Saturday, February 10, 2007
Allegedly, one Friday night I stumbled into Scootch's place, walked into his bedroom where he and his wife were "sleeping together," stood on the end of their bed and pissed all over them. The only thing I remember is waking up the next morning, without pants, with a dried bloody face, on his front lawn. If the story is true then I understand the hate, cause that's pretty fucked up. If he's lying, that's even more fucked up. Either way I lost my only friend who owns a truck, which makes moving stuff very difficult.