micro-tonsils screaming dave mirra's name.

well
i always talk about how there has to be something worth writing about for me to actually make a meaningful(?) blog entry.
yesterday definitely fits the category of "meaningful" in my book.
so
i completely neglected to go to school on monday, having a headache and just not feeling up to cramming all that useful information into my overly sarcastic head.
overly sarcastic head.
so i stayed home and laid around all day in front of a fan, staring at my ceiling and tweaking my nipples.
what?
the rest of the day after i got up consisted of reading some irvine welsh novel which i must say is very fitting to it's title.
"filth"
if anyone wants to check it out.
fast-forward to yesterday morning
i get ready and have no cigarettes to smoke
i arrive at the school and my new accomplice in mindless mischief, a certain joey gonzalez, greets me with a loose marlboro red 100 and a smile to light up the world.
mmmmm, marlboro red 100's.
we then proceeded to go to the gas station and i bought some of my own since that mr100 (mr.100?) left the distinct taste of burning cowboy ass-hair in my mouth.
math class?
failed an exam.
gym?
didn't change and laughed at people playing basketball.
lunch.
yeah, that's all it is.
lunch.
i find out that there is no school on wednesday and this uplifts my spirit's a million times over and i thought i was already in a pretty good mood.
i actually ate a sandwich.
i played in band but halfway through rehearsal i knew something good was coming.
just that feeling of a ukulele crashing into a tombstone came over me and said "congratulations!"
i left band and was intercepted by mr.gonzalez who proposed we leave the school at that exact moment.
"but joey, there's still two more periods left to the day! how could i leave this comforting environment with it's stomach churning tile arrangements and more than friendly prepubescent thugs?"
so we were off.
walking in the rain through the slums of monticello made everything feel more than right.
the objective was even more than fitting and making the situation 10x better.
vanilla bluntville from the cigarette outlet.
getting zapped with joey was uneventful in the best way you can experience uneventful.
listening to tupac and lil wayne, watching the "i'm so hood remix" video on youtube, playing grand theft auto vice city while eating tortilla chips (killing cops is an essential part of my day), and before i knew it
johnnyyy v had showed up, dazed smile on his face, bag of burger king in his hands, and no car.
with joey off to work, we were stranded in the heart of gangland.
a quick call to the man himself, martell funney, and the problem was solved.
"so just tell paul we're stranded in monticello and to meet us at the crack mobil, we'll be hanging out in front."
while walking, me and mr. v smoked a decent sized blunt clip and i could see the berson clouds rolling over his eyes.
walking on broadway with the chill air and still gray skies really set the mood for the events to come.
martell and paul were at the crack mobil when we arrived.
martell gets money.
martell gets some beers.
martell's in a lot of debt.
our first attempt at an adventure was to walk across the lake to camp jai-alai.
a few steps in and the ice started to cave in and i ran like a nancy back to shore.
why don't we drive to camp jai-alai with open alcohol containers and enough marijuana in the car to definitely get us (nah fuck that, just martell) in trouble?
let's go.
paul falls off fence.
climbing over overturned automobile frame.
partyin' at the top of those infamous stairs.
you ever heard of ignitus?
ahhh, nevermind, too hard to explain.
walking on snowy/icy/wet back roads through the fog for what seems like an hour.
piles of discarded mattresses and television sets covered in ice at our sides.
a house.
"nah, i think the door is open."
the porch has fallen into itself.
martell's cellphone is the provided light since daylight has gone.
all the window's have already been broken, which upsets me since i'm really in the mood to break something.
i really like breaking stuff.
i don't like to admit it since it sounds like such a nimwit macho gayass thing to say.
but smashing shit is fun.
so i start to kick holes in the walls.
martell joins me and i feel a miscreant bond between the two of us.
move to another room where a pipe is passed around and i'm obviously intoxicated, mindlessly throwing myself into the walls, screaming nonsense and scaring my posse with obscene faces and gestures.
i was definitely a product of my environment, more so than ever, the vibes of the house with all the shattered glass, unfinished floors, smashed toilet bowls...
it had a very angry/distressed feeling to it
but i could appreciate it all and i was just interacting with my surroundings to what i see as appropriate behavior.
after a session of cornering john in a corner of this hellhole with what as i can only describe as "undead interpretive dancing", accompanied by paul martin, i staggered, choked, and vomited up the very little i had in my stomach.
budweiser.
yuck.
tortilla chips.
yuck.
3 perc10's.
hey guys, i forgot i took those.
we left the scene of the crime and walked back, stumbling with precision, scarcely talking.
i felt as if we were all absorbing what had just happened.
it was unsettling and amazing.
the walk back to the car involved a few missteps and the resulting bruise on my ass tells me about it now.
the walk went quick and i believe it did for a reason.
back at john's we sat around and just had some john's room time, muttering nonsense and drinking warm bottles of water.
i called joey after he got off work.
i don't really remember too much for a while.
i went to my house to sign some bank papers or some shit.
that was fucking weird.
at joey's we left after a few minutes just to bring martell to the fucking ghetto of all ghetto's to buy 14 nicks of some good ol' montibuddha.
at joey's we did more of the same.
acted like dumbasses and bizkit showed up so that was a pleasant surprise.
wendy's drive-thru was a fucking mess.
martell made the most ridiculous order i've ever heard
and then he finishes if off with
a strawberry flavored yogurt
and paul couldn't even say it to the dumbfounded fast food attendant he was laughing so hard.
we almost crashed over by colonial hills.
that was funny.
yeah.
so
me and john chilled for a lil bit when we got back.
and then i fell asleep downstairs after a delicious meal of microwave cuisine with a side of potato chips.
so what all that is getting at is
it's amazing how i'm eighteen and all of that is what makes me feel like i'm an individual.
i don't know if it really does or not.
but it sure does feel like it.
and now i'm burnt out, tired, dazed...
i feel very heavy and dense.
but it's all good.