Friday, August 14, 2009
Every day is pretty much the same. Wake up. Grind the barnacles off my teeth with some neon-colored futuristic looking plastic doohickey.I feel hung over but i don't party.No more lucky socks so i'll probably have a crappy day,I'm down to mismatched pairs.
Some of them are way too tight and i wonder if my feet ever fit in them. The ones with holes drive me crazy,but somehow they survive.I want to throw them away so bad but they just keep coming back,like that crackhead that jacks cigarette butts from the shop ashtray.Am i really that old? Fuck.I am. Get to work sailor.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
*the names have been changed***it was a sweet summer in the mission district of san francisco,and the shop was booming with business.there was a really large local O.G. named jeff who used to come around.mostly he wanted cigarettes,or a few dollars here and there. he had borrowed $10.00 from me a few days prior and had not repaid it,so on this day he was back for more.i explained that he needed to bring my money in before i would lend him any more,but he kept coming in throughout the day getting slightly drunker and more aggressive with each debut.we tried to be polite about it and shuffle him out before the customers became uncomfortable,but it was hard.jeff was an ominous figure,about 6'3" and 280-300 lbs.,and he was blitzed out of his wits.we were just frustrated as he was starting to get aggressive with us. at some point jeff left and our old friend javier came in the shop,and the first thing out of his mouth was "hey who's that big dumb motherfucker at the corner store talking shit?you believe he asked me where i'm from ? i said i'm from right here dumb shit,where are you from!" and this guy says "east side daly city." so we all start laughing our asses off, because we knew who it was,and we wanted javier to show up. javier is from san francisco,he's a true O.G. who carries himself with style and swagger but most importantly he's a bad motherfucker.javier is a champion boxer who has trained every young fighter in san francisco,from golden gloves to the playboy mansion his fighters have blazed a path of destruction.upon hearing that the cornerstore rube had been giving us so much grief he simply said "fuck that" and took off out the door towards the corner. apparently jeff was also upset at the exchange because he was in a full on hood-walk toward the shop with his shirt off as javier was stepping out of the shop. jeff walked up on javier and got as far as "hey homie" before we heard three squishy slaps that sounded like a hammer hitting a thick steak,and with that the giant rocked forward a bit before falling stiffly backwards onto the unforgiving sidewalk. i imagine that if you held a t-shirt over the end of a garden hose it would look a lot like the giant fountain erupting from the front of jeff's ben davis pants as one of us shouted "he's pissing! get your camera!" the first punch undoubtedly knocked him out,the other two were just to be sure,but i'm sure after years of training javier finds it hard to not throw combinations. just so you understand fully how fast these punches were,there was a lady at the marble store next door who watched the whole thing happen and all she said was "why did he fall down?"
Saturday, August 1, 2009
my good friend zach johnson was recently on a radio show with the author of the book "tattoo machine" by jeff johnson of sea tramp tattoo in portland.i'll attempt to post a link here.
well apparently you can post comments on the radio show website and this amazing douche had this to say
and our friend zach responded with this