Mikey. Mikey is my best friend on all of god's green earth. If there was a ever a more complex relationship between two people, I'd love to hear about it. Mikey dated my sister on and off again for over three years. The first night I met Mikey I was drunk and high and practically naked. My mom was in the middle of interagating the poor bastard. I had just fell out of bed.
"What's up,?" I said. I tried to shake Mikey's hand but I missed on the first attempt. Everything was a blur. After several tries, I finally got a hold of his hand.
"I'm Kathy. I'm Erin and Patrick's brother," is what I was told I said later on. Pathetic!
Anyway, my mother seemed to be suspect of this guy. I was no help. I don't think I even had my pants on.
Mikey and my sister wound up going out that night, afterall. He had her home early. He was very respectable. Responsible. He was...a gentleman. The complete opposite of myself.
I remember going back to bed later on that night and crying myself to sleep. All I could think about was that scared shitless boy/man sitting at my kitchen table trying desperately to defend himself. Mikey was wearing khakis and a short- sleeved, white, oxford shirt, tucked in. His hair was perfectly combed and he was clean shaven. He was the epitome of everything I hated in a human being. Still, I kept crying. It was that look, that look in his eyes that bothered me most of all.
My head felt several sizes too big the next morning. That cold sensation in my stomach shortly followed. I stumbled out of bed and got ready for another 12-14 hour day at work.
I had forgotten about what had transpired only hours before. However, I hadn't forgotten completely.
About two weeks later I went to a show at the Stone Pony in Asbury Park. It was the "Fiend Fest." One of my favorite bands, The Misfits, were headlining. It was an all-day event.
When the Misfits finally took the stage, the whole place went ape-shit, including myself.
I was pushing and shoving, screaming the lyrics, and crowd surfing.
Then, the wierdest thing happened. I saw a very familiar face amongst the crowd of punkers.
It looked like the guy who took my sister out just a few weeks before.
"No fucken way," I thought to myself.
But, it was him. He still had on his khakis and oxford shirt even. Still, he was pushing and shoving and screaming just like the rest of us.
I don't know what exactly came over me then, but I began shoving my way through the crowd in order to get near this guy. When I finally got to him I grabbed him hard by his shirt. Mikey turned his head toward me and those eyes of his became as big as saucers. I grabbed him from behind his head and pulled him closer to me to where our foreheads were touching. Mikey grabbed the back of my head and we began screaming the lyrics into one another's faces.
We broke apart and resumed jumping up and down, sreaming at the top of our lungs, and throwing kicks and punches until the show finally ended.
Ever since that night at The Fiend Fest, Mikey and I have been the best of friends. It's so wierd, though. We're night and day. Mikey's straight as an arrow, smart as hell, and he knows just what it is he wants to do on his tour of this earth. I'm lost. I'm running scared.

I hate jocks. I developed this hatred in my junior year of high school. Those fucks thought they were so smooth. They got all the girls. They never seemed to have a problem with schoolwork.
They seemed to pass through life as if life itselsf were some devine gift.
I remember being the skinny, little fuck. I wanted to be a part of what was happening. I wanted to be the life of the party. I wanted to be the star quarterback getting blown by the hottest cheerleader in the locker room before the big game against Hudson.
Now, I was an athlete in high school as well. I played lacrosse and ice hockey. I made the varsity team in both sports when I was a freshman. I was good. I knew how to play the games. However, I never managed to make it into the limelight.
One night lying in bed, I came to the conclusion that none of these dreams of athletic glory and sexual perks that would inevitably follow would ever come true for me. I was sixteen years old.
The very next day I awoke refreshed, reborn. I went to class. I paid attention. I studied hard and I played hard. A few chicks even came my way during the last two years of school.
I never did wind up being the star and none of the girls that gave me the time a day were named prom queen. I didn't give a fuck. I still don't.

Growing up, I had two passions; movies and music. I grew up listening to rock n' roll and nothing besides. I was serenaded to a deep sleep by the Beatles, the Stones, The Doors, Pink Floyd, Sabbath, Janis Joplin, Hendrix, etc. As I grew older I listened to not only these phenomenal bands, but their predecessors as well; The Ramones, The Sex Pistols, Motley Crue, Dokken, Def Leppard, Guns and Fucken Roses, The Clash, Metallica, Anthrax,Slayer, etc. You know, It just was the only genre of music that made any sense to me at all.
My movies were and still are extremely important to me as well. Get this shit, when I was younger, let's say, five or six years old, I would watch at least six movies a day. Well, at least I would on Fridays, Stauradays and Sundays. The other four days I would watch three to four movies. School got in the way.
What else can I say? My mother would aways tell me,
"Don't let school get in the way of your education."
Later on in life I found that that was a quote from Twain, not my mother. Never the less, I still live by this motto to this very day.
Fuck this blog shit! I'm going to have another shot of Jack and play my guitar.

There's been something that has been upsetting me lately. It's America's homeless situation. What is it like, 300,000 homeless?...It's not bad. It's America. I mean, if you're going to be homeless, this is the place to be fucken homeless. Shit, people like the kurds would beat your ass to be homeless in America. They fall asleep saying, "Whoa, don't wake me I'm dreaming. I'm dreaming about being homeless in America. Oh my god it's better than sex! There's garbage bins full of food! Oh my god!!
Did you know you could eat better in the trash bins in our country than more than 90% of the rest of the world?! Personally, I think it's a little embarassing. I think the homeless in our country need a kick in their fucken homeless ass for even being homeless in America. I mean, If you can't make it here, where do you expect to go to make a life for yourself? It's really not that hard. Get a job or fuck someone who has a job. How hard is that? That's the answer for the homeless. Everyone else who is left over, we should give them a test. The test will consist of three simple questions; Do you have any special skills or a talent for anything that will land you a job and hopefully better our society?
Do you have any loved ones or friends that may take you in an help you get back on your feet and fight back? Is there anything left inside of you as a man that wants to get out and make something of his self?
If the homeless person answers yes to at least one of these questions, he or she is free to go, but has only one week to find a job or like the others who can't even answer 'yes" to at least on of the three questions, will be shot. I guarantee you there will be one less problem in America.