My ex co-stars can kiss my ass

by on November 5, 1999 @ 5:03 pm

Hi everybody, it’s me, Gary Coleman. You may remember me as Arnold on Diff’rent Strokes, or as one of the judges in the Hawaiian Tropic Pageantry. I admit I was surprised when the staff at asked me to write for them, but after awhile I warmed up to the idea. I figure this is a great place to voice my opinions, and let people know that I am and always will be an entertainer. That having been said, I’d like to use this first article to give you all some insight into my childhood, and what it was like growing up on TV.

The happy familyFirst off, child actors don’t get laid half as often as you’d imagine. I mean, when I was on Diff’rent Strokes, everybody was talking about how cute I was and shit, but they’d always end up screwing Jerry, our producer, or Todd Bridges, my TV brother. I was the damn star of the show. None of these people would’ve had jobs if I didn’t say, “Watchoo talkin’ bout Willis?” thirty times a day. I should be getting the tail. My first time was emotionally scarring. This fine woman came to the set on my birthday, and she started massaging my shoulders and telling me how much she loved the show. We talked for awhile, then we ended up going to my trailer. Just after we got started, the door burst open and everybody yelled out “Surprise!”. Todd had a camera and snapped a picture. It turned out that the girl was a hooker that they hired. Every time I got angry on the set Todd would break out that Polaroid.

I never got any respect. Like that Chrismas party where Conrad Bain got drunk, whipped out his dick and put it on my head. Then he says, “Look everyone, it’s a headrest! Get it? Headrest!” Everyone laughed, but they were all so coked up they would’ve laughed at the impending death of their careers. I pretended to laugh, then when nobody was looking I punched that old sonofabitch in the nuts. He didn’t think that was very funny.

You know what else pisses me off? I tried for a year to be an Ewok in Return of the Jedi and that bastard Lucas turned me down. I mean, I was the star of a primetime sitcom for years, and I get the shaft. Kenny Baker and Warwick Davis are two midgets who shouldve ended up in gay porn, now they’re immortalized in the hearts of geeks everywhere. While they’re milking the sci-fi convention circuit I’m getting harassed by fat women in convenience stores on my coffee breaks. There’s no friggin’ justice in this world.

Lastly, I would like to say a few words about my former co-star Dana Plato, who died over the weekend while I was writing this article. She was always the nicest person on the set to me, she usually didn’t join in on the horrible pranks that they used to pull. Of course, she was usually passed out in her trailer, but I appreciated that she left me alone. I will miss her, and I think we should all learn something from this. If you are an ex-celebrity on VH1’s “Where are they now?”, it may be time to take a serious look at your life and how to better it.

Peace out.

Gary C.

Scientology (or, how John Travolta became my hero)

by on June 5, 1999 @ 4:52 pm

Wags and I were in our senior year of high school when this story took place. We used to drive by this Scientology center in Tustin all the time and we used to joke about people going in and getting brainwashed. We always thought it would be funny to go in and take their personality test and fuck it up royally, but we kept putting it off. Finally one day we decide it’s time to go in. Using our usual aliases, we entered enemy territory.

As soon as we stepped inside we were greeted by a nice lady and handed clipboards to fill out our personal information. Wags and I sat down and got started. When we were done lying about every aspect of our lives, we were told to wait, and have juice and cookies if we liked. Wags reminded me that they probably drugged the food to make us more succeptible to mind control, but I had a cookie anyway. The lady came back and told us that we got to watch a movie. We got all sarcastically excited and followed her into another room. When we got inside we were surprised to see that they had their own miniature theatre, complete with movie seats and projection equipment. We sat down and got ready, while the lady told us about the virtues of Dianetics. Then she left us alone in the room (dumb idea) to watch the film. First thing I did was check the door. It was locked. Normally this is a situation where we would panick, but we decided to ride it out and watch the film.

The movie started off with some futuristic buildings and a bunch of well dressed white people enjoying their work day walking around a sparkling office building lobby. Then he came onscreen. L. Ron Hubbard. He started babbling about how Dianetics could change anyones life, blah blah blah, and a bunch of psycho babble designed to manipulate the viewer into believing that they are worthless now but will be forever changed by Scientology. Luckily Wags and I are the masters of manipulation, and therefore their pitiful attempts were in vain. Then came their trump cards. Every Scientologist celebrity you know of (and a lot you don’t) came on. Of course they started with Mr. Assface himself, John Travolta. He came off saying that he was nothing before Dianetics and he and his wife owe their lives to L. Ron Hubbard. What a bunch of hippie horseshit. Then something terrible happened. The MAN, Isaac Hayes, came onscreen to preach the good news of Dianetics. This is the man who wrote the theme to Shaft (damn right)! How can he have fallen for this stupid new age BS? Needless to say, we immediately bombed the screen with a flurry of spitwads. As soon as the movie was over, the door clicked open and we were led back into the main lobby.

