He just kept saying, "Bastard mother fucker, I hate you." Over and over.

I learned a lesson last night. When the government went out of their way to put those little stickers on the packaging of CD's that says "Parental Advisory: Explicit Lyrics," there was a purpose for that. They don't want little kids to buy those records and then try to imitate those explicit lyrics. I am 19, and I am still not mature enough to buy the CD's with those stickers. The new Eminem album would just not be appropriate for someone with an impressionable mind like my own.

Sometime after drinking about one and a half 40's last night, I decided to put "Space and How Sweet it Was" by The Party of Helicopters into my little boom box. I turned the volume all the way up and I jumped around my room playing air guitar, trying not to trip over the mess on the floor. "BASTARD MOTHER FUCKER, I HATE YOU!" I screamed along with band. "BASTARD MOTHER FUCKER!"

Around this same time, the three freshman girls who always seem to sneak their way into our dorm came by. Dan, my next door neighbor, and I were the only two who had been drinking at this point, mind you since before 8:00PM. It was now a little after 11:00PM. Five sober kids, one drunk kid, and one really drunk kid. That is not a healthy mix.

I don't really remember too much of what I said to anyone at this point, except, "Bastard mother fucker, I hate you." Over and over. I don't think they really understood why I kept saying it, they might have even thought I was serious. I just kept saying it. "Bastard mother fucker, I hate you."

When I bought that The Party of Helicopters CD, there wasn't a sticker on the packaging. There probably should have been though. Impressionable minds like my own need those stickers to behave.

Sometime around this time, my stomach started to not feel so well. So I laid down in my bed, to only be awoken several minutes later by someone. The next thing I remember was puking and crying because I was gagging so bad. The next thing I remember after that is having to go to the bathroom at around 7:30AM this morning.

Sometime before I went way of the hill drinking last night though, Dana called me. Again. She is coming to visit Pittsburgh October 2nd through the 4th, we are going to see Karate together at the Andy Warhol Museum. We will probably even go out and get coffee together. I told her that if she didn’t have any place to stay she was more than welcome to stay with me for a day or two. She said that she will probably take me up on that offer. I am already excited.

I mentioned my possible chance to be on TV, and she said something to me that had stuck in my head since the moment she said it. "You don't have to be a star. We can both be bright, shining stars in Pittsburgh together."

Dana, you bastard mother fucker, I love you.

{(The Party of Helicopters - Radio)}

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