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Cop-Blocked.

By Wicked Stripe.

I'm checking in. I'm checking it out.

"Serious People, Serious Gloves" is done in first draft form. 250 pages of some of best shit I am capable of doing. If you don't like it, you're either from the future or a total bitch.

What am I going to do with it?

I'm going to do all I can.

School started last week. I'm in Kingston at St. Lawrence college taking advertising.

I'm in a computer lab right now because I don't have internet. I'm making comics; "Human Error," first appearing in "Vilume."

I'm going to tell you all about how I spent too much money and saw the end of the world through a new lens.

I met Jacob standing outside having a cigarette. We pointed at each other because we were the only ones wearing leather jackets. He told me he stole his from his friend. I told him I stole my hat from my friend and bought my leather jacket for $20. We wandered around talking about having sex with women.

The first night we all went out, we wandered the club area called The Hub. We were too drunk; a bottle of vodka, half a bottle of whiskey, some shots of something else. I was so drunk I bought a bottle of Coke Zero.

Coke Zero is an impossibly bad product.

We went to 2 keggers, both broken up by the police not 10 minutes after we arrived. I called it being cop-blocked. Cock-copped didn't sound as good. At the same time, cop blocked could be anything. You imagine a cop putting up police tape barring you from a sandwich. You imagine a cop gently pushing your shoulder as you try to walk into a barn. You imagine a lot of things. At the top of the list there is not you being all mackin' and then the flashlights showing up.

We're not allowed to smoke cigarettes within 10 metres of the entrance to the school. There's a sign by the front doors that reads "we share the air." There's a parking lot by the entrance and I just find the whole situation shitwirey.

That's a word I just invented. It's exactly what it looks like.

Like a mushroom cloud in the vaguest shape of a penis.

The next night we hit up the clubs. The bars. The all over. I dragged my body forward with zombie strings. We were climbing walls and drinking in shrubberies and yelling at commerce students. A group of men were standing in the parking lot of Pizza Pizza, holding a slice of pizza aloft in the air. Everyone was chanting "pizza! Pizza! Pizza!" There were 2 small girls huddled in the crowd with a look of fright upon their faces. I threw my finger at them: "Hey! HEY! Look how terrified they are!"

Everyone that night was looking for a fight. We watched women claw at each other like they were dogs. I saw people exchanging cash. One night I heard someone say "This isn't Sparta, this is madness." That's about all you need to know about anything.

I've never talked on this blog about girls I've slept with unless we're in a relationship, so if this blog sounds a lot like me drinking and not fucking then you're barking up your father's tree.

I met a girl with Amsterdam Bicycle glasses. She said to me: "I can tell from your skull ring that you're a badass, but you also smell like babies." Nobody would know what to do with that on their smartest, sexiest day.

The third night we went to someone's house on a street that had no sounds. I don't think anyone else lived on the street. Someone was playing guitar on a couch on the sidewalk. I was drinking Jack Daniels; I was wild eyed and manic. I was panicking like I was trying to win a panicking contest, sitting alone on the couch, chain smoking like it was something to do.

I sat around the back yard on top of a see-saw picnic table. A 300 pound man with his face covered in piercings heard me when I said I was weirded. He called himself Big Blue. He offered me a pill of something on the free. I absolutely took this pill. He claimed that he went to prison for 5 years because he cut the hands off a pedophile.

He said the pill was the mother of MDMA, but you know it was just speed.

At 4 AM we went to another house. 5 adults had brought a malnourished stripper home and each one was trying to get up in her nest. It was like watching a gang of raccoons fighting over an ear of corn. We rubbed our faces as the drugs began to wear off. A cab driver told us about all the sluts he had sitting right where we were. I don't know what to do with that information now, but at the time it made me furious.

I need to buy a bass guitar and finish this mess. You can just go ahead and tax a butt.

SK