Saturday, August 29, 2009

Final Mass Days

The last days of vacation we're all about this. Griff's colossal slot car track in his basement. There had to be 100 feet or more of 1/24th style car racing track. Little guy would ask every day if we could go over there so he could thrash Griff's most prized possessions.
While older little guy would constantly want to go to the Mattapoisett skate park. Shitty concrete quarters with seams everywhere that rolled out to skin disintegrating tar were "wicked fun" to him. By the end he was pushing his mongo ass fast enough at this 6 footer to get 7' off the ground.
Ahhhh, as the "vacation" came to an end with family back east it was a quick transition to the work world. Which was a mellow shop loop to VT, NH, MA and CT with Mr. Piatek.
Moose rome the side of the road in Vermont.
While shaved lion cats roam the homes in the maple syrup capital.
Scott Stevens is a Masshole. Born and bred. Mardi Gras in Springfield.
Concepts in Boston. Responsible for the two Lobster SB's that were quite a hit with collectors.
Lobster's round one came in a wooden lobster pot. Sick.
Round two came sealed in a hazardest waste carton. It's all about the packaging and presentation.
Spongie runs the shop. Watch out for the GELK. Downstairs from the shop is this misty ass VIP room. P-Rod, Big Poppi, some Celtics and various others have keys to the doors down here, where they find $800 Guchi sneakers and shit.
I worked as a security guard in college at this place in Harvard Square. Till I got fired.
Because of this dude. He's a fellow Pollack and he and I worked at that shit hole. One night were on the phone talking shit to each other. "This place sucks. I hate these Jewish owners. I wish they'd just eat a dick, you know what I mean?" "Uh hey yea I hear you but I'm looking at the phone here and it's says all calls will be monitored." "Fuck those guys, their way to stupid and cheap to listen to our shit. Anyway..." The next day we were called into the office and let go. Stupid Pollacks.
This is my room mate from colleges wife, Carrie.
Who sent his boat 30 feet into the air and into this yard. Beers, boats and bitches don't mix. Pretty funny that the boats name is Defiance. He should change it to "re-finance."
Homeward bound now, just as I'm getting used to the humidity.

No comments:

Post a Comment