They sat us down and handed us some reading material while they fetched our personality exams. These were basically childrens coloring books that explained Scientology in a patronizing way to adults. We of course doodled scenes of graphic violence and mayhem. Hopefully it helps snap their next victim out of his drug induced haze. Then in came our “counselor” who was to evaluate our tests. He spoke in halting English (like he was French-Canadian) with an accent that came and went. He told us to take it slow and think about our answers. Wags filled his out only minorly skewed. I, of course, filled mine out with a psychopaths rage. They had the most fucked up questions you ever heard. Do you think of killing your boss, do you think about killing your family, homosexual tendencies, burning your school, and any other crazy shit you can imagine. I filled out every question with the most insane answer possible, except for anything having to do with my place of work, and hoped for the best. When we were done, they took our clipboards away for evaluation.

Five minutes later, Wags was dragged away for his “counseling”. I doodled some more graphic violence in the coloring books and waited for my turn. A few minutes later, Wags walked out and whispered “It’ll cost three hundred fucking dollars to fix me!”. I wanted to hear more, but my number was up. As he led me to his cubicle, the counselor sighed out, “John, John, John” (my alias), “We have got to talk.”

I sat down and asked how it turned out. He looked me square in the eyes and assured me that these results in no way would hurt me, only help. Apparently they only tell me how things are, and not how they are going to be. I nodded, and he held up a chart with a line graph. A wavy line jerked along the bottom of the paper, spiked all the way to the top at a point, and then hit rock bottom again. I was pleased, he was not. He told me that I had many violent and latent tendencies that needed to be brought forward. He had this chart with like fifty suns and clouds on it, and each one had a different expression and emotion associated with it. He said, “this one is you.” and pointed to a sad and rainy cloud called depression. I looked down at my shoes to avoid giggling like a girl. He asked me which one I would like to be someday. I looked the chart up and down and saw a cheery, happy sun. I slowly pointed to it. Then he says, “Good, good, now…any others?” So I looked it up and down again and saw this wierd sun with a goofy expression on it’s face called sex. I figured, hey, why not? I pointed to it and looked at my shoes again. He goes, “That’s OK, that’s ok, we all want that sometimes. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” I wanted to bust a nut laughing at this patronizing a-hole, but somehow kept my calm reserve. He went on for another ten minutes, and I lied to him about family divorces and death and all kinds of BS that I knew he’d gobble up. He kept talking to me like he was my best friend on the planet. What an ass. Then came the part we’re all waiting for, the bill. He tells me that they can help, and that they can get me into all these great free seminars where I’ll meet new people and feel good about myself and other new age BS. Then he tells me that all I need to do is give a minimum donation of $280.75. Can you believe they factor in the CHANGE? I could hardly contain myself at that bombshell. Well, I figure the gag is almost over so it’s time to be backing out. I told him that I would get the money ASAP and be back by Friday. He tells me, “Oh no no no no no. We need to get you started today.” I’m thinking WTF?!? You want the money now? He says that this way they can get me into the seminars and classes by tomorrow. Then he walks me out to the lobby where Wags is waiting. Then I say to the guy that I don’t have the money now. He asks if I can borrow it from family. I reply that my family hates me. He asks about an advance from work, I say my boss hates me and won’t do it. He asks about friends, neighbors, anyone else I know. I’m looking at Wags like WTF is this guy on? The reason that they do this is because they are on commision, but he won’t admit to that.

Then Wags looks at me and goes “What about Fast Eddie?”.(for more on Fast Eddie click here) I play off it and say, “Yeah, it could work”. He says, “You know what will happen if you don’t pay up in time right?” and I say, “Yeah, I know, I don’t want to wind up sleeping in the ocean but it’s the only way to get the money.” Then the counselor fucker says “Fast Eddie eh? Yeah, get the money from him! Then we can sign you up today!” I say, “Yeah, he should be at his crib right now, hopefully he doesn’t have any deals going down today. We’ll go see him.” Then came the most frightening words I have ever heard. The counselor looks at us and says, “Great! When do we leave?”. Wags and I exchange nervous glances at this point. “Uh…WE?” I muttered. “Yeah, I’m starving guys, we’ll go see him and grab a bite to eat.” This is where I turned it over to Wags by saying, “Let me grab Eddie’s number out of the car, you wait here.” which was his cue to ditch this a-hole while I got the motor running.

