What is the sound of one piston slapping?
What is the sound of one piston slapping?
Illustration for article titled Serious Shit

Have a brown manual diesel rwd wagon for this post. Seriously, I know I'm generally a jokester, but this isn't anything near that.


Oppo, I have problems.

Some backstory here: My grandfather on my mom's side was born in havanna, cuba, in 1946. His family moved here in '49 and he met and courted my grandmother in 1965. A year later, my mom was born, 10 years later, he left the family due to:

1.) Alcoholism

2.) Gambling addiction

3.) Narcotics addiction

4.) Womanizing

He's seen me once in my life, when I was a year old. He brought me a tonk a dump truck, which was my first automotive related anything. Here's the thing, He's the only other person in my family who could be described as a diehard jalop (maybe the cult of cars can be added to his long list of addictions). Also, I'm a dead fucking ringer for him. We like to say I look like my mom, and I do, but lets just say his genes are strong. Here's the other thing- Addiction is a genetic illness. My mom, she drinks a glass of red wine a night, but never partied, and never took part in any hardcore intoxication in her life, but me? I think I may be beginning to take after my grandfather. Even my friends throughout high school would take notice that the odd times i did attend parties, or some such things, I partied wayyyyyy too hard. As in, I've gotten a reputation among my circle of friends as having a real Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde type thing going on. I come off as laid back, benign, even a tad nerdy, but as soon as alcohol and marjiuana are available, I reach Hunter S. Thompson levels of intoxicated. I realize that that has spilled out on to here, and I apologize. I also realize, that, I've started drinking WAY more than I used to. Even as I type this, I'm finishing up my 2nd 40 of the night. Oppo, idk why I'm coming to you for this, But I don't want to be my grandfather all over again. I want to contribute to the world, I want to put shit out that makes people think. I want to be something. But at the same time, I'm battling a crippling (was almost terminal before the prozac) depression, and as much as I hate to say it, booze, grass, poon, and other delights are like, the only thing that truly bring me peace.



Told you this wouldn't be fun.


Share This Story

Get our newsletter