Not many people know but I used to be straight edge. I didn't drink, smoke or fuck anything that walked past me. Hardcore was a lifestyle for me. The people, the music and the morals. Then I made friends that weren't as geeky as I am and discovered the immaculate taste of Lucky Lager and Olde English.
I was seventeen the first time I got drunk. A keg party in St. Eustache, free hotdogs and all the drink tickets I wanted. Nobody told me how dangerous people get when they drink, I had to find out first hand. I vaguely remember the events of the night but I recall dancing on a stage and some super slutty looking girl pushed me off. So I got right the fuck back on and face pushed her off. Bad idea. The next thing I know I'm getting pulled by my brand new Boston Celtics jersey onto the hard ground. When I looked up at who pulled me all I could see was burly muscles covered with tribal art and a wife beater. This guy was a real fucking meathead. "Yo what the fuck is your problem buddy?!" Keep in mind I completely ignore my morals and don't care what happens when I'm drunk. So I replied with "Go back to Shapes, cocksucker" The surprise in his eyes that I wasn't going to back down was completely taken over with hatred as red as the flame decals on his Dodge Ram. At this point I see my friend Brad dive off of the stage head first into this guy. He was down and the standoff was over. I would have had the living hell beaten out of me that night if it weren't for Brad. There's no doubt in my mind I would have woken up in the trunk of a car in Morden. But instead I woke up in the back of a truck with a gorgeous girl I didn't know. Her wearing my new Celtics Jersey and me in nothing but my Asics and underwear.
-Turbo Jones
Note: I don't know if this is long enough. But it's the only good first I can remember.
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