Friday, April 07, 2006


Guys who stole my 'boom box' in the late 80's

You know who you are! Ahh, I remember it well, that autumn day in 1988. My friends and I were headed from school (Catholic grade school, nonetheless) to baseball practice at Aptos Field. Apparently, we wandered onto the literal wrong side of the (MUNI) tracks. There you all were. You crossed the street, intimidated my friends, I saw them receeding, those damn nancy-boy sissies, damn our Catholic other-cheek-turning upbringing. You advanced like an otter stalking its prey. "That's nice, can I see it" you said. "No", said I, resolute in my desire to be able to keep my ghetto blaster. I might want to blast "A Shoulder to Cry On" or anything from BelBivDeVoe in the future. But, you persisted and your friend - the one who apparently was a Joe Pesci in training, the lil' midget - sneered, replying that I better give it up, or his friend would "kick (my) ass". Seeing my punked friends crying and repeatedly making sign-of-the-cross motions, I finally acquiesced, bitterly. Just like it was yesterday, or at least the mid-'90's, I gave an internal guffaw of joy when I saw the speakers come crashing off the base as you crossed the street. "That'll show 'em", I thought. I was shaken. I had messed my pants. But, it's not like I think about it every day of my broken life or anything. So, where are you? Answer if you dare. Hahaha, the last laugh is mine. Byee all!

Violence is never the answer to life's greater questions. This blog has been blessed by the Lord.
hahaha. BelBivDeVoe.
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