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UER Forum > Journal Index > A brief insight on monkeypoop > Why I hate being me (Viewed 2001 times)
Why I hate being me
entry by junkyard 
2/4/2005 5:37 AM

It all started when I was a like younger.....I hated being me because I was different. I didn't care so much except where I grew up, I guess it meant alot. I didn't come from money. So fuck em all I said. Where I come from we make our own fun, be it hauling ass on the highways or in the shit, we did it. My old man passed it down to me, even though he tried to hide it from us, who the fuck was he fooling? Once you're born into it, you can't escape it. I wouldn't have it any other way now. I even remember the day, Aug 22, 1991, the day The Mouse showed me who I was. I almost killed a good friend of mine, but we made it just fine, and we laughed about it. We were indestructable, at least we thought. It would be several years before either of us found out otherwise. That day I racked up 4 cars racing in the high school parking lot. Some dumb chick pulled out in my lane, she should have seen us, I guess I should have stopped for that stop sign, but I was winning. I'm sorry but a 68 Tempest against a 83 Firebird, now why would I turn that down for money?? I already beat some rich kid with a 78 Corvette a few days earlier. Either way I was proving a point (and making a buck) When I hit that chick in the 76 Impalla I bent her up good. I at least got to drive mine home. And that was her last ride. She sat for a month or two in the driveway, and then went to Pontiac Heaven. I ended up buying the motor back 2 years later and put into a 78 Grand Prix, it wasn't the same, but she took care of business. Won one race for my brother at the local track and he limped her back to the pits. I still don't know what happened to her....she's been laying in my garage for the last few years, since about 96 I believe. I haven't the heart to take her apart out of respect for the machine. I figured that would be the job of my first born. My daughter will someday have the option to build a street rod with her Great Grandmother's motor. It'll be in the family fo 50 years before she's ready to drive. If you can't understand that, then you'll never make the rank of mechanic second class. If you can, maybe you can still just join the command. The realm of twisted metal is just a different world, one in which The Mouse is your god, and escaping death is just another day. A world in which control is but an illusion, and destruction is the only peace you'll ever know.
Sometimes I want out of this world. But it's not in the cards. Sometimes I hope my daughter will not have to grow up in this world. I want better for her. But who the fuck am I kidding? I don't want her to know the pain it can cause, but I want her to learn the lessons it can teach.....you can't have both. All I can hope is that The Mouse will watch over her like he has me.......I'm still here.


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UER Forum > Journal Index > A brief insight on monkeypoop > Why I hate being me (Viewed 2001 times)


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