Well, my music taste consists of a number of artists (and bands) which i can count on one of my handss fingers:
Johnny Cash
Phil Harris
Rusty Cage
Chinese Man
And also a genre: Electro-Swing.
P.S. Cash died by "the betes". #getrekt #getfuckt #getrapedbydiabetes #DropTheThirdOne
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Aight, you fat fucks, I guess I ought to share an anecdote with you, to at least spark some activity:
Do you guys what I like? Well, there's about four things that I love more than anything else:
Johnny Cash, Electro-Swing, "Ye-olde-timey-hustling-methods" and ethanol. (Not in order)
So, the Saturday before the last one I was going to purchase some ethanol, and if anyone is not aware; it's illegal in Sweden to buy alcohol if you're under 20 (I'm 17).
No big deal, I asked a friend if he had some good dealers, and he did, so I got his number and then, on that Saturday, I sent him a text:
I asked him if he had vodka, because I was in the mood for vodka. He said yes, and then I asked him how much he takes in costs. He said he takes 50 crown (Swedish currency) in cost, + the price of the item itself, turns out that the total cost ended up with just 250 crowns (about 25 dollars).
Now THATS not a bad price for a liter of vodka. Anyway, I ask him if he can meet up at "Dr.Fries Square" (a place reasonably near where i live) in 30 mins. He responds with a yes.
So, I take the tram to the square. I stand there, and after an hour, I text him, asking where he's at. He says he has about 10 minutes to go.
Then, finally, after yet another hour, he arrived with the "goods".
Ok, so, I get home, happy as a muslim on 9/11, and I lock myself in my room and call two of my friends.
And the drinking starts.
I only remember the 5th or 6th shot, when the clock was around 8-ish. Then there's nothing up to the point where I find myself, at like 5am, face down on my blanket on my floor in my room. I am still drunk as a fucking skunk at that point, but also feel a little sick, so I rise up, feeling like shit, and take two steps over to my bed.
Then I see that I have a lot of small, brown spots on my arm. And my hair is grossely stiff, and hard. Being drunk, and tired, and hungover, I couldn't understand anything, but I did understand that whatever it was that I had gotten in my hair, I didn't want in my fucking bed. So, like any sane person, I wrapped my blanket around my hair and layed down to sleep.
I woke up at 10am. Slightly drunk, and not in any mood to analyze the situation. But after about an hour or so of being semi-asleep, I finally get a grasp on reality, and start looking around my room. I look down under my bed, and sure enough, I was wise enough to screw the cap on the bottle tight, and set it down smoothly on the floor. Same with the Cokebottle.
I then feel my hair. Disgusting. It's greasy, hard, and stiff. Imagine not washing your hair for five months, using an entire jar of claymation and an entire can of hairspray on your hair. That texture was what I felt. I didn't know what it was, though. I looked at my arm, and sure enough, small, brown spots.
I look at the spot where I had woken up, a few hours earlier. What do you think I see?
I'll post part two of this story tomorrow, so as to avoid too large of a "wall of text".
Last edited by uppkicker; Dec 21, 2016 at 02:37 AM.
Reason: <24 hour edit/bump
