 and high as shit. For those who don't know me, I'm way too tall. Problematic for a teen, really helpful when you want to play hoops. Which of course we decided to play. The Grace son was about 5'0". Tom W. was about 6'4". A great guy, but he was about as coordinated as a giraffe on heroin. A really retarded giraffe. I haven't talked to him in ages, he's now a Jehovaw's witness. That's funny on so many levels I can't even get into it. He drove a Malibu SS and would always beep repeatedly in front of my house when he dropped me off drunk. That's a good time. Mom, "Who was beeping? Have you been drinking?" Jay "No, no never...I'm gonna pass out in the hallway here... That's not my blood...Huh?"
That being said, I tore down Grace's hoop on a beautiful inside drop step. This occured just as the parents came home. I'm holding the rim in my hand and celebrating. The son, John Grace, seeing his parent's have arrived, decides to stand up for himself. "Fuck you! I'll kick your ass!" While I'm still laughing, he sucker punches me (which I respect). Didn't hurt at all, but it couldn't be ignored. I give him a little smack back. I know it didn't hurt him. If you've hit someone with the intention of hurting them, you know the difference. We'll explore that eventually, not now. As I mentioned, his parents were rolling up just at that time. The father sees me him hit. I still claim I barely touched the son, but it looked bad. The father fucking clocks me. I freak out but still know I can't hit an adult! The son runs in the house, the mother gets hysterical, and the father is challenging me to a fight. I give up on my morals and start trying to attack. "I'll fucking kill you, you fucking motherfucker! Fucking hit me, I'll fucking kill you!" Needless to say I lost my shit for a while. Let's not forget i was about 14. Thank goodness my buddies stopped me, it was either gonna end in my death or his. What do you do in a situation like that? That sounds arrogant, but I was a large young man. I could have easily took this man down. I didn't realize how large I was until much later. I'll write about that later. Fuck, I didn't write about the terror yet! I'll get back to this but Shal is coming home now. I did the set up, please await the fake child abuse claim, the emergency oil dleivery, and the constant collect phone calls from their dead dog. Cheers motherfuckers!

