Lay down in the deep grass and weeds.

[unburiable]

I hate when bottles grow too rapidly from being beautifully cold to sickeningly warm as a result of slow drinking, but I’m just not always into drinking so fast. Often, if I have enough cash on me, I’ll just set the half-empty warm bottle on the bar in front of me, scoot down a few seats and then hail down a different bartender to order another.

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"Everybody wants something...they'll never give up."

[unburiable]

So what the fuck, right? Snake came over last night at around eleven, followed shortly by Wheels. Before either of them had arrived I’d already put in an order for a pizza with eggplant on it and settled down with a bottle of Jim Beam and a shot glass I got in New Orleans the summer I killed a man, to watch my friend David Cronenberg’s new 1979 hit film The Brood. Midway through the flick, during the scene where Frank discovers an oddly parceled collection of bones from the bodies of long-dead English pilgrims buried under the property he’s assembled a construction crew to raise his new dream home on, Snake barged through the front door like an asshole.

You see, I made the mistake of giving that bastard a key to my place last summer and I’ve regretted it like fuck all every moment since. Such an oversight will not be made in the future. You can bet your summer vacation on it.

So what the fuck? Snake started rambling about Joey Jeremiah cutting out of practice early every night because of “prior obligations.” When he spoke those words to me-“prior obligations”-Snake actually hopped up on his toes and loomed over me like he was a monster of some sort. Some fucking monster, I thought to myself. He looks like an asshole.

I guess it was supposed to be his way of putting as visual a stress on the linguistics of Joey’s flawed reasoning as imperfectly possible, but in the end, it only really made Snake look like a big asshole.

I told him four times that I really wanted to see the next scene of the film (where the Dagger twins are found dead at the realty firm they owned together and the coroner cannot explain the cause of death), but Snake was in his own world. Ever since his band The Zits made that single and it was put into rotation on Cra-Z Radio for like five whole days, he’s been acting like the world belongs to him. I hate that shit. When I was fourteen I had a hit song on the radio for two weeks longer than his five days, so I just wanted to say to him, “Look, don’t give me that weak shit, man.” I stayed my tongue, though, not wanting to further fuel Snake’s relentless rambling.

I was about to ask him to leave when Wheels came in through the front door, too, swinging his bass guitar so hard he knocked over a lamp. “You’ll never fucking believe what Joey just said to me when I asked him if we could practice tomorrow.”

And oh God did I want to put my foot through his ass.

I haven’t fought a man since last summer, but right then I was ready and willing to make my move. I wanted to be the first person in history to punch somebody’s jaw clean off his face.

“He says he’s going out to a movie with Caithlin.”

“Caithlin? Fuck that!” screamed Snake. “She’s dating that fucking broomhead Claude now. Everyone knows she doesn’t want to hang out with Joey anymore. What kind of shit excuse is that? Man, I thought we were all best friends.”

“Exactly, Snake. Eggs fucking zactly.”

They were so proud of each other, those two. I think I’m going to leave Canada soon.