BRMC no longer stands for “Black Rebel Motorcycle Club”. After their amazing show at Trees in Dallas, TX, last Sunday night, it now stands for “Badass Rockin’ Mind-Blowing Concert”. In other words, my new drug. Their concert was so good, it felt like what I imagine cult members think they’re gonna feel like after they drink the Kool-Aid.
When I woke up on Monday morning, the whole night felt really surreal, like a meth-head dream. I’ve never smoked meth though, so I have no idea what that feels like. The surrealism of the night before makes me think BRMC concerts are drugs in and of themselves, only better since they’re less likely to kill you. I’ve only been to two of their shows, and now attending more is an absolute necessity. In March earlier this year, they came to the House of Blues in Dallas, and the show was good, but Sunday night’s was way better. This was either because Robert Levon Been was on fire, or because this time around, there weren’t any douchebags asking for a tangerine to the face.
Some Latino redneck in Sherman, TX (where else?) parked this bad boy outside Lowe’s today.
Feast your eyes on this Catholic carcacha:
There was blood everywhere, and tears in her eyes.
God, that sounds like the chorus to a Hawthorne Heights song.
I didn’t mean to punch Shelby Waters in the face. I didn’t mean to break her nose. I didn’t even know I could break noses. I couldn’t even snap a pencil in two, which was pretty embarrassing when I tried in front of my sister, then the next day she told her whole second grade class.
Maybe I should back up.
I’ve been balls-to-the-wall in love with Shelby Waters for two years, ever since she transferred to my high school and lent me a pencil during sophomore year English. She smiled at me, and that was it. It was all over. I’ve never been able to look at another girl. I think I still have it. The pencil, I mean. It’s pink. Don’t tell her, though, ‘cause I don’t want her to think I’m a stalker. I’m not a stalker. I mean, I stare at her a lot, but I don’t wait outside her house in the rain dressed like the Unabomber.
I love cults. Okay, maybe love is a bit of a strong word. Let’s call it morbid fascination. I have a morbid fascination with cults. Since I’m such a nut about cults, I’ve spent way too much time researching them, so I can assure you I know my stuff.
Cults are a fascinating part of history but aren’t covered in the classroom, so today I’m going to educate you about a personal favorite cult leader of mine, Adolfo de Jesus Constanzo.
Adolfo de Jesus Constanzo was a cult leader and serial killer who killed many people around the Texas-Mexico border, including a Texas college student, so as a Texas college student, naturally I feel he is the most (ir)relevant serial killer for you to learn about.
There’s an epidemic sweeping the nation. Hoarders.
Okay, so hoarders have been around for forever, but it’s only in the last couple years that they’ve invaded the public eye, bringing their bags of garbage and dead cats with them. We have all different sorts of hoarding shows that are actually all the same: “Help! I’m a Hoarder”, “Hoarding: Buried Alive”, “I’m Pregnant and a Hoarder”, and of course, “Hoarders”.
Basically, all the shows go like this:
PART 1: Mr. or Mrs. Stinkytrashhouse is a Hoarder. They’re about to go to jail and/or their house is about to be repossessed ’cause they stuffed their house with junk like a Thanksgiving turkey.
PART 2: Angsty Child or Friend of Stinkytrashhouse enters and talks about the anger and distress they feel because Stinkytrashhouse won’t get rid of anything. They say they’ve tried to help Stinkytrashhouse again and again, but Stinkytrashhouse is blind to the dirty chaos consuming their home. Stinkytrashhouse prefers to bathe in garbage juice, especially since their plumbing got cut off years ago.
PART 3: A Professional Organizer and/or Therapist comes and tries to help Stinkytrashhouse sort through their humongous piles of rotting possessions. Stinkytrashhouse wants to keep everything, even that pile of cat poop, because that cat poop was really important to them at one point in their life. That cat poop saved their life or cared for them when they were young or something.
You know what’s fun? A day without homework. A day without homework is awesome. Especially if it’s a Friday.
That is all.
Except that’s not all. Watch this.