Tuesday, July 30, 2013

San Clemente (We Are Punk Rock!!!) Vol. 2





It's my birthday MOTHERFUCKERS!!!






            I remember feeling cheated and irate, as I stepped foot inside and discovered that we were amongst the first 20 people let into the club that night.  The lack of visual stimulation left my brain vulnerable to the worst thing ever, MY BEST THINKING!!!!

MISTAKE  # 1 – Immediately tipping the bartenders the sum of a Mexican King’s ransom (that would be about $10 U.S., a stick of gum, and three lottery tickets), so that my drinks would be served to me as a priority over the rest of the club, for the rest of the night.

MISTAKE # 2 – Selecting “Black Russians” as my drink for the night (served with goat’s milk too)

MISTAKE # 3 – Feeling angry when the rest of the guests arrived, because I am no longer the center of attention, and am to inebriated to communicate my superior ability of carnal incantations…and as a result, pushing every male of his female counterpart, in order to usurp their female bodies.  This eventually led to my expulsion from the club by the time I got around to the 8th or 9th couple.

MISTAKE # 4 – Paying my way back into the same club, while simultaneously quenching my parched throat, and climbing the drunk latter, up to “Super Baracho” status.  In this heightened state of wisdom, and unconditional empathy, I decided it was a wise choice to make an example of the man who dresses up like a bumble bee and sneaks up on all the patrons while they are dancing.  He first, blind folds them, and then forces tequila down their throat, while simultaneously blowing a god damn whistle in their ears.

            The nerve of that bumble bee man, asking me for a tip, and not checking me for consent in the first place.  American violence solves all problems, except in private clubs run in foreign countries, where my constitutional rights don’t even apply.

MISTAKE # 5 – Ignoring my friends advice, to just lay low at the beach, and paying my way into the club a third time, just to pick a fight with a bunch of spring breakers from Florida.  Since the pussy’s declined, I decided I had no choice but to ascend the bleachers during the climax of the foam party (they literally pump soap suds on the dance floor), whipping out my wang, and proceeding to piss all over the crowd from Florida.

MISTAKE # 6 – Breaking the cardinal rule for American’s visiting Mexico, and peeing anywhere OTHER then the toilet, and ending up in Mexican jail (a very, very pleasant place).  My friends posted my bail, and I was escorted to the car.  On the way to the parking lot, one of the guys I pissed on spotted me.  As soon as I made contact with our car, I immediately passed out into unconsciousness.

Friday, July 26, 2013

San Clemente (WE ARE PUNK ROCK!!!)



Happy Dirty 1st!!!




           
              I woke up this morning, on the eve of my "dirty first" birthday, on a roof top that over looked El Camino Real on one side, and the North Beach on the other.  I could see off into the distance, a vague memory of a hill top, lush with tomatoes, kegs of beer, and 20 year old hookers...vivid memories of where I had my 21st birthday, only ten years prior.

              The hill top today, has been torn up, and split up into a failed housing project...a multiple failure I might add.  The hilltop, which on one night, entertained 30 of friends and there friends, and housed a keg of Newcastle, and another keg of Sierra Nevada, stands tall with the skeletal remains of re-bar, copper wiring (which eventually got stolen by tweakers) and chucks of cinder block...resembling California's most cherished garbage can...Indio California, and the Sultan Sea.

              What brings me back to this isolated sea town?  The last, true, coastal blue collar town, in all of Southern CaliforniaSan Clemente is a bastion of liberalism, yet maintaining an elegant "Fuck You" attitude leaning a little toward the right; San Clemente is a true punk rock jewel in California.  It's here, where I have had many strange and random experience's that seem to feed my lust for life and for this little surf town. 

              Just the other week as an example, I was arrested at the Ralph’s on El Camino Real.  I was drinking a handle of Bacardi 151 with about 5 other "residentialy challenged" transients.  The sheriff’s department showed up, and asked us to leave.  So we did...and I made it across the street with a psychotic transient (we shall call "Fuck Stick the 3rd") and his ugly girlfriend, who looked like a bull-dog (we shall call her "Man Kind").

Who did'nt get arrested here!!!