The death of a loved one. The failure of a romance. The birth of a child. Powerful events become encoded in our memory by good music with emotional resonance. I am not a guy, but I cannot listen to Fuck the Pain Away by Peaches without recalling my second miscarriage. It was the one I had in the Pep Boys bathroom while Derrick was buying weed from Pancho, the guy who puts on tires. It looked like a little tiny bug and I am 99% sure the medicine took care of those after Cabo, so it was definitely a baby.
Yo, it's me, I am the most emotional whenever I listen to Shots For Me by Drake. What was that b***h thinkin' leaving him? Ain't that the way it always is though. It's like, Drake, bro, don't become all fixated on reducing a woman into territory. The very sh#% you are doing thinking you are defending your pu**y is therein, I mean that is how you wind up letting this other dude in the back door. She don't feel respected. You put dynamite all up in the trust and BOOOM it's gone now, Drake. Your suspicions is realized. Just like with my moms and her cash in her purse. Get CSI in here I did not take that 20 dollars. Shots For Me takes me back to them accusations.
Mang, there is one way to handle that. You get you a 30 brick of Natty Light, lock yourself in a room with a sack full of whip-its, and you just get that done. Like it's a mission. When you come out of there smelling like a clown's helium tank at October Fest your bros will know it is time for phase two: get some cooter in your face. Only a fine stripper can sooth your pain. Basically suck it up. You're a man. Men get over that stuff. Juke until you can't juke it. You fill up on diesel. You think Jeter is crying about all those clinic trips? You can have more children or whatever. Time is what I'm saying. It takes time, mangs.
Let your memories become a celebration of them and not a reminder of the pain of your loss. Incorporate the love and the loss into who you are and go on to be a better person. Like how after my second miscarriage I realized what it meant to be in this human web we inhabit and stopped texting while driving. Like, you have all these parts, but it's your soul, and the soul cannot be flushed down the toilet in a Pep Boys. And the soul of Bradyyn Drake Landing will be with us forever when I go in that Pep Boys to score weed. He is there haunting that Pep Boys. And he comes at Christmas to show me the future. Although that might be the ghost of the bugs from Cabo I killed with three courses of antibiotics and a cream they usually use on soldiers. So my answer is basically, if you're a guy, smoke a lot of weed.
Sometimes I dream that I'm sitting in the back of the defunct Weinermobile as it careens driverless down the highway. At first I thought this was symbolic of the powerlessness I feel in life, but then I realized it's actually the Weinermobile's dream of being able to drive again.
Three years ago, when we were burying my uncle, Cleaver and some gross lady dog (Solstice???) showed up at the cemetery and starting going at it really loudly. It ruined everything and we had to have a "re-do" the next day and it cost a fortune. I've hated him ever since for that.
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