At Your Own Risk

Cherry Coke Is Hardcore.

July 29, 2006

So Many Suckas on my Sacroiliac

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As I sit here, contemplating the nutritional value of the large frosty I had for supper, I'm reminded of a childhood friend of Wiggie and I, Timothy John Gwynn, or TJ.

TJ was a kind, gentle, spiritual man, a man of peace. Or course he used to beat us senseless, but never without good reason. I remember a time when Wiggie wore a red t-shirt to school. Well, for TJ, that wouldn't do, he was quite reasonable about it, actually. He took out a small hatchet and began hacking at Wiggie's right forearm. When I suggested perhaps he should stop doing that, after about 20 mins, he drove a meat hook through my nose, and tied it with a rope to Wiggie's leg, then threw me out of a second story window, dragging Wiggie to the ground with me. But we had really left him with no alternative. I mean, there's nothing else he could have done, is there? Good old TJ.