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.

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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.

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Shit.

Told you this wouldn't be fun.

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