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The Best of Times

The Best of Times

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Published by Joe
True life story. Those were some fun times...
True life story. Those were some fun times...

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Published by: Joe on Nov 15, 2009
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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We were living’ on the edge; a precipice too sweetnot to go over. Here we were living in the middle of the hottest scene on the planet for the beginnings of  Thrash and Metal music. We used to see bands likeMetallica, Slayer, Exodus, Voivod, Bad Brains, (youname it, they played here) for the price of a largishSlurpee nowadays (if you can find a 7-11 still openthat is). Then there was Death Angel; our local call toroyalty. We went to school with Rob & Mark and theyeven used to play a song I wrote the lyrics for called,‘Priest’s of the Black Oracle’. Those really were thebest of days! We had fun at any expense, but Isuppose you can’t tempt the Devil forever so to say.Eventually, like it or not, the slow, methodical marchof Time will have its toll; we get older. That is not tosay we grow up, as I am still waiting for this elusiveconcept to occur. My wife wouldn’t say that thoughas she thinks I’m older than dirt; I act it anyway. Shedoesn’t know the kid still lives in me. He just hastrouble being seen most of the time. The grumpy,tired, fat guy blocks his way. I hate that grumpy,tired, fat guy; he’s a real prick!Anyway, back to my story. I remember this one timeI went to a show at The Stone, a cool club onBroadway in San Francisco; right down the blockfrom the infamous, Condor Club ( a world famousstriptease establishment). I had spent some timebefore the show with my S.F. United Skin buddy,Preston Lynton (he had S.F.U.S. tattooed on theinside of his lower lip to prove it), getting how wouldyou say? Stinking wasted! We had gone to a liquorstore that sells to underage skinheads (cause theywere scared) and scored some booze to wash ourpills down with (Don’t ask me what they were1
because I probably never knew). We then attemptedto take a bus to The Stone to meet up with the restof our entourage. Somehow we must have angeredthe bus driver immensely because he suddenlypulled a knife on us (at least that’s the way my mindremembers it anyhow) and Preston & I took turnspulling each other back from going locomotive onthis poor, hapless individual whom we had somehowoffended into aggressive force.Eventually we made our staggering way to the clubto see our friend’s band, Death Angel, play. The nightwas interesting to say the least and later on, Isomehow pissed off a bouncer who tried then to getme to come with him (I guess he don’t like Trash).Needless to say I told him the proper response tothat situation, to “Fuck Off!” which he then appearedso to do; whereupon I proceeded to continue in myfestivities with my beloved friends (friends reallywere everything). Next thing I knew he shows upwith four other hired toughs and proceeded toattempt to lay hands on me; to abscond with me.Well, I was having none of that and decided to resistthis senseless assault upon my metal honor. Well;suddenly they’re grabbing me by the middle, thelegs and my neck and dragging me out, it’s then Igrab a chair that is passing my limited field of visionand decide to bring it into the fray. Later I’m told (asI have to be told many things that happened thatnight) that I almost achieved grievous bodily harm orG.B.H. (that’s a punk band if you don’t know) on mythen girlfriend’s friend, Gretchen of the blond hair.I’m glad she wasn’t hurt by my senseless drug andalcohol induced antics.2
Needless to say they succeeded in wrestling me outthe front door, effectively 86ing me, my first but notlast 86, by the way.It was my faithful and life long, metal buddy DougKarabinis that came to my side. Yes, the true HadesHound, my buddy! He attempted to talk some ‘settledown’ into me and they ended up throwing him outas well just for good measure (you know what theysay, “the company you keep”, “guilty byassociation”). So out we go. Outside the front doorhe’s attempting to get me to calm the fuck down, asthere are cops nearby, when I decide to saysomething to the effect of “fuck the police” (againmy memory on this may be less than perfect). Wellthat got some attention my way and next thing Iknow I’m being hauled into the back of a SFPDcruiser next to some black guy (or should I sayAfrican American?) that I had no idea what he haddone nor why I was now sitting next to him with myhands cuffed. It was at this point my feeble brainstarts to kick in and ask, ‘what the fuck are you doinghere!?’. I now was officially ‘less drunk’ enough to bescared.I wind up in the police station like the scared kid Iwas and probably crying and they start to take thecuffs off; it was at this point, and I’m still unclear onhow or exactly what then took place, my wrist cameout of the cuffs, my arm swings around and I seem toremember sort of contacting the large, blue copstanding in front of me. That must have scared meright into a short circuit and subsequent rebootbecause the next thing I know is it’s later and he, thelarge, blue cop is letting me go. I recall tearfullytelling him I have no way back to the club, nor do I3

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