Belligerent.

Saturday was a beast of a night. For our friend Mike's birthday, the shop took him out to Kampai. We ate dope sushi and got propa drunk on sake shots and Sapporo. We then went to Shagunda's, at which point I began with the PBR and Jameson's. Amy called me and said she was going to the Belmar, so I walked my drunk ass over there from damn near Harry L. Drive. It only took about 15 or 20 minutes though. Amy, Mad Dog and Phrank Martian were there being awesome. This is where my night took a turn.

Now, from an outside perspective, I'm sure it looked like I deserved to get kicked out of the place. I understand this. However, I'm going to fill in the blanks now and maybe feel a little more understood in my belligerence.

So, drugs 'r bad m'kay. Especially when you are booting them and or freebasing them. I'm pretty sure we've all seen enough DARE officers speak and have seen enough reality TV to know, respect, and understand this simple fact of life. It's unfortunate that people get themselves involved in bullshit (or smack, as the kids say) that they can't get out of. Especially when these people, at one point or another, were like family to you. The person I am talking about specifically was quite literally like a big brother to me. I smoked my first blunts with him, he was the first kid with stretched earlobes I ever met, he was into metalcore and hardcore 8 years ago when I was first getting into the "scene" and we both nerded out together over awesome bands like Norma Jean, The Chariot, Symphony in Peril, Zao, etc. being that we were the only hardcore kids with tight pants and sick gauges in our area. The first time I ever experimented with music was in his basement. I helped him and his homies get a place in my mom's building in Binghamton so he'd be right next door. A few months later I stopped hanging out when the mirrors started appearing around the house, a dude was there that had been awake for 36+ hours and was 4 dozen deep on cooking eggs, and I got a crash course in how to cook up crack at 16. Nuffa dat, I said, and fell off that end of things and made friends elsewhere. It killed me to watch my friends turn into drug addicts, especially him, with all of the time and history attached to us. 4 years later, he's a junky hitting on my sister after a relationship he was abusive in (according to the grapevine). He showed up at the bar, I didn't like that, and quite literally could not hold my tongue and not try to talk to him like a real friend that actually knows him should have. I wanted to call him out on his up-fuckingness and tell him to stay away from my family as he is trouble. I was punked off and disrespected when I tried to be real with him, as drunk as I may have been, and began with the insults. I was quickly physically removed from the situation by the bouncer, a fact I was and am not pleased about, seeing as though the kid is a fucking junky woman beating scumbag that I can't help but still feel love for even after all his antics. It hurts my feelings to know people can behave like he does, and as the tattoo on my left arm says, "he that is silent consents." He deserves to get called out. He deserves a lot more than that, and if I see him on the street again, I'll do exactly the same thing. Violence is not my motivation, love is, but if war is what it takes, then I'll surely be battle ready. A conversation is all I wanted, but pussy junky woman hitting faggots will be just that and they all deserve to get stomped the fuck out.

PS: Thank you Phrank for having my back. You're a solid dude.