Thursday, March 06, 2008

The Horror of Drackman

First of all Chicks dig me, cause I'm a felon, and if any of you Ho-mos got a problem with that, I'll kill ya. Seriously, it was just a little difference of opinion between me and Uncle Sam. I thought it was cool to divert fentanyl for my own use, he didn't. Sammy won, and a stint in a correctional facility straightened me out about all that. Nowadays I don't do anything bad unless I'm absolutely sure I can get away with it, and even then I don't. Where to begin? I was born a poor black white chile not far from where Hank Aaron would break Babe Ruths career homerun record. My father cleverly joined the air force to avoid vietnam and instead we got the joy of living in Nebraska, Wyoming, and both dakotas, country and western. Odd numbered summers we'd return to the southland, where I learned about fire ants and black people. Septembers meant new-kid beatings from a whole different group of thugs. When I was 13 an air force clerical error sent us to southern california, where I was introduced to skateboards, girls, and Vin Scully. South Dakotas bad lands didn't hold a flaming arrow to having Ted Nugent shoot a real flaming arrow at you during Cal Jam 2 at Ontario Motor Speedway. It was skateboardings caveman days, doing Ollies before anyone called them Ollies. Got my first taste for the knife dissecting Sheep hearts in 10th grade Biology. My hot lab partner Celene was impressed with my mad scalpel skills but nevertheless I made a 'C' on the practical, and an 'F' with Celene, the beginning of a long sad relationship with both women and standardized tests. Summer before junior year life dealt me a joker, a venous air embolism into the blood stream of my hedonistic OC life. Instead of retiring next to Disneyland he accepted orders to Alabama. Alabama. South Alabama. The part of Alabama even the klan won't go to because its to racist. My dad was unmoved by my arguments on the superiority of California's weather and public schools, dashing my plans to walk on Rudy-style at UCLA. On a beautiful 68 degree June day we headed east where the story continues


  1. As a southern Californian, I weep for your move from our sunny shores, Hollyweird, high taxes, earthquakes, and endless beautiful weather. The only fault I see with your CA future is the UCLA walk-on. Didn't anyone ever tell you USC is where it's at?

  2. I'm tearing up already. Can't wait for part II.

    So far, sounds like an ABC Afternoon Special. I hope at some point in the story you get really smart and go to med school.

    Sorry you didn't get to do "crack" with Celene.

  3. Lee Harvey, you are a madman! You totally conflated Winger and Psycho. But that's okay because I want to know the rest of... the story.

  4. I laughed, I cried, and then my bowels moved. Never have I read a story of so much courage under fire, so much passion. How one human can overcome so much. I picture a vision quest/rudy/ Robbie Benson "One on One" type after school special, 85.

  5. That was some impressive stream of consciousness / flight of ideas going on there. Check out your DSM4 status before episode 2. Welcome to the cesspool.

  6. You are very funny,but unless you are kidding about Alabama, I would not show my face in Lawrence, or Winston Counties. Nope, they are not in South Alabama. That is the more refined area. I am not kidding.

  7. so drackman, you are actually from LA twice... the city of angels AND lower alabama.

    had a patient once when i worked out west who had a thick southern drawl and a great sense of humor.

    me: where are you from sir?
    pt: maine.
    me: maine??
    pt: yes sir, the main part of arkansas.

    chalk one up for the rednecks.