You know I may be off the beaten track. My mind is going back to the past and I can’t help but write important shit that comes to mind. I mostly have humor. I entertain people. I am funny, a quick thinker. I always have been. I make any situation a joke and I like satire and reverse psychology, clever smartass intelligent humor and I’m a super funny guy. I’ve practiced and preformed and I’d like to say that’s a trade-mark of mine. I’m gonna think of a story now just to show you what I mean. Let’s see… ummm.
The times I wrecked my MX motorcycles. “101- skidd” was one nick name for the over 100+ accidents I had on 2 wheels. Wind in my hair, bugs in my teeth I was (am) crazy. I rode up hill rounding a curve once and leaned over to see if I could see under my bike. I wouldn’t stop till I could see BOTH bars of my frame. Well, I saw the first bar (easy enough) then I leaned over a little more and saw the second one, then gravity took over. Totally wrecked the bike. I got a cherry from my ankle to my knee. Three skin layers raw, but you fuckin know what? I did what I set out to do and that’s why I am “The Man”. I was extreme before it was ever a word. That reminds me of the time I was selling cars on Colorado Blvd; at Goodro Ford. We had taken in trade a Trans-Am muscle car. I grabbed a work buddy and threw on a tag (dealer Plate) and went for a test ride. The lot was on Evans next to I-25. We hopped up the ramp south bound and caught air and hit 120 + mph. We then exited quick and made the loop and headed back to work,
I-25 North bound. I was crack’n 100+ mph and go “damn! Evans exit!” I jumped two lanes and hit the brakes, we caught the exit ramp. I was too fast, and half way the Trans-Am did a 180. Now I was going backwards probably in excess of 60 or 70 mph. Things were getting tense. I entered the gas station on that corner, tires smokin, brakes screaming and somehow went backwards still! Right between the gas pumps and across Evans. I was still in drive and the tires were going forward but the car was going backwards. We hit the curb and bounced. The tires caught traction and I spun the wheel west and never let off the gas. I charged the red light and cars went everywhere! I missed them all. I cranked the wheel north into the drive of our used car lot and found a parking space in between some other used cars that were for sale. We bailed out and my buddy went away, rather pale. I mingled in the auto repair area and, man, sirens were goin everywhere. Finally a PoPo hit the lot and. with my sales manager, they checked for the suspect vehicle. When they found the Trans-Am I watched them feel the hood (obviously hot from the drive). I felt an urgent need to go out for lunch and after a while things cooled down. I never heard a thing about it. My buddy (the other salesman) quit and I never saw him again. If I ever got to meet Hunter S. Thompson, I was gonna tell him this story… Somehow I thought he would understand!
OK, OK. I’m done play’n with you fuckin punks. Listen up. You disturbed an Ol’ dude dat paid dues years ago. Yeah right! You ain’t gonna like dis shit I’m shovl’n now! See, what you don’t know is. U’da had ta lived my fuck’n life to write it. U seen it, from your angle. Sure! But that ain’t shit. See I been heavy, real heavy, and flying on the edge. I was one step beyond the law and ½ a step from being killed. U get it? That this post adventure- after shit- you stir up is real. U really wanna hear it? OK!
Remember when I stuck a sawed off shotgun under your boyfriends chin and said “leave my daughter alone, I’ll blow your fuck’n head off”? I had the 12 gauge with the hammer back and had just slammed a monster hit of pure coke. I was so high, I blurred out all except that intense moment. Unbeknownst to me, my friend and bodyguard that sold me that shotgun had bent the firing pin so that it would never have fired. But, I didn’t know that! You kids ran, and the only reason I chased you to 7-11 down the hill was because my connects, Kenny; Kenny split on their high and they wouldn’t give me more.
So I went after you.
I was never nice. I was an asshole. The nice mother fucker you know now is because I decided I needed Jesus more than I needed jail; A common sense decision, Logical and indisputable! The talent I had was nearly lost to me cuz of dope! Yea, you ask, I tell. I tell you, you should ‘Ana asked. You don’t wanna hear, but it’s too late! Here we go.
Yes, I got natural talent. I was shy. I used dope to open up, and then it became the prison I was in.
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