(no subject)
There used to live an old man next door to my family when we lived in Melbourne. He always had cherry ripes on him every single time i went over. I think he was a subscriber or something. Sometimes when you rang the door bell, he wouldn't come to the door. I knew when this happened he'd be in the shadows of his sitting room, hooked up to his ventilator. I asked my parents what the machine did, and they answered "Well son, that thing keeps Frank alive". The idea that he was being kept alive as some living dead creature freaked the shit out of me and everytime i walked past the room it was like passing a cemetary. Anyway, he wasn't all about death and no fun. One time he tried mowing his lawn with a can of petrol and a match, almost taking our property with it. Oh Frank, you walking disaster, you. This cherry ripe's on me :)