Post by TFP on Oct 21, 2008 17:29:00 GMT -4
Standing inside the glass box at the bus-stop in San Diego, Davidson pulls out a rolled up zig-zag from his pocket and puts it in his mouth, lighting it. Taking a long drag from it, he holds the smoke inside of his lungs for a couple long seconds before finally releasing it into the air. Creating clouds at the top of the glass-box, Davidson's lightbulb flicks on at its brightest, but it seems awfully dim with it being clouded over. He totally doesn't care, though, because no matter how much smoke, covers this lightbulb, it will shine on through and be recognized. Taking a couple mroe puffs, he blows them out and the embers that burn within the joint create more misty clouds that cover the insides of the glass box. People who are about to board the next bus that stops at this destination look over at him, not knowing what he's doing. Raising his eyebrow, he looks over at them and coughs out some smoke. Hand in his pocket and leaning against the back of the glass, he nods his head at them before taking another drag.
Some Douchebag Guy Carrying Around an Acoustic Guitar with Indy Street-Cred: "Fucking faggot, go get a life."
Davidson: "Fuck you, too."
Some Douchebag Guy Carrying Around an Acoustic Guitar with Indy Street-Cred: "Oh yeah, want me to smash my amazingly tuned guitar over your stupid face?"
Davidson: "You know what? I would like nothing better than that. You're probably just a college student - although there's nothing wrong with that - who tries to impress his fellow students in class by carrying that thing around, not shaving your beard for an extended period of time, wearing clothing that is supposed to be out of style but hip enough to be praised in your local coffee shop while you play some overheard chords on a barstool, signing ridiculous lyrics that are supposed to have meaning in them although their pretty understandable at the level you write them at all because you hate the mainstream music because it's popular and you view them all as sell-outs - WHICH IS SOOO WRONG... and... your girlfriend's a skank."
Some Douchebag Guy Carrying Around an Acoustic Guitar with Indy Street-Cred: "THAT'S IT!"
Davidson: "Oh no! I'm in for it! Don't attack me while you wear your polo shirt and Hollister sweater over it!"
Some Douchebag Guy Carrying Around an Acoustic Guitar with Indy Street-Cred: "Oh yeah? Well you're a ginger kid!"
Gasping, Davidson totally drops his burning joint. It tumbles through the air as the whole world in Davidson's eyes go slow motion for awhile. He eyes it, watching it free falling down below at a slow, slow pace. It's flipping, it's turning, it's spinning, it's going to crash and then burn - really. It falls on the concrete ground, burning end first, and then it leaves an circular ash mark on the light gray ground he stands on. The guy stands back a little bit, afraid and unsure how Davidson will react. Standing there, he feels cold and alone. The Feature Presentation doesn't know what to do, say or think. If there's any moment that felt like your most embarassing moment in highschool, this would feel just like that. All eyes on him, his heart racing rapidly like Tony Stewart would around the racetrack during Daytona 500. Right before his eyes, he sees his whole life with that joint flash in an instant. It went by slow and lasted as long as the original Yankee Stadium had. He's distraught, heartbroken, even.
Davidson: "Okay... you see, that's where you're wrong. I'm not a ginger kid. For one, look at my arms... look at them..."
He rolls up his sweater extremely fast.
Davidson: "Do you see? DO YOU SEE?!"
Some Douchebag Guy Carrying Around an Acoustic Guitar with Indy Street-Cred: "Needle holes?"
Davidson: "No! Not those!"
Some Douchebag Guy Carrying Around an Acoustic Guitar with Indy Street-Cred: "Then what?"
Davidson: "Exactly! What?! You went and slandered me, calling me a ginger kid. Well, son, let me explain to you what a ginger kid is. A ginger kid is somebody, male or female, who has a whole universe of freckles on their body - especially the arms. Also, they have extremely pale skin, as white as anything you have ever seen, and they also cannot tan at all. Now that I've shown you my arms, indulge the information I've just told you - learn from it - and study. Are your results accurate? Wasn't your insult a little bit derogatory and wrong? You see, I don't have any freckles on my arms except the odd one or two - but hey, who doesn't have one or two freckles on their arm? I bet you even got more than me, asshole! And another thing, I can totally tan. Just because I've got hair that appears to be red doesn't mean a thing. To be honest with you, it's auburn - a mixture of red and brown. So ha! Oh yeah, and another thing... I'M NOT A KID!"