Youth

I've decided to exploe my roots a bit. I was trading emails with a friend from my childhood today. A some what infamous friend. I had an email war with him following 9/11. He's Rich Nadeau and he's on my friends list from Myspace.com, which I can't figure out how to link to, so sorry about that. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, I hope this works:
http://viewmorepics.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=viewImage&friendID=15914601&imageID=228877238&Mytoken=742FE77E-FB3D-102E-B362125038A871D922743815
I have always felt that he was the personification of evil, though he denies it vehemently now. It's open to debate, but I'll say I'd still sit down with him for a drink. Of course I'd sit down with Hitler if there were drinks involved. I really don't know where to begin, so I guess I'll give some background. I'm the youngest of three children, born seven years after my middle sister. I was the last ditch effort of my mother to save her marriage. Didn't work, they divorced when I was two years old. My mother was chronically depressed throughout my life, which was fun for me. She's great now, they put her on anti-depressants when she hit menopause. It's all good now but falls in the too little, too late category for me. I dealt with all this long ago, so I just abuse alcohol and pretend everything is cool. Kidding, I just really love booze and mind altering chemicals. I'll deal with that someover time. The point of all this is that I lived in an apartment complex growing up, surrounded by other children of divorce. All of our parent's were totally fucked up, so we all could relate.
My first memory of Mr. Nadeau was from my paper route. Yes, I was a paper boy. The Lowell Sun. While trying to make my afternoon deliveries, Nadeau would hide in hallways, woods, or behind parked cars. Upon my arrival, he would attack me and proceed to sit on my chest. He is and always has been a fat motherfucker. He wouldn't let me go for hours. Delay all my deliveries so I got in trouble. What could I do? I think I was fucking ten years old! I certainly couldn't tell on him, even at that age I realized that was the pussy way out. "I know, I'll kick him in the genitals every time I see him." This actually worked and won his respect. I'd take a fucking vicious beating afterward from him, but it was the only option. I'll never forget that fat bastard taking my best shot in the balls, taking a deep breath, and then dropping me where I stood. Everyone around was completely shocked. It was around 1:00pm in the summer outside the community pool. People everywhere. No one understood why I attacked him. Just a blatant, unprovoked kick in the nuts. People fucking gasped, then the big bastard stood up, reared back, and fucking leveled me! No one understood what was going on, but he and I reached a turning point in our relationship right then. I agreed not to blind side him again, he agreed to stop fucking with my paper route. Notice I didn't say stop fucking with me, just my work. Trust me, he still fucked with me, and I still attacked him for no reason when I felt I could get away with it.
I know people don't like lists but I got to get this down before I forget. Things Nadeau and I have been involved in:
1. Killing many animals.
2. Burned a car.
3. Molested a retarded girl (Stoney!).
4. Lured someone into the woods and beat the fucking shit out of them.
5. Terrorized a family to the point the police got involved.
6. Ripped off someone's grandmother (Weagle).
7. Stole liquor from a funeral parlor, during Nadeau's grandmother's funeral. Okay, I did that. He did drink it with me though and then attempted to jump off a cliff. We'll come back to this.
8. Put a huge cookie into someone's VCR. Tried to make it play. It wouldn't.
9. Put his muffler on a NH State trooper's car. Actually Dumas did that, Though I was there and it was Nadeau's muffler.
10. Been kicked out of the state of New Hampshire. See #9.
11. I watched Nadeau get hit in the face with a #1 wood. It was unintentional but hilarious.
I'm stopping at ten, there is so much to explain. Let's start with # 1. They say cruelty to animals is the early warning sign of a socio-path. They're right! After my paper route I'd always drop by Nate's. He'd be home alone and would be reluctant to let me in. I always figured he was just jerking off, but I'd force myself in anyways. "Put your dick away fat boy, I got some weed." He would slowly open the door while giggling, "I'm not jerking off! I'm doing an experiment." I remember two experiments vividly. The first involved his elderly German Shepard, Lady. He had taped or tied his front right leg to his back left leg. We smoked a joint while commenting how we should let her go (we were about 12 years old). We decided against that, and Nadeau went to the kitchen and put the can opener on. The noise drove the dog crazy. It tried to hobble to the kitchen to find food, so of course we decide to light the dog on fire. He sprayed her with his mother's perfume and lit her on fire. We put it out before the dog was hurt, I guess. His apartment smelled like a concentration camp. Laughing my young, high ass off, I slipped into his mother's room and turned her crucifix upside down, put 666 on the microwave, and hightailed it the fuck out of there.
Here's the pone call I got later, "Dude, my mother thinks I'm a Satanist and Lady has no hair!"
"Tell her black people did it. Don't mention my name. Plus tell her she's a fat cunt."
Nate's response, "I'm going to kill you. Very funny, I think she can hear me, you are so dead."
I got to take a break, I'll continue this topic later. Cheers motherfuckers!