I slid my key into the car door, and saw the counselor come out with his arm around Wags. This is when I knew these people were the heralds of Satan. The guy saunters up to the passenger side and insists on sitting in Wags’ seat, the front seat. I’m surprised Wags didn’t slit his throat right there. Now, you may think that he was on to the gag, and this was an attempt to scare us. Quite the contrary, the gag was far from up, we were just another sale to this guy, and he didnt want to see his money walk out the door. We drove on into Irvine towards Fast Eddies house. Wags and I couldn’t communicate at this point, so I needed a place for us to talk. I drove to Fast Eddie’s place and we piled out of my car.

“You better wait here” I said, “Fast Eddie doesn’t like visitors, and if any shit is going down in there, he’ll be pissed at you and me”. He nodded, and waited. We cheerfully rounded the corner. “WTF is going on here?” Wags exclaimed. “I don’t know, I can’t beleive that fuck is in my car!” I replied. “We’ve got to get him outta here man”, Wags said “He’s a fucking lunatic!” I suggested that we tell him that Eddie was doing business, and couldnt be disturbed. Then we’d play along from there. The guy took that news sadly, and suggested that we go to the market for some cigarettes (No smoking in my car BITCH!). I asked along the way why Scientology hadn’t cured his need for cigarettes. He replied cheerfully that it was his big problem to work on, and threw some confusing psycho babble at us. He went on and on about how he hit on John Travolta’s wife, and didnt know it. And when he laughed, he let out this halting, loud laugh that haunts us both to this day. We got to the Ralphs right by Irvine High School and let him out. We then deliberated on what our next move was. I wanted to ditch him in Irvine, but Wags was still shook up from the guy’s laugh. I almost convinced him that ditching him was a good move when the guy came back. What a fucking bummer. We ended up bullshitting some more about the money and took him back to the Dianetics Center. We would’ve ditched his ass if Wags hadn’t gotten all soft in the end. But that’s how our alter ego’s came to be Scientologists. If you want to rag on Wags for being a puss, e-mail him. That’s all for me, I have to go thank L. Ron for my day and go to bed.

How Sharkey & Wags Became IPD’s Hobby

by on May 22, 1999 @ 4:59 pm

Back in the day, when I was just a high-school MoFo, Wags and I used to run a pretty tight crew. All throughout our Junior & Senior years, we had ourselves what you might call “lackeys”. Now, don’t get all offended by the term “lackey”, they were basically the younger friends that we took under our wing. They would take our messages, get stuff for us, basically like gophers. In return, they got to hang with us, drive around town doing crazy shit with us, and knew that we’d always cover their backs. Well, our Senior year, our school went to this “block scheduling” bullshit, where you basically had 3-4 classes on one day, and then 3-4 different classes the next, alternating every other day. Well, Wags and I only needed elective credits our Senior years, but lo and behold the school fucked up both our schedules. Gave us classes that we’d already taken and didn’t need. So we go into the office and tell them to switch. They tell us that they can drop all the unneeded classes today, and add the new classes in two days. See, they were all fucked up because of this new schedule, and everybody was pissed so they had to make days for people to fix their jacked-up classes. So we go in two days later, and find that all the classes we want are taken. They give us this bullshit about how dropping the classes was a mistake, and how now we were screwed because we only had one class apiece. We didn’t see that as being screwed. We each had one class, every other day. That ain’t screwed, that’s a motherfuckin’ party.

So we start showing up at the same usual time, we get our messages, then we’d leave school. We’d usually go down to Del Taco to get food, play some games at the arcade, and then go cause havok wherever we could. We were having fun, kicking back our Senior year, just tryin’ to find shit to do. Now, I don’t know how the conversation started, but one day were at my house and my Mother starts talking about when she was a kid, how they tried shooting water pistols from their cars, and how the cops caught them and whatnot. Wags and I just lit up at the prospect, and she’s telling us how its a dumb idea, that she got caught and we’d get caught too, but we weren’t listening. We go out to my car, and turn the winshield wiper squirters to the left and right, respectively. Then we take her out for a test drive. We end up near Wags’ place at night, and we drive up next to some bitch who cut me off. We get her to roll down her window, and with the squirters perfectly aimed, I get her right in the face. We haul ass down the road, and the bitch is chasing us all around Irvine. We’re swerving, ducking and weaving around corners and all around the Westpark area, and we finally ditch her. The adrenaline rush was all it took: we were hooked.

