Marky, The Introduction

So that night, Christina and her boyfriend Edward, drove me to a party and I really for the life of me can't remember what took place. All I can remember was a grey and white tabby cat, various smokes of different tastes and inebriation, and more beer than I thought was humanly impossible to fit inside a one bedroom apartment.
After that fiasco, Christina and Edward took me back to their pad to wait for the professional couch surfer Marky who had been living on her couch for the past few weeks. When I got their, I had just been comming off a speed trip that had grabbed me by the balls, so of course I did what any other speed freak would do at a time like this, I cleaned. I white tornadoed that womans apartment, scrubbing and washing dishes in the hopes that perhaps I could show Christina that I was somewhat responsible. Let's also not forget the come-down I was nursing.
About two or three hours later, Marky showed up and introduced himself. He was a short, portly fellow with a single streak of pink dye running down the side of his black hair. I remember he had just gotten home from seeing Hank 3 and Assjack live at one of the bars in downtown Austin. He told me all about how cool it was and how after the show he got a chance to smoke a joint with Hank himself. Now at that time, none of that meant shit to me as that was the first time I'd ever had the unadulterated splender of hearing Hank 3.
The best way to derscribe Hank3 is a chaotic, honkey-tonk fusion of country, punk, blues, and metal. To my young and virgin ears, this was a very pleasent change to the street punk noise I had been emersed in for so long.
So when Marky arrived, he of course brought two bottles of whiskey and about a half ounce of smoke. That night was the first night I met this cat, he didn't know me from Adam, but he gave me all the herb I wanted and all the whiskey I needed. That was when I knew that me and this guy were going to be pretty tight.
I can now honestly say I wouldn't be alive today if it hadn't been for Marky. He showed me the ropes and the best spots in the city to get food, change, and what have you. He also showed me the parts of town to avoid(not that there's really such a thing in Austin). I can think back and remember when he and I got totally slammed on two bottles of Evan Williams and made tin foil vests for all four of Christina's kittens. It was a glorious night of drunken sillyness and feline humiliation. Unfortunatly the next morning, with the remnants of a forgotten night and a space kitten fashion show lying astru in Christina's domicile, When she finally got home, she did not find it as humerous as me and the couch surfer found it the night before. She was so upset by the "kitten catastrophe" in fact that she kicked us out.
Marky and I strolled down familier roads and parking lots until Marky was able to get in touch with some of his old pals from back in the day when he lived in Corpus Christi. It was funny, because just about everyone I came in contact with on that Austin endeavor was from, or had at least lived in Corpus Christi. Sounds like a pretty happenen place.
When he got ahold of his friends, we found out where they lived, grabbed our bags and started hoofing it the four or five miles to their pad.
When we got there I was surprised to see something I hadn't seen before, a Mexican skinhead. Up until that time I was under the false presumption that there was "race rules" for that perticular sect of people. Oh how wrong I was. These Mexican cats could hang and they could jam to good tunes. Both racist and non-racist skinhead Oi! music(Oi! music is a sub-genre of punk rock that celebrates the working class and the hardships and drunken nights they endure. It's also an easy way for either side of skinheads to spread their "message" of either pro-racism or anti-racism through angry, preachy-type propaghanda)
So we stayed there that night, got stupid drunk on cheap beer, and passed out on their balcony. I still cannot remember how or why we ended up on the balcony and since everyone else at the pad had been just as sloshed as we'd been the night before, no one else could tell us either. We looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders and blew it off. After all, Christina had called me that morning saying that I was not kicked out for good and that she had basically had a "bitch-fit meltdown" about her poor little kittys and I was welcomed to come back when I so chose.
I can't stand cats. I hate them. I hate their whole attitude towards existance and life in general. I'm not saying I have the ability to carry on an intelligent conversation with a cat(if there could ever be such a thing) I'm just saying that when I look at a cat and it looks back at me, dead in the eye, as it shits in my house in a bag of sand, it irrates me. Fills me with feelings of disgust and deviance towards what I'd love to do to the animal. Like making foil space vests for it.
So I got back to Christina's without Marky later that day and we hugged and she told me everything was alright, just as long as I leave her cats alone. I'm glad now I didn't tell her about how a week or so later Marky and got drunk again and put on a cat gymnastics show. If you know me at all from my past entries, you could probably guess that all this consisted of was me and Marky flipping the cats backwards and heaving them in the air. You would guess correctly because that's exactly what happened.
Marky was always that guy that sympathized with me and my plite of never having a certain bed or couch to crash on for the night. I can remember on numerous occasions when after a party or after we'd get through getting drunk at a bar, him always making sure I had a place to rest my head at night. I wish I knew what happened to him. I'll always remember him with the tattoo of the Germs' "Circle one" on my wrist. Marky had the same one so now in some twisted sort I guess, a part of him is with me and a part of me is with him. Thanks Marky, and always remember, CONDOLEESA RICE!