A Dissertation on the Need for Violence in the Local Party Scene

At this point it’s all hearsay, because, oops, I was black out drunk Saturday night when I started acting crazy. (Obviously.) Which is fine; I’ve always thought that those types of parties were just the gutter where the run off from all mainstream crazy leaked down and stagnated as the breeding ground for mosquitoes. I hadn’t indulged in that kind of fuckery in months, which was fine, but that night there was a special brand of violence boiling in my blood that made that party an apt destination for the evening. 

There are a lot of things that can occur to skull fuck somebody into doing something incredibly stupid, and my litany of complaints and/or intoxication should in no way be an excuse for all of that. However, that being said, a certain amount of *abuse* & *harassment* were tainting my vision. 

People in this city don’t react. Which is why I like the great galvanization of violence when that whole “I’m a sex pot” act runs thin. So the real question is: do we really know what to do when things go wrong?