Learn To Swim 11/14/05

It's been so long since I've done a random thoughts blog I forgot the fucking title! Obviously I figured it out, remember to breath out through your nose so you don't drown. Shal and I were out a week ago and went to the organic food store, which prompted me to come up with these marketing questions for all organic food stores:
1. Are you a female?
2. Are you a vegan?
3. Do you like organic food more than eating pussy?
BAMM! I've haven't seen more hard core lesbians since Joan Jett played the Art's and Music festival! One even had the two female symbols linked together as a tattoo. I was in fucking heaven, waching Shal watch me and waiting for the comments was truly special. If she had a taser on her she would have taken me down early. You know the look, the wide eyed, just waiting for me to go off, "I'll fucking kill you if you ask me 'where's the fish department'", look. Despite the fact they were all horrible looking, I dragged it out as long as possible. I even agreed to make curry chicken, which of course I have no idea how to make. In case anyone cares, it came out okay. Not great, but decent and low fat, just like me! Any way, if any of my female readers are drinking from the fairy cup (and I know you are!), hit the organic market. You'll have a fist stuffed into you in no time, if that's your thing. If that is your thing, please send me video. I don't judge, I just masturbate frequently. Last bit of funny stuff, I asked where the curry sauces were and they sicked a mexican dude on me. He was very helpful but I feared we would have to take him home. He followed us around the whole time and was starting to freak me out until I realized Shal and I were the first hetero couple he'd seen in there. I tried to get Shal to blow him just out of sympathy, but she's really a selfish chick. It was an odd request, I immediately apologized. I gave him a handy and got free coconut milk out of the deal. At least I hope it was coconut milk...maybe that's why the curry chicken wasn't that good...
Chris B. and I are friends again, which is nice. Bad combination but nice none the less. I asked permission to talk about this and think I got it (thank you jaeger-bombs!) His dad lost a fucking kidney! Didn't mention it to anyone, which is simply assine, but that's kind of what guys do. I know Shal sent him a nasty email cause he had went into isolation. I yelled at her about that, but quietly agreed with her. CB was being a dick! Then he tells me his dad was having a cancerous kidney removed and that's why he was out of touch. This is easily the A-bomb of excuses. "Well, you should have called or something...Let us know...That's when you need friends most!" Then I remembered I was a terrible friend anyway and not really all that good of a person in general. I probably wouldn't have even taken the call, "Fucking CB calling again to whine." I'm kidding of course, as he himself said, "I call my dad and start bitching about work, how commuting sucks, etc.,. He just says, 'You know they cut one of my kidneys out, right'". Classic, CB never wins another argument with his dad. Love you bro, good seeing you messy early.
Speaking of which, the Nichole/Jen party was ridiculous fun. I corrupted teenagers with Jen C.'s boy friend. I got to bust out the "I'll show you prison love," line, which always makes me happy. I'm not sure anyone else was laughing, but Darren and I were busting a gut. Nichole's brother was actually sane, though poorly groomed and wearing a Jim Morrison shirt. His friend, however, looked about 13 years old and was loud as hell. We'll refer to him as Beavis. 5'8" and about 120lbs, challenged me to a drinking contest. I think he won but who really cares. I'm considering adopting him: Beavis Larry Bird Mills. I'm already excited about this, I'm gonna move on.
Dan is going to the Eagles' Monday night game tonight, look for him on the police blotter tomorrow.
I'm done here. I wish I was Bolivian. Cheers Motherfuckers!

Extreme Behavior

I wrote this a while ago, I'll put it out now. It's imcomplete but fuck it.
I've recently been thinking a lot about my behavior. This is mostly due to a recent Sunday which went from watching football and having some beers like a gentleman, to the heavy use of artificial stimulants and hard alcohol. The results were predictable, we'll just say I was acting wildly inappropriate and leave it at that. The end result was I ended up with a missing credit card and sinus problems. Okay, I was unshowered and at an extremely chic club, after several rounds of the "Nice head, dick!" game and repeatedly putting my Pat's hat back on (no hats allowed in the club, at least not filthy baseball caps, despite my informing anyone who would listen it was a THREE TIME WORLD CHAMPION NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS hat), the doorman/bouncer and I agreed I would probably be better off anywhere else. I went to L&J's for more beer, discovered I had so many pockets and an elevated blood alcohol level that I couldn't find any cash and bought two beers with a credit card, which I then promptly also lost.

I have several behaviors that are part of my pattern. I like saying offensive things. I like to be thrown out of bars. My favorite joke is the one Steve-O told, "What do you get when you shove a knife up a babies ass?...I don't know about you, but I get a huge erection!" This is a great ice breaker in a mixed crowd. I guess what I really like is what is commonly referred to as a "Cringe Moment." Everyone looks at me in horror, but that is what I wanted. The joke is on them, except they don't get it. My friends get it, though some more than others. Shal disapproves, but sometimes I get her to admit later that it was funny. "Come on honey, when I told that 75 year old woman to show us her tits, you wanted to laugh!"

