The TLP Network

No One and a Half: Look At What You’ve Become, pt. 1

by on Nov.26, 2007, under Articles, No One and a Half

Scribed by Jason Firestone.


Yes, you.

Remember what it was like back in the day? When you were young? You were the shit. Fuck that, you were King Turd of the Shit people, sitting atop Crap Throne on Dookie Island. A poop joke is a hell of a way to start off an article, isn’t it?

You were living with five other dudes in a two-bedroom apartment on a numbered street. Four of you were a band that played all around town five nights a week. The fifth guy was your half-retarded brother who you promised your mother you’d take care of (you just told people he was your roadie who smoked a LOT of pot). You all got the finest poon around because, hey, being in a band was still unique and cool back then. You were barely scraping by, living off just the money you got from gigs. But you loved it. You could have asked for nothing else the rest of your life.

Reality got in the way, however. You got a little too drunk one night and ended up banging your singer’s girlfriend, everyone took sides, the band broke up, everyone eventually went their separate ways, your mom wouldn’t let you move back in with her, yada yada yada.

Fast forward twenty years.

Now you’re stuck with a dead-end 9-5 job in a cubicle; you’re living in a landlocked suburban neighbourhood of identical psych-hospital-white two-story four-bedroom houses, with three overpopulation-contributing, bloated, lazy, tax deductions (also known as kids); your wife looks like a burnout Ellen DeGeneres who has lived off a steady diet of twinkies and soap operas since the Reagan administration, and is working hard everyday at that bad case of diabetes. You envy the married couples who never get it on because every night you’re stuck putting it in your wife’s ol’ vertical smile that at one point in time was clean-shaven and inviting, but that now, after three kids, looks more like the gaping, toothless frown of a dirty, crazed, old homeless guy who will suck a dick in a heartbeat just to get a 40 to make his next miserable day alive a little less painful. Your sweet-ass Les Paul that you lived off of ramen for two months to buy now sits collecting dust in a dark corner of your garage, right next to your impressive 10 years of Playboys that you were able to hide from Shrek – I mean, your wife – by storing them in a big box labelled “EXERCISE EQUIPMENT.”

You poor, poor bastard. Look at what you’ve become.

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