Headsnap
1st Level Orange Feather
- Joined
- Jun 28, 2004
- Messages
- 2,189
- Points
- 0
I've been here a while now as a participating member of the community and for a while longer as a lurking, leeching member of the community, and I have noticed that nobody likes me.
This is a cause of consternation for me, largely because I really do try hard to get people to like me. I'm just not very good at making friends. I never really have been, a problem (failing? whatever) that I blame on being raised around scumbags by militant left-wing parents. I don't really know how to correct this, so failing a proper solution I think maybe if I give you all something of an idea of where I'm coming from you might, I dunno, understand me a bit better?
When I was a kid I lived in a nice leafy suburb with two working parents, on a street with a few kids my own age. We moved there when I was three, and I sort of became a friend to the other kids by default because their parents forced them to play with me. By the time I was 10 most of them had moved away, and because I had problems fitting in I never really managed to make any friends in school. Away from friend type persons, I have two older half-brothers, neither of whom I had much of a relationship with because one joined the Army when I was 6 or 7 (and remains a Corporal to this day because he keeps failing his Sergeant's exams, lolol), and the other of whom could never seem to stay out of the clink long enough to do anything but borrow money off my dad for booze and weed and whatever the fuck else he was taking. My dad himself was a bit of an absentee father; he was always there in a physical sense and was on hand to administer kickings if I fucked up, however aside from that he didn't really give a shit about much else apart from football and money. My mum had problems of the mental health variety which were largely taken out on me because I was the oldest and a bit of a meek fucker. As a result of her mental health problems she didn't really give a shit either; well, she didn't give a shit about me, my two little sisters were her best mates. Basically I was pretty much on my own until the age of 13, aside from a couple of the smart girls in my primary school who sort of chummed around with me because we were in the top class together, and I could do handstands when none of the other boys could. I started kicking about with what we called a "crew" when I was 13, which was basically a load of lads my age who would go around fighting, smashing stuff up and generally causing trouble. Not long after I started kicking about with these fuckers I started drinking (White Lightning - the beverage of kings), then started smoking weed, then eventually taking coke. I think I was about 15 when I started snorting coke, which was quite a feat because unlike most of the other lads I didn't have a part-time job so I was always skint. So, when I say "started taking coke" I mean "started chapping the odd line or two off the lads who could afford to buy it". Yeah, anyway. Just before I got into the final year of secondary school (I was still 15, because we're only legally required to stay in school until the age of 16 in the United Kingdom, sirs) I got my first tug; assault and affray on some little shitbag who tried to mug me. The cheeky **** grabbed me as I was coming out of a shop and dragged me into an alleyway then started demanding money off me. I was fairly fit at this point, I'd been boxing for a year or two and had been playing as a goalie in the school footie team for a while as well, so instead of giving him his cash I fucking twatted him up and down the alley. After I'd smashed his head off a metal bin the wormy bastard managed to run off down the main street, flag down a police meat wagon, which he then brought to the health centre where me and my mates used to loiter and play footy. The bizzies got out of the meat-wagon and rounded us all up, going along the line asking our names, and when I gave mine they dragged me into the back of the van and took me to the station. It was around about this time that my mum got scared and said "you're moving with your auntie and uncle in Bel Air". I whistled for a cab and when it came near the license plate said "Fresh" and it had dice in the mirror. If anything I could say that this cab was rare but I thought "Nah, forget it, yo homes to Bel Air!" I pulled up to the house about seven or eight and I yelled to the cabbie "Yo homes, smell ya later!" I looked at my kingdom and was finally there, to sit on my throne as the Prince of Bel Air.
This is a cause of consternation for me, largely because I really do try hard to get people to like me. I'm just not very good at making friends. I never really have been, a problem (failing? whatever) that I blame on being raised around scumbags by militant left-wing parents. I don't really know how to correct this, so failing a proper solution I think maybe if I give you all something of an idea of where I'm coming from you might, I dunno, understand me a bit better?
When I was a kid I lived in a nice leafy suburb with two working parents, on a street with a few kids my own age. We moved there when I was three, and I sort of became a friend to the other kids by default because their parents forced them to play with me. By the time I was 10 most of them had moved away, and because I had problems fitting in I never really managed to make any friends in school. Away from friend type persons, I have two older half-brothers, neither of whom I had much of a relationship with because one joined the Army when I was 6 or 7 (and remains a Corporal to this day because he keeps failing his Sergeant's exams, lolol), and the other of whom could never seem to stay out of the clink long enough to do anything but borrow money off my dad for booze and weed and whatever the fuck else he was taking. My dad himself was a bit of an absentee father; he was always there in a physical sense and was on hand to administer kickings if I fucked up, however aside from that he didn't really give a shit about much else apart from football and money. My mum had problems of the mental health variety which were largely taken out on me because I was the oldest and a bit of a meek fucker. As a result of her mental health problems she didn't really give a shit either; well, she didn't give a shit about me, my two little sisters were her best mates. Basically I was pretty much on my own until the age of 13, aside from a couple of the smart girls in my primary school who sort of chummed around with me because we were in the top class together, and I could do handstands when none of the other boys could. I started kicking about with what we called a "crew" when I was 13, which was basically a load of lads my age who would go around fighting, smashing stuff up and generally causing trouble. Not long after I started kicking about with these fuckers I started drinking (White Lightning - the beverage of kings), then started smoking weed, then eventually taking coke. I think I was about 15 when I started snorting coke, which was quite a feat because unlike most of the other lads I didn't have a part-time job so I was always skint. So, when I say "started taking coke" I mean "started chapping the odd line or two off the lads who could afford to buy it". Yeah, anyway. Just before I got into the final year of secondary school (I was still 15, because we're only legally required to stay in school until the age of 16 in the United Kingdom, sirs) I got my first tug; assault and affray on some little shitbag who tried to mug me. The cheeky **** grabbed me as I was coming out of a shop and dragged me into an alleyway then started demanding money off me. I was fairly fit at this point, I'd been boxing for a year or two and had been playing as a goalie in the school footie team for a while as well, so instead of giving him his cash I fucking twatted him up and down the alley. After I'd smashed his head off a metal bin the wormy bastard managed to run off down the main street, flag down a police meat wagon, which he then brought to the health centre where me and my mates used to loiter and play footy. The bizzies got out of the meat-wagon and rounded us all up, going along the line asking our names, and when I gave mine they dragged me into the back of the van and took me to the station. It was around about this time that my mum got scared and said "you're moving with your auntie and uncle in Bel Air". I whistled for a cab and when it came near the license plate said "Fresh" and it had dice in the mirror. If anything I could say that this cab was rare but I thought "Nah, forget it, yo homes to Bel Air!" I pulled up to the house about seven or eight and I yelled to the cabbie "Yo homes, smell ya later!" I looked at my kingdom and was finally there, to sit on my throne as the Prince of Bel Air.
whilst reading 