The first day of High School, I was stoned, which is great for a seven foot 13 year old who is a tad self-conscious. Why not throw a little paranoia into the mix! Anyway, I'm with three other buddies, all two years older than me and trying to show me the ropes. The ropes, I realize now, is outrageous behavior in the face of outright scorn. My big fat evil friend (doesn't everyone have one of these, kinda like the tall guy with the substance abuse issue that is present in every group) greeted the only black kid in my freshman class with a big, "What's happening my brother?" Top of his lungs in the middle of a crowded hall. Everyone looked at him with disgust, and I could have killed him for it, but I still remember it to this day. And we all still laugh our ass off about it.

Jay goes to a Doctor!

This was my New Year's resolution from 2003, get a physical. I'm one of the lucky ones who has HIP health insurance, which was banned from NJ about five years ago, roughly the same time I had my last physical. That time it ended poorly, with me ending up getting a colonoscopy. Yes, that's a camera up my ass. I won't boor you with the details, but I was fine. Clean bill of health! Fast forward to present times, figure 10,000 bud lights, 100 gallons of hard liquor, and innumerable Marlboro Lights later. Needless to say, I find the doctor a source of anxiety. "Well Jay, it seems your liver has migrated to your calf in an attempt to save itself. On the plus side, you have the lungs of a 90 year-old coal miner." Putting on a brave face, I made the appointment and actually kept it. This is truly a big deal for me. I don't like to be poked and prodded. I don't even like getting my hair cut, it's just intrusive. Oddly, I have no problem having an elderly Asian woman commit crimes against nature upon me, but that's another issue. So I go for the physical, 55th and 5th Ave, pain in the ass location (thanks HIP). I'm honest with the doctor about my life-style, which I feel is important. Once I revived him and got him up off the floor, he suggests a blood test seems like the way to go. He even ordered a special test to check for alcohol damage. Of course they can't just take blood from me then, I have to go back for that. I plan to do that Friday, expect an emergency call from them late next week sometime, "You're legally dead!" Anyway, I figure I'll need to modify my "life-style," in the near future. Obviously, by "life-style", I mean alcohol/drug abuse. Karen B. was the first person to call me on that. I was saying something about if I changed my job it would effect my "life-style", and she responds, "you mean you're drinking!" Partially true. However, in my own defense, it also involves my working out, grocery shopping, and cooking for Shal. And moving the car, which I fucked up today, but I blame that on Peyton Manning. Oh yeah, I work too, but I try not to take that too seriously. Back to the physical. The doc measured my height at 6'4 1/2" Which I think is off, but whatever. I weighed in at 236 lbs., which gave me a Body Mass Index of 28. AnyBMI over 25 is considered overweight. My doctor was nice enough to acknowledge that a lot of my weight was muscle, this was mostly due to the fact I was striking a Double Overhead Bicep pose followed by the Crab Crunch flex. It was an elegant display, and I could tell he was impressed. Unfortunately, he did point out my belly and man tits. I wouldn't have minded but he started tickling me and slapping my titties around while giggling like Homer Simpson. I found it inappropriate, but it did convince me I could stand to lose a few pounds. With that in mind, and the looming news that I have liver failure, I decided I could combine the two issues: Drink less and lose weight. I came up with the following new rules to try and work on this.
1. No drinking before noon. Seriously, what kind of animal would wake up and have a beer. Or a Screwdriver. Maybe a delicious Bloody Mary. Special coffe? Fuck, I'm struggling with this one already. Plus, it doesn't count if I wake up at noon, I'll have to wait two hours minimum from when I wake up.
2. No hard liquor during the day. Maybe this should just be, "no hard liquor"? No, that's completely unrealistic.
3. Pot is my enemy. Sometimes I really love my enemy.
4. Hard drugs are right out. Loose women too.
5. No more weekday drinking. Except for yesterday and today. Okay, honestly I'm having a beer right now. This is going to be harder than I thought.
Hmmmm, I guess we'll consider these more like guide-lines. Exceptions will obviously have to be made. Rules do not apply on Sundays.
Cheers Motherfuckers!