The next day we met up and drove down to the shopping center by the Westpark movie theatre, (which, coincidentally, Mabs was the manager of at the time) and we pull up next to the supermarket. We would wait until the time was right, and we’d drive along with the squirter on, tagging people in the back. Then we’d nonchalantly drive around the corner, then we’d book. It was hysterical, people never seemed to know where the shit was coming from. We’d get people in cars with their windows rolled down, we’d get people walking the street, nobody was safe from us.

One day Wags mentions that he’s not satisfied with the power of the squirters, coupled with the fact that since he can’t drive, he can’t squirt. So what do we do? We get a Super Soaker from the store. Not a huge one, just one of the 100 or 200 foot-range, one barreled MoFo. Wags was ready for action, and I was ready to drive. We’d drive over to the Tustin Marketplace, and do a circular route past the hardware store, Toys R Us, and Ikea, with Wags dousing people along the way. This one time Wags squirted a guy going into the hardware store, and we hauled ass up to Toys R Us. I look out the side, and I see this guy making like an olympic sprinter trying to cut us off before we got to the exit. Not one to pass up a challenge, I haul ass up to the exit just before Mr. Track-team huffs and puffs his way to the car. Bummer for him. Then there was another time at the Ikea, we got this guy on a bike right in the face, and he immediately starts pedaling after us. He’s doing his best to grab the tail end of the car, and we’re all wondering what the Hell he was planning to do once he caught it. Everyone wanted me to slam on the brakes, but he’d crash into my bumper and probably kill himself. I just hit the gas and laughed as he got a big cloud of exhaust in his face.

One day, when we were going from Wags’ house to mine, we come up to this point on Harvard st. where it tapers into one lane. This older guy in an Oldsmobile is driving alongside, and he won’t let us pass him up. When we speed up, he speeds up. When we slow, he slows. He almost ran me off the damn road! I swerve in behind him at the last minute, and I am PISSED. I look over at Wags, who is already pumping the Super Soaker, and he says “I’m already on it!” So we drive up to the corner of Harvard and Walnut, which back then had a four-way stop sign. He’s turning right, so we make like we’re turning left. Wags signals the guy to roll down his window, he does, and gets a mouthful of H2O. We book it left, and I look in the rearview and see him hauling ass after us, almost causing an accident in the intersection. Now, Im damn good driver, and I know that if I go up to the light ahead he can block me off, so I let him pass me so I can take one of the other routes. This is where it gets nuts. The guy speeds up, swerves to the right and turns his car completely horizontal, blocking off the road in front of me. Then he gets out of the car and lumbers towards us. Now, you’ve gotta understand that Wags and I are not afraid at this point. In my Senior year, my only class was weight training, and I was a 6 foot 2″ mass of a man, who kicks football player’s asses. Wags is shorter than I am, but he’s on the Track team, he’s lightning fast, and he’s Japanese and well trained in Karate. This old guy is probably 5 foot 10, and of a slightly wusslike stature. So you can see our confusion at the old man’s bravado. He points at me, and signals for me to get out of the car. Wags and I look at each other and in unison say “What the fuck does he think he’s gonna do?” So, noticing the pileup of cars behind us honking, and not wanting to stick around for the Irvine Police to show up, we swerved around him and flipped him the bird.

By this time, our lackeys were completely into it. They were begging us to let them ride along. When we did, we’d have them actually get out of the car, squirt people, dive back in and we’d high-tail it outta there. We had one buddy named Tommy get out about a block down the road, and we drove alongside this old guy pretending to look for someones house. Tommy comes haulin’ ass up the street, Wags whips out his camera, and takes an awesome series of photos. From Tommy running up from behind, squirting the old guy in the back of the noggin’, haulin’ ass back the other way, the old guy flipping him the bird, and finally, the old guy laughing as he realized what was going on. It was a damn good time.

