The title of this post is an excerpt from an actual email I received from a female companion of mine from the past. Yes, we were sexually involved. Ha ha ha, I’m not too sure what conclusion you can draw from that but it was fun to type…
For those who were expecting this post to be Part II of my series, People Who Died: Roll Call, I’m sorry to let you down. I will keep everyone informed on how I am going to approach that series once I make a decision. What I’m starting to think is that I may be breaking it down to the point where I will only have one person featured per post. That way I can really get into some juicy ass details on each person I write about without feeling like I’m under pressure to cut my flow of thoughts off prematurely.
The first part of that series, I talked about five people. Four of them were totally good people and one was a scumbag killer fat piece of shit named Joel Brown. The only reason I’m mentioning him now is because he was a real scumbag. I mention this for the benefit of the special individual after whose letter to me I’ve graced the title of this post. I’m no scumbag. People that rob pot dealers and take all of their money, weed, other assorted valuables as well as MURDERING THEM are scumbags. If you weren’t such a soft ass you would realize the difference but your sheltered, elite upbringing behind the Orange curtain has left you with the common sense of a pet bunny rabbit. Hopefully you will never be exposed to the true scum of this earth. You can however read about them on sites like People You Will See in Hell where you will find that your perception of what a scumbag I am is pretty fucking far from reality. \
It’s 2:02 a.m. Friday, March 25th, 2011 as I write this. I am definitely in the mood to get right into a good little story but unfortunately I have to take off right now. I’m going to pick up my friend Heather McGovern who just got off of work at Michelle’s bar in Corona, California. We are going to go check out some late night casino action, probably at Pechanga Casino. Neither of us really have any money but we have a good time generally, when we hang out so…..I’m off to see the wizard. I’ll continue this later.
7:46 a.m. now and I just got home from Pechanga Casino. Do I have a dollar in m my pocket that I didn’t have before? I’d be fronting, I’d by lying if I said I made a score. Yikes, I’m in this rhyming, sing song frame of mind because I was making up insulting hip songs about this guy Joey Rausa on the drive home. I’m hoping that none of my family members read this particular post actually, because, Mr. Rausa is definitely persona non grata to my family, excluding me. They all hate him for reasons I understand conceptually but have a difficult time empathizing with overall. Reason being, I was never around these parts when Joey had his heyday with my sister Natalie. Oh, I guess I need to back up and tell you that Natalie, my sister who is now residing in a heart shaped urn on one of the shelves in my mother’s house in La Quinta, California, and Joey the bald headed boy
wonder were involved in an over the top, soap operaish type relationship for years and years. She left her husband Mitch, again for reasons I’m not completely familiar with, probably about 13 years ago or something like that. To be blunt, he bored her to tears. That’s basically how she broke it down for me. While she was still alive I really didn’t have anything to do with him at all. When I got back from New Zealand in May of 2008 the two of them were broken up…..ish. I know she did still see him but she tried to keep it a secret thing for the most part rather then risk the condemnation of my family. My mom, especially, was very anti Rausa and she erupted like a mini volcano at the mere mention of his name. You know what I’m going to stop with this line of thinking right now but I promise you that I have pages and pages of future ramblings that you will be privileged enough to read about at some point.
On the way back from the casino just now, I was thinking rather heavily about this blog and what I want to do with it. I have so many crazy fucking stories to relate and I really want to write them all out via this blog and then at some undetermined future point, put the whole ball of wax into some sort of publishable form which will lead to my fame, fortune and notoriety. I’ve got tales of punk rock decadence, skateboarding insanity, sexual debauchery in the extreme, chemically induced memories of many different geographical locations, bartending adventures, poverty level survival stories, extremely high variance gambling tales, sad tales of loss and defeat, as well as against all odds tales of notable achievements and glorious victories and I suppose at the end of the day many many stories involving the one constant in everything I write about. Me. Anthony J. Mandich.
Stay tuned I hope you do. I’m going to try and stay alive long enough to not only get all of the old stories out but also hopefully long enough to consolidate all this shit into one of those fairy tale redepmtion feel good miracle comeback stories that will leave all of the females damp with their desire to take me under their pendulous busty wings and squeeze me hard enough to make my big head explode. Lofty goals. Good times.
Gonna go now and see if I can’t get my garage sale going even though presently we have “inclement” weather conditions. Nothing can stop me lol. I’ll probably have a double posting day to be honest so lets use this one as a little appetizer for the main course to follow in a dozen hours or so okay? Have a good Friday children…..