WHAT DO YOU DO FOR A LIVING Vol 1: Working With Kids / Drug Addict Neighbors

Let me tell you a little about my life: I work 40 hours a week at a special education school. I'm a substitute. Our school serves a HUGE population. What that means is; Monday - i may be working with really sweet, nice 13 year old kids with Downs Syndrome. Tuesday - I may be hanging out with energetic, tough, but fun 6 year olds with schizophrenia. Wednesday my day is spent with 17 and 18 year old sufferers of various conduct disorders with claims and/or ties to various sets of Crips or Bloods. My point being - I don't typically have easy days. If I'm not being spit at or bit, I'm being swung at or called a faggot.
That being said, I live across the street from the gnarliest of drug addicted/dealing neighbors. Today for example: I was on my side yard (SIDE YARD) spray painting Crocodiles shirts ( we can't afford to have screen printed nice shirts made ). This was at 4 pm, after working from 7:30 am to 3:30 pm. This wasn't an easy task - I had to carefully lay out a blank white t-shirt, carefully place a fragile stencil and carefully spray paint over it. After that was done, I had to carefully remove the stencil as to not drag paint over the design and then carefully lay it out to dry, before carefully washing and drying it. The whole time I was doing this, I had a humongous meth addict in a rocking chair laughing at me and heckling me. This fatso was screaming such gems as: "When can I get a shirt" and "You look like you're working hard". Thanks for the observations, Queen Chunk. My life isn't hard enough without Junior Seau in heels yodeling at me from across the way. If I wanted your opinion - you waste of a yard - I would foster a drug addiction and buy speed from that old piece of shit you call a husband. Seriously - I've never met a Grandpa more deserving of death. What does that piece of trash bring to this world but new strands of drugs to shoot/sell/produce in front of the baby that has the misfortune of living there? And seriously - when I'm in my 60's; please let me never fraternize with gross, scabby ex-cons who look like modern day Vanilla Ices ( read: dress like 13 year olds ) that populate your nasty ass yard. I'm super stoked that I have a little slice of Appalachia 40 feet away from me. I'm not kidding, some fucking jerk pro-dirtbike looking fuck was throwing acorns at me from across the street today. Fucking acorns. I live in San Diego. As far as I know acorns don't even grow here. This piece of white shit cultivated that shit to fuck with me cuz I actually wake up and work for a living. Fuck him. I can't wait till that fucking house blows up and takes Korn and methpa and the fat heckler with it. My life is hard enough as it is - I don't need West Virginia across the street to fuck with me and make it worse.

Last Night I Nearly Got Offed By A Meth-Head.

Last night, after Crocodiles' Casbah show, Charles, myself and our friend Matt went to get food. We went to this pretty well-known taco shop in a totally safe area of San Diego. The thing with San Diego is, unfortunately, that it's crawling with speed addicts. I'm not sure if it still is or not, but SD used to be the meth capitol of the world. Anyway, after finishing our food, we started walking to Matt's car to get copies of his band's new album. As we exited the building, we passed this scumbag hitting on a girl. Nothing too unusual. But as we were standing by Matt's car talking, I noticed said scumbag standing across the parking lot staring at us. I made eye-contact with him and he extended his arm and began doing that Roman Emperor thumbs up-thumbs down thing that emperor's did to decide a gladiator's fate. I guess he decided "thumbs down" because he walked over super fast and erratically. When he got to us, he directed all this weird sped-up rage at me. Have you ever seen prison interviews with Charles Manson? This guy was talking like that, totally bonkers. "Xylophone zebra crucifixion paperback! Why is your fixation fixated against my eyes?!" Totally weird shit. He was standing opposite me, breathing super heavy and talking all this random nonsense hyper-fast, like the Micro Machine guy. It wouldn't have been so intimidating if he wasn't so big. The guy was a monster. I'm 6 foot tall and he was definitely taller than me, and looked like he spent all his extra hours lifting weights. He was super agitated. His neck looked like a big, thick erect penis. Veins bulged everywhere. He incessantly pounded his fist into his open palm. Even though he was talking nonsense, the general jist seemed to be him making up his mind whether to murder me or not. We were all trying to calm him down. Matt kept saying, "We're cool, man, we're cool, man." It was like a peace mantra. He rejected Matt's attempt to shake his hand. I kept repeating, "We don't have a problem, man. Every thing's cool, man." My limbs felt numb. In slow motion, he took a really wide swing and connected. It took me a second to determine what had happened. Had I been punched? Or worse, stabbed? Turns out, he only hit me with a bag of food he had stolen from another customer. I was relieved to have beans in my hair, rather than blood. Someone from the restaurant came out and yelled that they had called the police. He said something along the lines of, "If the cops are coming, I'll kill you; then run." He ended up just crossing the street and sitting at a bus stop, where he continued to yell weird shit at us. What an odd situation. Here's a theatrical re-enactment of the events: