Time for a new blog. I went to buy some razor blades today, at Wallgreens. I picked up a bunch of other stuff I needed along with the razor blades, and the total when all rung up came to 49 bucks. When I got home, I found I was charged twice for the razor blades (14.98 as apposed to 7.49). I just about came unglued. I really don't have much money, and it really pisses me when I get ripped off...
Let's go way back to my childhood. I was seven years old and had gotten a nice three speed bike for my birthday in October. I rode it everywhere, at a high rate of speed, and never paid much attention to my surroundings. I just rode, and rode. So come summer, me and my 9 year old brother decided to go the local swimming pool, in Creston Park. On our way there, we cut through a vacant lot that is kind of wooded and has a lot of tall grass and bushes. This lot is on the corner of S.E. Powell and 42nd for those of you that know Portland. As soon as I am behind one of the bushes, this older kid, jumps out, and grabs hold of the sissy bar on the back of my bike. I can't get away, so I hop off my bike. This kid is 13 and in 8th grade. His name is Billy Follette, and he is five foot 10 inces and about 155 pounds. Me I'm still seven and tip the scales soaking wet at maybe 50 pounds. He says: Give me your bike. And a major tussle to free my bike from him results, with me and my brother both pulling on the handle bars to save my bike. After maybe a minute or so, this punk halls off and punches me in the eye (by the way, he is wearing leather gloves with the fingers cut out, like the gangsters use to wear in the old movies), knocking me out, and steels my bike. My poor brother, finally revives me after a few minutes and is so worried he is as pale as a ghost. He thinks I'm dead. We forego the pool and I head home, and my mother calls the police right away. They show up the next day! They take a report and go get my bike back, in one piece, but totally trashed. Both my parents are absolutely adamant that Billy Follette be arrested for the assault and robbery, but the officer, refuses to do so, as the Follette punk is from a broken home. My parents try to get the DA to press charges, to no avail and so the whole indecent slips by the way side. Now I know this doesn't seem to be on the topic of the razor blades, but is it. I really came unglued about the razor blades. I have trouble even now hours later writing about it. I loath injustice of any kind. I don't care where, or who, or how. I loath it! I have little use for the police, they are mostly bullies and sociopaths and probably deserve prison more than most of the people they arrest.
I sometimes wonder how much of my life was shaped by that Follette punk, that day so many years ago, on my way to the pool.
And interesting side note. William Follette is serving live in prison for murder. The stupid cops did not do him any favors when he was 13.
Let's go way back to my childhood. I was seven years old and had gotten a nice three speed bike for my birthday in October. I rode it everywhere, at a high rate of speed, and never paid much attention to my surroundings. I just rode, and rode. So come summer, me and my 9 year old brother decided to go the local swimming pool, in Creston Park. On our way there, we cut through a vacant lot that is kind of wooded and has a lot of tall grass and bushes. This lot is on the corner of S.E. Powell and 42nd for those of you that know Portland. As soon as I am behind one of the bushes, this older kid, jumps out, and grabs hold of the sissy bar on the back of my bike. I can't get away, so I hop off my bike. This kid is 13 and in 8th grade. His name is Billy Follette, and he is five foot 10 inces and about 155 pounds. Me I'm still seven and tip the scales soaking wet at maybe 50 pounds. He says: Give me your bike. And a major tussle to free my bike from him results, with me and my brother both pulling on the handle bars to save my bike. After maybe a minute or so, this punk halls off and punches me in the eye (by the way, he is wearing leather gloves with the fingers cut out, like the gangsters use to wear in the old movies), knocking me out, and steels my bike. My poor brother, finally revives me after a few minutes and is so worried he is as pale as a ghost. He thinks I'm dead. We forego the pool and I head home, and my mother calls the police right away. They show up the next day! They take a report and go get my bike back, in one piece, but totally trashed. Both my parents are absolutely adamant that Billy Follette be arrested for the assault and robbery, but the officer, refuses to do so, as the Follette punk is from a broken home. My parents try to get the DA to press charges, to no avail and so the whole indecent slips by the way side. Now I know this doesn't seem to be on the topic of the razor blades, but is it. I really came unglued about the razor blades. I have trouble even now hours later writing about it. I loath injustice of any kind. I don't care where, or who, or how. I loath it! I have little use for the police, they are mostly bullies and sociopaths and probably deserve prison more than most of the people they arrest.
I sometimes wonder how much of my life was shaped by that Follette punk, that day so many years ago, on my way to the pool.
And interesting side note. William Follette is serving live in prison for murder. The stupid cops did not do him any favors when he was 13.
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
blixem:
thank you so much for your love and support! <3
cendres:
this is too cute haha thank you, I'm totally on the cat t-shirt at the moment ^ ^ how are you ? =)