True Blue

"Aye, I remember the great days. Back, when each day was a fight for our freedom. Fighting for who we are as people, as men."
"But Grandpa, you were born in 1937. What was there to fight for then?"
"Sonny, you never heard of William Wallace?"
He took a bite of his deep-friend mars bar.
"Yes Grandpa, I've seen Braveheart."
He hit me in the shin with his cane, and started to yell, "You best watch your mouth boy! You're lucky that wasn't your head!"
Continuing, "William Wallace -- of modern times! -- was the greatest leader of the gay rights movement. Aye, that man had an ass as hard as bricks and arms that could lift a dozen lamb. Ahh, I can see him now, wearing that kilt like he used to, with no shorts of course."
He winked at me.
"Right."
"Yes, those were the glory days. Come to think of it, your mention of Braveheart isn't all that unfounded, there was that one time where we all mooned city hall. But I digress, William Wallace was the man of that time, he was there and the only one to do what it is that he did; the man could have lead all the revolutions of the world in one night. You know, it's a shame how that man died."
"How, how was that?"
After another long chew of his mars bar.
"A wrecking ball fell on him."

Oh No.

"I can't believe you did it dude!"
I was still half drunk from last night, but was somehow able to mutter, "Do what?"
"You don't remember?"
"No, not at all. What- what did I do?"
"Let me show you the pictures," is what I remember my friend saying as I lurched upright on his couch. I saw the pictures, and, yes, it all came back to me then. The beer, the whiskey, the gin, the whiskey, the gin; yes, it all came back to me then. And then, of course, the urination on the grave of my great uncle. He was my mother's father's step brother, I had never even met the guy. I guess that's what happens when you have friends who like to get drunk in graveyards and are goodly enough to take pictures of your "dignified" desecration of head stones.
"Wow," was all I could muster at that moment.
We ate a quiet breakfast consisting of chocolate-chip pancakes cooked by my friend's gothy girlfriend.
"He fought in World War Two. My family always talked about him being a decent guy."
My friend asked, "Yeah, did he kill any nazis?"
"No, I think he fought in the Pacific. He went into real estate when he got back home to the states."
"Sounds like a real stand up guy."
"Yeah, I guess he was. I should probably go say I'm sorry to his stone or something. My parents are never hearing about this by the way."

WITH AVENGENCE, A Return

So last week there were these two lesbian chicks just totally going at it on top of me. I mean, this was some serious business. There was frenching, and fingering, and fisting, and other verbs that start with "F" that I will not begin to type. This goes on for a good fifteen minutes when, to be honest, I get bored myself. They wanted nothing to do with me and were being pretty snarky about it too. I refused to move because I mean, hey, it was a free show. So finally the skinny one gets smart -- she was one of those uppity feminist ones, you know, short hair, no bra, perky nipples, you know? -- and decides to take bladders into her own hands, and just straight up pisses on me. At this point, I'm just thinking to myself, "Man, I am covered in piss." No really I was covered in piss, it was no bueno. So I said fuck it, and toweled off on that bitches hemp tote bag and walked out into the night.

I Was Bored

David asked me to update, so I going to, for him. I also know that he's the only one who's going to read it, so I'll just start talking directly to him.

Look what you've got me into David? A blog? Jesus H. Christ! So what am I supposed to tell people all about my world? Those are special things, my memories. It's not like you or anyone else for that matter, has the same set of memories that I do. That's all part of who I am. Maybe I'm just confused, that's an easy state to be in. It takes no effort at all as far as I'm concerned. But I can't help myself really. But what needs help? I don't know. I'm hard pressed to assume that nothing needs help when I can't place a hand on what does need help. So, then how can I help myself. I think sometimes about being hyper-efficient about things and really using my time to the fullest, but, I don't know what but. I think I hate school, just a little bit. And to think that as a little kid I had pondered going to school for years, learning about everything I possibly could. Maybe it's just hard to be a nihilist. When you know and think that there is no point to everything, that you do the things you do simply because you enjoy them. But, how is it any different if there is a purpose to things? That reminds me of this one time when Janee told me that, "He sustains you," he being god. Which brings up and interesting point, it is probably easier to live a religious life than the one I'm on the road to (if not already at). English teachers always told me to never end sentences in prepositions. What's up with that? I've thought about language and what difference does it make? The only thing that matters concerning language is that you understand each other. I'm really just rambling on about nothing in particular David.

I'll stop.
Para ti señor.

A Blog for Nobody to Read

I wish I had started this blog on a more memorable day of the week! Why, oh, why did I pick Thursday? And I know you're just thinking, "But Brett, think of all the great things that have happened on Thursdays! Like your birthday this year! And the crash of the stock market in 1929!" I know, I know, you don't need to begin to tell me of the wonders of Thursdays. But it's just that I want to post weekly pictures to motivate myself to actually get into using my Dad's old 35mm camera (You can expect some kind of horrible picture I've taken in a week).

Friday
Saturday
Sunday
Heck, even Monday would have been a better choice!

But alas, here we are stuck with Thursday. You know, I can live with it as long as I can swim in a sea of hyperbole about it!

I assure you. I have more lies to tell you.