Months pass by, December rolls around, we’ve been squirting people since late September. And one day it happens, the Super Soaker breaks. We told our lackey Amor to throw it in the garbage while we were at the gas station. We were sad that it was gone, but Wags had plans for a bigger one anyway. Then the very next day, we’re in Northwood in Irvine, getting food at the Del Taco, and it is pouring rain outside. Wags and I were heading up to my house to play some games and watch TV. We come to the stoplight at the corner of Yale and Irvine Blvd., and we’re just about to make a left onto Irvine when Wags says “Bacon”. I check the rear-view and see an Irvine Police Department squad car. No worries, I’m thinking, we haven’t done anything wrong. But as soon as I make the left his lights go on. I pull over to the side, and wait. Wags and i discuss what he could be pulling us over for, and then he taps on the window. I roll it down, and the cop is in this big yellow poncho thing that all the cops wear on rainy days.

He says, “Hey boys, what’re ya up to?”

We respond with, “Nothing officer, just picking up some food.”

He says, “Shouldn’t you guys be in school?”

We say, “Nope, no classes right now, we’re Seniors.”

He says, “Right, right…..You boys don’t remember me at all, do you?”

I look to Wags, who is as puzzled as I am. I turn back to the officer, and reply with, “No sir, can’t say that we do.”

He replies with, “Well you should, I’m all wet.”

Sudden jolting realization and a fierce jump in my stomach. I look to Wags, who’s face had just gone pale. He mouths, “THE CRAZY GUY!” I nod slowly, and look back to the cop.

“Maybe I should paint the picture for you boys,” he says, “About 2 months ago, I was driving along Harvard in my civilian vehicle, when I notice some kids in a late model Toyota Celica attempting to pass me. I don’t let them. I proceeded to pull up to the corner at Walnut, where I was going to make a right turn. It was then that, I’m assuming you there,” he stated, pointing at Wags, “are the one who signaled me to roll down my window, and proceeded me to shoot me in the face with a high powered water gun.”

We sank back in our chairs, of all the people we could’ve squirted in the face, it had to be a damn cop. “You know, I’ve been looking for you guys for a long time. You’ve been my hobby for the past two months. We’ve got a big record on you guys at the station. We actually held a meeting this morning on what we were going to do about you. Then imagine my luck when I take my lunch break at Del Taco over there, and see you boys pull out of the drive-through. Oh man, it must be my lucky day. I’ve been waiting a long time for this boys, please step out of the vehicle.”

This was it, we were screwed, and we knew it. The officer then walked us over to the curb, and asked me to open the trunk. We then noticed that 3 other squad cars had pulled up behind us. I pop open the trunk, and the officer starts wading through the mounds of crap that I had piled up back there. We only prayed that he wouldn’t find the compartment with all the pictures of our squirting victims. Luckily he didn’t, but guess what he did find. The Super Soaker, which Amor had supposedly disposed of the day before. Wags and I both wished painful death upon Amor at that moment.

“So this is the culprit eh?” He smiled. Then he threw it on the front of his cruiser. He also emptied our pockets, throwing our posessions on the hood as well. He also threw my non-water-resistant pager as well, which I dove for and took back. Hey, we were already in a shitload of trouble, why hold back now? At this point the amount of squad cars had grown to a ridiculous amount, and officers were standing around in their ponchos pointing and laughing. We wondered why until one of the cops came up and said, “Hey, you finally caught ’em eh Captain?”

CAPTAIN!?!? Holy shit we squirted the Captain of the police force in the face? The cop then turns to us and says “Good job guys, real smooth.” Sonuvabitch.

Then the Captain tells us that we’re going to school. We look at each other and realize what time it is. He has coincidentally pulled us over in the only time every other day that we’re supposed to be in class. 500 to 1 shot, and he does it. Son of a bitch. He makes me drive my car to the school while he follows, and he drags us on campus and towards the principal’s office. On the way in, the Narcs (campus security) are making fun of us like they already know what’s going on. Wags and I are wondering how the fuck anybody here knows, when we get to Harry Meader, the principal’s office.

“Hey Greg,” he calls out, “how are you today?” The officer responds, “Not bad Harry, as you can see.” Wags and I are very confused at this point, when Meader looks at us and says, “Oh, you guys didn’t know? Greg and I here are best buddies, we’ve lived next door to each other for the last 10 years.”

It was about then that it dawned on me. We squirted the Captain of IPD, who just happens to be the principal’s best friend, and he just happened to catch us ditching the one class that we had for an hour every other day. Unless we could figure something out, we were fucked. They spent quite some time trying to scare us, saying that we’re going to jail and whatnot, but we knew the laws. Neither vehicle was moving at the time of the squirting, so we weren’t breaking any laws. Captain MacFarland started ranting on about how the container could have had acid in it, to which I replied, “How could we put acid into a plastic container?” That pissed him off. He said, “Dammit! If I hadn’t seen that it was a squirt gun, I could have returned fire and shot you! I’m so mad, you’re lucky I don’t shoot you right now!” Then Meader says that we should call up our parents and see what they have to say. Wags goes first, and spends his time convincing his Mother that he’s not going to jail. Then its my turn, and my Mom calls me a dumbass for not listening to her. Then she tells me to pick up my little sister on my way home.

