One finds the most interesting things when searching the Internets for Star Trek slash fiction.
But hey, who wouldn't want to honk Troi's bewbs?
on stirring up enough trouble to have interesting things to post here. Sort of. But then again posting publicly about kind of trouble I'm brewing wouldn't be a good idea. So until I have more somewhat interesting stories from the present to.... present, I'm turning this journal into more of a place to tell somewhat interesting stories from my past. Starting with this one:
It was a Friday, I was about 19ish. College was done for the week, I had stopped at the nearby comic book shop to grab some comic book goodness and was headed to my car with my loot in hand, shielding it under my shirt from the slight rain that had started to fall. Next stop was my hometown to pick up some high school buddies to take to Milwaukee. Nuclear Assault was playing the Rave, and they had to be seen. Or so I thought
it was my next stop.
I'm walking to my car and some bum-looking guy says something to me. I asked him what he had said, I hadn't comprehended it. He got a bit defensive and asked if I was trying to start some shit with him. I said nope, misunderstanding. He asked me where I was going. South, I said. He asked me if he could hitch a ride to Fond du Lac. Intuition, which wasn't always so keen in those days, told me he wasn't a threat. Slightly drunk perhaps, but not a threat. I said sure, I was driving that way anyway.
He had a mustache, a baseball cap, was a bit of overweight and sort of long hair but sort of not really, that kind of look that he just hadn't felt like cutting his hair for a few months. In the car he sat still but kept jabbering about whatever, and this was what I learned about him: He was a Vietnam vet. He had a few drinks in him. He was an obvious alcoholic. He was done barhopping in this city for now and wanted to go to a bar in Fondy.
He asked where I was eventually going. He then asked why, because to him college was about being broke all the time and not having money for shit like shows. I forget what I said. Not much, as I wasn't interested in conversing. But I remember most of our discussion about Vietnam.
He talked a bit about what the war was like. He said that despite what the movies might portray, the black people he was with tried to stay hidden, stay out of trouble, and stay out of firefights whenever they could. But one of the white guys in his platoon was definitely the stereotypical batshit psycho bad guy. This guy would shoot at innocent villagers, rape innocent villagers, and be as much of a piece of shit as he could. Make the occupation's reputation go from bad to worse. He didn't make it home from the war though, a bullet got him in the neck one day and that was that.
I said "hmm, it sounds like he got what he deserved".
The drunk guy suddenly had this look on his face like he had just had a life changing epiphany. He turned to me and said "you know what? You're exactly right."
Right about then we arrived in Fond du Lac. He asked me to pull over by a nudie bar (a very inconspicuous nudie bar, I didn't know it was a nudie bar at the time, but I would end up there a few times later and it was the kind of place you wouldn't know was a nudie bar from the outside, or even after you had walked in and had a drink. You had to be looking the right way). He gave me a 20 dollar bill, thanked me, and got out.
Cool, I thought. I was still alive and now had some more spending money for tonight. But I had this weird feeling that I had given that boozehound an understanding of karma for the first time. Maybe he'd stop killing his liver? Shit, no. But I was enough of a moron at the time to think that I could make some kind of a difference like that in people's lives.
The show that night was fun. I remember talking to the band's drummer for a short while after the show, he was camcording the chaos. He got a bit edged at me at first and told me the Nuclear Assault shirt I was wearing was a bootlegged shirt (I didn't know it at the time), but he let it slide and then filmed me pointing to my shirt and shouting "bootleg!"