The Early Days of Space

I found some more crunk ass pictures reflecting my sordid teenage years. The first one is of me holding my nephew, Alex. This was about four and a half years ago. Well, I guess that means it wasn’t in my teens then. But regardless, he is almost five now. Then we have another, just shortly after the first one, chronologically, that shows him learning to play the guitar. I always knew he would grow up to be like me. That’s my sister – his mom – in the right of that picture.

I found this picture of myself when I was nineteen, living in Denton in what we called the ‘Dredge House’. You see, the name of our band was Dredge. And the whole band lived in my house. Hence the name Dredge House. Anyway, I thought I would share with you what I used to look like back when I was an irresponsible, drunk, rowdy, trouble-making, womanizing kid that couldn’t keep a job. Please keep in mind that I didn’t have a mullet. My hair was down to my chest all the way around. In this picture I felt like Sylvester after he finally caught Tweety and got to eat his head off.

Then the last one for today is a picture of me when I was in Germany. I went TDY to Rein Maine in Germany with a few other folks for about ten days. You know how happening Frankfurt is. So we went to this bar one night where they had a cheesy ass cover band playing shit like the B-52’s and other gayness. Then they would break for an hour and people would do karaoke. Well I love singing karaoke and stuff so I checked out the book. There was nothing cool in there. Just a bunch of old shit and some country.

So I asked a dude in the band if I could borrow his acoustic guitar and play one of my own songs that I had written. He said yeah. So I sat up on the stage and played a love song to an audience of about a hundred, who were mostly German women that loved Texas boys such as myself. Man, the fricken crowd went wild! It was crazy. I know I’m not that good, but the women were lovin’ that shit. A few of them approached me after the song and were asking about me and stuff, you know – the usual. One chic even had tears in her eyes. She said, “I got all emotional!” Whatever. I obviously did it to get chics. And it worked.

The best part though, was when I handed the guitar back to dude in the band, he like snatched it from me all pissed off that I was getting all this attention and stuff. He was one jealous bastard. But hey, you play what the women want to hear, and they’ll tell you all about it. If you want to get chics, you refrain from playing shit like B-52’s and “Wanted Dead or Alive”. If you’re gonna play covers, you gotta play stuff like Richard Marx and shit that women go all gooey over. Or write your own love song.

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