Grabbing the collars of his polo shirt, Davidson lifts him up and throws him through two walls in the glass box. He falls on the other side, landing on his guitar, immediately crushing it. Davidson bends down, grabbing his joint and stands over the guy, crumpling it up and sprinkling it all over the guy's face. Grinning from ear to ear, Davisdon rests one of his forearms over a knee as the leg rests on the douchebag's chest. He's quite content with himself, after all that happened, he made himself look strong and sure as Hell impressed the people around him. Just as the chaos is over with, the bus comes and stops at the destination where it is meant to pick up people. Davidson turns around, boarding the bus last, but before he goes all the way in, he looks back.
Davidson: "I'll talk to you again sometime. ...PUNK!"
Once he's on the bus, it drives off. Totally banging.
Some Douchebag Guy Carrying Around an Acoustic Guitar with Indy Street-Cred: "Fucking faggot, go get a life."
Davidson: "Fuck you, too."
Some Douchebag Guy Carrying Around an Acoustic Guitar with Indy Street-Cred: "Oh yeah, want me to smash my amazingly tuned guitar over your stupid face?"
Davidson: "You know what? I would like nothing better than that. You're probably just a college student - although there's nothing wrong with that - who tries to impress his fellow students in class by carrying that thing around, not shaving your beard for an extended period of time, wearing clothing that is supposed to be out of style but hip enough to be praised in your local coffee shop while you play some overheard chords on a barstool, signing ridiculous lyrics that are supposed to have meaning in them although their pretty understandable at the level you write them at all because you hate the mainstream music because it's popular and you view them all as sell-outs - WHICH IS SOOO WRONG... and... your girlfriend's a skank."
Some Douchebag Guy Carrying Around an Acoustic Guitar with Indy Street-Cred: "THAT'S IT!"
Davidson: "Oh no! I'm in for it! Don't attack me while you wear your polo shirt and Hollister sweater over it!"
Some Douchebag Guy Carrying Around an Acoustic Guitar with Indy Street-Cred: "Oh yeah? Well you're a ginger kid!"
Gasping, Davidson totally drops his burning joint. It tumbles through the air as the whole world in Davidson's eyes go slow motion for awhile. He eyes it, watching it free falling down below at a slow, slow pace. It's flipping, it's turning, it's spinning, it's going to crash and then burn - really. It falls on the concrete ground, burning end first, and then it leaves an circular ash mark on the light gray ground he stands on. The guy stands back a little bit, afraid and unsure how Davidson will react. Standing there, he feels cold and alone. The Feature Presentation doesn't know what to do, say or think. If there's any moment that felt like your most embarassing moment in highschool, this would feel just like that. All eyes on him, his heart racing rapidly like Tony Stewart would around the racetrack during Daytona 500. Right before his eyes, he sees his whole life with that joint flash in an instant. It went by slow and lasted as long as the original Yankee Stadium had. He's distraught, heartbroken, even.
Davidson: "Okay... you see, that's where you're wrong. I'm not a ginger kid. For one, look at my arms... look at them..."
He rolls up his sweater extremely fast.
Davidson: "Do you see? DO YOU SEE?!"
Some Douchebag Guy Carrying Around an Acoustic Guitar with Indy Street-Cred: "Needle holes?"
Davidson: "No! Not those!"
Some Douchebag Guy Carrying Around an Acoustic Guitar with Indy Street-Cred: "Then what?"
Davidson: "Exactly! What?! You went and slandered me, calling me a ginger kid. Well, son, let me explain to you what a ginger kid is. A ginger kid is somebody, male or female, who has a whole universe of freckles on their body - especially the arms. Also, they have extremely pale skin, as white as anything you have ever seen, and they also cannot tan at all. Now that I've shown you my arms, indulge the information I've just told you - learn from it - and study. Are your results accurate? Wasn't your insult a little bit derogatory and wrong? You see, I don't have any freckles on my arms except the odd one or two - but hey, who doesn't have one or two freckles on their arm? I bet you even got more than me, asshole! And another thing, I can totally tan. Just because I've got hair that appears to be red doesn't mean a thing. To be honest with you, it's auburn - a mixture of red and brown. So ha! Oh yeah, and another thing... I'M NOT A KID!"
Grabbing the collars of his polo shirt, Davidson lifts him up and throws him through two walls in the glass box. He falls on the other side, landing on his guitar, immediately crushing it. Davidson bends down, grabbing his joint and stands over the guy, crumpling it up and sprinkling it all over the guy's face. Grinning from ear to ear, Davisdon rests one of his forearms over a knee as the leg rests on the douchebag's chest. He's quite content with himself, after all that happened, he made himself look strong and sure as Hell impressed the people around him. Just as the chaos is over with, the bus comes and stops at the destination where it is meant to pick up people. Davidson turns around, boarding the bus last, but before he goes all the way in, he looks back.
Davidson: "I'll talk to you again sometime. ...PUNK!"
Once he's on the bus, it drives off. Totally banging.