Meader and the Captain are both pretty pissed that our parents are so nonchalant about the whole thing, so the Captain demands that we be punished. Not wanting to dissapoint his best buddy, Meader pulls up our attendance records. Since we never went to that one class every other day, we’d racked up over 40 unexcused abscences apiece, amounting to 80 detentions. Piled on top of the current detentions that we already had, Meader was quite upset to learn that there wasn’t enough time left in the school year for all those detentions. So what does he do? He slashes them down to 50 detentions apiece.

It took us a second to realize this, but the whole situation had turned to our advantage. The attendance office would have given us every one of those detentions no matter how many we needed to serve. And Captain MacFarland had no leg to stand on legally, so all he could do was try to scare us. With all this before him, he decided to let us go, promising vengeance. As for Wags and I, we were legends among the school. Notorious as the guys who were the hobby of the Captain of the police force. Did we serve those detentions? Ahh, maybe a few. The Narcs usually let us off for having “balls of steel to stand up to that guy”. MacFarland tried calling our houses to put the scare into us, but we didn’t give a shit, and he stopped calling. Although to this day, I still get pulled over in Irvine for absolutely no reason, and let go 10 minutes later. Oh well, that’s the price you pay for being a BadassMoFo.

Dan vs. the Pane Glass Window

by on May 5, 1999 @ 4:56 pm

Just weeks after I had graduated from high school, I was hanging out at the bookstore where I was working at the time. My friends Dan and Jeff were supposed to meet me there, and I was sure Dan was going to make a plea that I get back together with my ex. See, I had met this psycho-she-bitch through Dan’s girlfriend, at one of her parties. When I dumped her crazy-ass, Dan’s girlfriend became quite distraught, and nagged the Hell outta him to get us back together. Needless to say, I wasn’t going back to the she-devil, even if she sent her legion of flying monkeys to fling their feces at me.

Dan and Jeff arrived, and we were ready to take off when Dan got a page from his gf. Knowing that she’d want to pester me, I went inside the store, followed by Jeff. We bullshitted with some of my co-workers, and after a few minutes started to walk towards the door. Now, to understand the rest of this story, you’re gonna have to picture the front entrance to the bookstore. There wasn’t a wall, only numerous panes of glass, stretching from one end of the entrance to the other. The double-door entrance was surrounded by a small gold frame, with two huge arced handles to open them. From the front entrance, you can see in or out as clear as day.

So I’m standing in the vicinity of Jeff and some old lady reading the latest Tom Clancy novel off the front endcap, and we spot Dan heading towards the store from the payphones, walking uncharacteristically fast. Suddenly he hooks right, and *BAM!*, smacks face-first into a glass panel. The sound echos with a great boom all throughout the store, and the old lady screams out “OH MY GOD!” I swear that old broad pissed herself she was so scared. The pane of glass bended in with the weight against it, and seemed like it would shatter at any second. But instead it paused, and shot Dan back onto the sidewalk. The entire set of windows shook from the impact. Dan swaggers a second, attempts to regain balance, but loses it, swivels left, and plops face-first into the concrete. This all took place in a few-second period, but seemed like an eternally beautiful dance of blood and pain for poor old Dan.

We rushed outside to see how he was, and he laid on the ground, holding his face. A little trickle of blood spilled out onto the pavement, and I asked him if he was OK. He just waved us away, and I noticed that he was crying like a little baby. He starts screaming about how his nose is broken. I calmly tell him that its just a nosebleed, and that he needs to cool it. He starts bawling his eyes out and crumples into a little ball. Suddenly a crowd formed around us, and lo and behold, two chicks that we know came walking on up. One of whom, BTW , Dan had expressed interest in playin’ slip ‘n’ slide with. So they’re laughing at his dumb ass, he’s crying like a little sissy girl, and I’m crackin’ wise about his stupidity. He gets up, holding his face, runs to his car, and drives off spouting off about us being assholes. Meanwhile, I invite the two chicks to go with us to the movies, and we laugh all the way there about what a jackass Dan is.

Dan eventually forgave and forgot, but to this day there is still a stain from his nosebleed on the concrete in front of the bookstore.