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

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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 California.  San 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!!!

Where in the World is Wylie O' Rylie? Adventure #1...Act 1...Knoxville

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Tina the Trollop 2.89

It was as simple as that...no credit check, no deposit, no bullshit (save the bullshit that originated from within the apartment).  Between Juan's income, my income, and the outrageous income that Ming, our silly Chinese landlord demanded, it became clear that we needed a 3rd roommate.

I had a friend named Adam, who was from Indio California. To describe Adam would be like trying to describe an enigma wrapped in a riddle, with a meth pipe duck-taped to his mouth. Adam was a violent and angry drunk, who worked as a shady contractor by day, and a twacked out fisherman by night. Adam was always just an inch away from violating his parole, a classic example of recidivism. I had met Adam through the grape-vine somewhere in Dana Point, California. While smoking a joint on the lawn in front of his ex-girlfriend's cousins house, I had met Adam, who in turn, introduced me to his ex, who introduced me to her best friend Nickey, who introduced me to her mom...Katherine.

Katherine was an exotic Japanese M.I..L.F. (Mom Id like to Fuck). Katherine had a house in Capistrano Beach, California, where she lived as a “dry-drunk” with her boyfriend Jason. Jason was a quintessential example, of a heavy metal guitarist gone professional tele-thung... type clech. Jason looked like the “love child” of David Spade and Kevin Bacon.

So between the dry-drunk Katherine, her Hollywood gone homo boyfriend, Jason, and her slutty daughter Nickey (a hot little jewish princess with curves that gave her a plesently plump appearance) Adam my tweaker trailer trash friend, and myself...we had enough material to cover 93 different Jerry Springer episodes...oh yes...this will no doubt become very weird.

"Those dry-drunk fuck sticks, are a bunch of fat mouthed liars!!" exclaimed Adam, while he slammed back his 211 tall can...the one he just stole from the liquor store down the street, from our current location.

"How so dude?"  I asked

"Well...fuck they think they are all high power and good now that they don't drink and shit, yet...yet all they do is eat norco, smoke heroin, and shove xanex up each other's poop shoots!"  Adam exclaimed as he threw his 40oz accross the street, having it land in the streets on purpose, just so he could have the satisfaction of destroying something.

We walked back to Katherine's house, and slamed a few shots of tequila on the way.  Adam handed me a few somas...(which are skelital muscle rexlars) while I was finishing my shots.  Oh, this may end up turning into an ugly night (and as you shall discover, it really did!)

The Story So Far...

FUCK! I NEED MONEY!

The heart warming tale of two friends, broke as shit!!!

Tina the Trollop Part 2.3

And the saga continues...

Could this be Tina...God I hope not....
That would be 6 months worth of heavy
drinking and drugging to explain!!!

The one truth in life to withstand the trials and tribulations of time, through and through again… a quintessential fact like 2+2=4, that prostitution is the oldest profession, or as elementary as God doesn’t understand Mormons.  If a man has a crazy story to tell, by definition, he has thousands more long forgotten, and beleaguered by total embarrassment, yet should the narrator take a moment to humble him-self, and remove his shortcomings and defects of character… (Oh sorry, I thought I was at an AA meeting for a second…as I was saying), REMOVE HIMSELF FROM HIS EGO; the hilarious tale becomes an epic saga, or rather a string of tales, thus becoming a work of colorful art.

To exclude a man who’s first impressions leaves you remembering a pit-bull Mexican who looks kind of like Abraham Lincoln, and is so drunk, he’s pissing in plastic tree, in the bathroom, right next to urinal, and talking to himself about savagely fornicating with an entire female bloodline, transcending generational gaps and boundaries, possibly starting as young as sixteen, definitely passing the age of 60, would be like leaving out the color blue from the sky, in a 10 year old's painting…