All goes well up until the smoke part. I finished my ice cream and start to roll a cigarette. I got my big boots on and they're up in a chair. My big, black helmet is on the table. My hair is perfect. I'm gonna enjoy my smoke. I am a badass muthafucka. My wallet says so.

And then some kids come out of the ice cream store.

You're probably thinking, "Duh, Bad, it's an ice cream store, of course there's going to be children around." Ha! Shows how much you know. This is one of those trendy ice cream stores that only rich, hip people (like me) go to. One scoop of ice cream here costs, like, 43 dollars. Nobody takes kids here. They take kids to McWhatever where they can sugar them up for 63 cents. But some dumbass brought their three daughters.

And I'm rolling a cigarette, so naturally they zoom in on me like sugar-high zombified crazed ducks on a Junebug. Oh, geez, and these little girls were so sticky and gross! I would've taken a picture, but one of them probably would have put her little ice cream adhesive coated finger on the lens and done hundreds of dollars worth of damage, so I wasn't going to risk it.

Immediately, they focus on me, and my hands rolling the cig, and they're staring right at me, right in the eyes. They've got ice cream shit in a three-inch radius around their mouths, a jolly rancher-type hard candy inside each of their mouths (which they manage to suck on with their mouths open, occasionally shoving the candy back inside with a filthy little finger), and glazed eyes. Like childred of the fucking corn or something. They are invading my personal space like you wouldn't believe.

Sticky-ass kid #1: Are you a boy or a girl?
Badsnake: I'm a girl [get away from me you little shit].

The parents are some hippy dippy types or some shit and are just smiling as their kids strike up a conversation with a random badass muthafucka stranger. They probably want them to be abducted.

Sticky-ass kid #2: Did you get your hair cut?
Badsnake: Yes, I just got my hair cut [you freaky little freak. And even though my head smells like froofy, expensive, gay men's grooming products, I am a badass and you should be fucking SCARED OF ME!]

Sticky-ass kid #1 (sticky-ass kid #3 never says anything, only being 2 years old or something and therefore still smart enough not to talk to strangers): Do you have a house?
Badsnake: Yes I have a house. [It's what I use to hide the body parts of nosy little kids under!]

Sticky-ass kid #2: Is that your motorcycle? Only boys ride motorcycles.
S-A Kid's Mom: Girls can ride motorcycles, too.
Badsnake: That's right. It's a beautiful day for it. [And you do NOT want me to go Susan Faludi on your ass right now you little future Barbie-bot.]

Of course I'm being polite and smiling during this whole interlude, keeping the inside voices inside, wanting to light my cigarette really, really badly but refraining until the midget snot heads have moved on. Luckily, the parents herded them away and into the mini-van, strapping the girls into some sort of restraining devices. I guess that's so that when the sugar really kicked, inducing a clawing, kicking, and screaming in a frenzy, they would not be loose in the car.

Moving on - 12:11 p.m. , 2007-08-14

Where the hell have I been? - 12:10 p.m. , 2007-02-19

Holy shit! - 2:24 p.m. , 2006-01-11

Stuffing recipe - 6:17 p.m. , 2005-12-13

Good Life Update - 10:22 a.m. , 2005-11-11