Me: Chapter Ten – The House I Grew Up In

Because I don’y care about how my sentences end.

Because I’m a human being. Not a grammar robot. As much as I do enjouy me some grammar, though, you know? Like. I’m not gonna lie. When people be using “u” instead of “you,” I kinda hate that shit. But whatever,. I’m talking about the house I grew up in. I don’t give a shit about the house in which held my aging years. Or whatevedr.

Very much.

I’m just saying. I 1000% bet that anyone that knows, will suspect that that whole “featureed image” thing up there is th ACTUAL house. Like… that’s a pretty gorsh darned good job done by the AI gods. I’m not gonna lie. Only thing missing is the clubhouse we had. And. The house wasn’t THAT purble. But, Whatavery.

Either way.

“So it’s going to be the three of you?” That’s what she asked. I’m pretty sure George just responded by informing her that he was the only customer requiring her service. She was blonde. I mean, she wasn’t ugly. But she was definitely in her 30’s or something. You know. Twice, plus mine and Robert’s age. Shit. I was 12 at the time. LMAo.

But George was here. There. Everywhere.

Dude had the worst speech impediment you’d ever heard. I swear to God.

I’m going to do myu best at typing (and correcting topos during the upcoming quote to try and explain just how fucked everything was) how he sounded. And other things. Basically. Let’s e-fed. RP this shit.

George: ‘ey Rah-n, ‘ow’s goin? yut yut (that was his laugh)

Ryan: I’m fine, you?
Ryan: Why are you upset at the gas station?

George: ‘A’s wear you get gas, ‘at ain’ wear you pok yor caw (*whispers* pok yor caw, pok yor caw, pok yor caw)
George: ‘ey Rawwwbuh, why’s nobody ansring uh fone?

Robert: Because they were sleeping.

George: Well wake em uhh (*whispers* wake em uhh, wake em uhh, wake em uhh)

This is the best George I could make with the AI gods.

Keep in mind, GEORGE never wore a necklace. And like… his fanciest appearance would be wearing a flannel coat or something. Shut up with that fancy, 70’s get up. Also. His afro was never that big. And he didn’t have that style mustache. He just had an 80’sish handlebar mustache? And… finally… his hair was a little more on the red side.

But yeah… other than all of that? THe AI gods NAILED George. lol

Alright… LEGIT George quotes.

“We on’t eed reeeeng, we can ake it rah ‘ere!”

“Ya eed duh stah rockin doors (*whispersrockin doors, rockin doors, rockin doors)

“Ya ‘ell ya sisser, Rah-n, I rike marriage whumun!:

“I ‘iddn’t see red, I saw cawshun, ossufer.”


So. That’s who, Mary, the blonde, homely, crack addict was dealing with. George. Robert. And myself. I’m 90% positive all of this happened around Thanksgiving time. But…

Before Mary graced ur presence, we first picked up some random, black woman, who happened to have the very same tongue proelm as… uh… I mean… the kid’s name was Alex. He was \somewhat brother of the friend of mine, that I’m pretty sure I mentioned? I don’t know. Alex had his big tongue leaning on his bottom teeth. And so did this woman. Person. That George invited into his car. Whilst Robert and I sat in the back seat.

In all honesty, there were none percents evidence that this woman was a prostitue. She only had the Alex-tongue syndrome. And she said, and I quote. “I”m looking for some crack.” So. Other than that? Nothing.

Nothing happened wit hehr. I guess we just dropped her off. Somewheres. Then went back on the prowl?

“Can you guess which one of them is my daughter?” Mary asked us. At some point or another, the prostitue, Mary, had handed Robert and myself some sort of picture of like… a prom? Or something? Point is, her hair was blonde but her daughter was very, very darj brunette. BUHDUMTSSS. Or whatever.

I was 12 years old. Robert was 15. So.

I’ve spent almost 700 words talking about one weekend.

Merhaps, it’s the most instresting weekend. Mroe than likely itr was. But. I mean.

I was also 12-years-0ld when I smoked weed with Reginald… Robert’s older brother (not oldest, but older).

I fucking discovered Eminem in this house.

I fucking discovered Metallica in this house.

I experienced the best year of WWF.. mostly in this house (Royal Rumbe happeend at my own house that year, har, har).

FFS. SHOWrestling was birthed in this house. Merhaps it was perfected at my house but whatavery. It got perfected, perfected, perfected, all of the other times it became a thing at this house. That doesn’t make sense. Unless yuo know what I’m on about.

“We’ve got mouses!”

That’s the montra the would-be ReJect wrestling would say. But it started because Robert’s little brother, whom the e-fed character, Lunatic, was somewhat based on, had seen a mouse. In the garage. Of the house I grew up in.

You see. When I was hardening woods. This house was directly behind me. Pretty positive I’ve already whatevered that part. But yeah.

After a solid six months or so of living behind the house I grew up in, my family moved. About seven miles away. But that stopped nothing. My friendship with Robert couldn’t be broken. He’d spend weekends at my house. I’d spend weekends at his.

The new house of mine, or whatever.

Then… after a while. It just became the norm for me to spend all of my childhood free time at the house I grew up in.


of course.

Actually looks a lot like this…

These days

FFS… there’s no way it’s that small dude.

Sure. It burnt down on an Easter weekened once, more than likely caused by Robert’s older brother. But like… come on… the fire couldn’t have trimmed off a whole ass… no.. it couldn’t have, the house was… just… that’s the size of it, you idiot.

I mean…. it;s because of “living” in thisa house that I tasted my first beer. Again, at 12-years-old.

It’s also in this house thart I watched my first movie on dvd. It was Fight Club. Obviously, kinda.

I dunno man. This house has so much history with mel. I dunno if I could ever tell the full story. Of me. Of this house. Of everything.

I’ll never be able to tell the FULL story of me.

Just like I’ll never be able to tell the full story of this house. So.

If the walls could talk… or whatever. Right?

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