Wednesday, September 06, 2006

76 Ball

A friend wrote me an email asking for a story. I tell stories sometimes rather that just ranting like a pathetic fuck. So here's the story I sent her, minus most of the incriminating details, like real names. And the comic I stole from Zippy the Pinhead, which made me think about the story in the first place. I hope Bill Griffith doesn't sue me.

When I was in high school, and the drugs started to take ahold of each nights proceedings, interesting things used to happen. We always partied at my friend Neil's house (cause he was an orphan) and after getting properly lit up, we'd try to figure out something destructive to do. Neil was a pretty good golfer, and he lived off an alley that was just off State Street, which was the main artery thru Santa Barbara. Across State Street across from where he lived (like a nine iron we figured) was a Union 76 Station with one of those giant 76 balls, looming like a big target that we could see from his backyard on the alley. Well, you can imagine that as soon as we were properly ffffed up, it was time to take a couple of shots at that sucker. We sent our Canadian diabetic alcoholic friend Random Soucey (we just called him Soucey) over there (he became a lawyer . . . hmmm) to spot where the balls were landing. Neil would then launch a salvo of 3 or 4 balls and then we'd hide as eventually we did attact some police attention. The thought of those balls landing and then bouncing thirty feet in the air as they bounced off the concrete was further heightened when Soucey reported that he watched one guy filling up, hand on the nozzle, watch one and then another ball careen through the parking lot maybe ten yards away each time. The guy didn't move, just kept filling up as golf balls leapt and pinballed around him. Neil did manage to hit the ball but it never broke, as we all secretly hoped for.

Ah, the good old days when wanton destruction could trigger hours of hilarity. We made our own fun, damnit, none of this relying on the fucking internet to provide us with some sort of vicarious destructive thrill. (Although the stuff I've seen with Mentos and Diet Coke looks like it could be fun. Especially if you did it in a Walmart. )

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