The Steak Incident
I believe it was the winter of 1984; my father and I were out having dinner to celebrate my birthday. Unfortunately, he insisted on having steak at the restaurant.
I believe it was the winter of 1984; my father and I were out having dinner to celebrate my birthday. Unfortunately, he insisted on having steak at the restaurant.
For at least 5 minutes, my brain had been engaged in internal discourse with my bladder on the appropriate location to take a leak while dancing in the club. This would not be the first challenge of the night.
An unedited article submission tackling another illegal profession: robbery. Don't read too closely, for you'll likely need a lot more instruction before making this a career.
Intermixed with the greatness of my four years at college were some of the most awful experiences ever. What I am about to tell you tops the list. And all I did was go to the movies.
On the west side of 201st street in Hollywood, Florida sits the underground Hell’s Angels watering hole 'Rough Around the Edges.' Flyers that advertise the place promise 'Girls, Bikes, Beer, Pool' and yet, it delivers so much more.
Usually, people working morning shifts at Mickey D’s are docile and most customers are there for breakfast. They will avoid confrontation as soon as they smell the alcohol on your breath. Corky is no exception.
I remember my first real crush. I was 6 or 7 years old, back in a time when love was sweet, pure and innocent - untainted by the certainties of the world. When girls would beat you up and smash earthworms in your face to show you they liked you.
The beginning of Spring. So much promise, yet still so much crappy weather and so much class left before summer. But there is hope on the horizon: Spring Break! A chance to visit a foreign locale! To start your vacation, Go to #1 now...
Hanging out with Kermit was like getting a backstage pass into a world of cool and exclusivity. He knew all the important guys in town and seemed to have been with every girl worth being with.
Rolling Stone had commissioned me to write a piece about modern day biker gangs. My destination was Arizona Bike Week, a festival that celebrates everything America loves about itself: bikes, beer, cheap sex, violence, drugs, and midgets.
Like all good parties, it's best to be sleeping in your own bed when they come to an end, even if it means borrowing your little brother's car and drunk dialing everyone you know on the wild ride home.
Why the hell does Columbus get a holiday? Hey, Columbus, you bastard, did you realize America was already discovered by the people living there. It didn't need discovering!