Yo, I feel your pain, bro, but I can't help thinking that you might be better off in some safer, more salubrious clime. I hear Narberth is nice this time of year ....
 
Consider your future, when you and yer little Bananafishie begin to procreate and produce wee ones. How will you feel when the neighborhood homies beat the crap out of the little apple of your eyes? And you're not even in the Catchment District, are you? Tsk, tsk.
 
Maybe you're just one of those Bad News Bears that I have heard about, one of those unfortunate tragedy magnets. I mean, seriously, dude, I've lived in some fairly rough places in New York and Philly all my adult life and have never been attacked by feral eight-year-olds.
 
No wonder you feel compelled to drown your sorrows with chicken barfing wine....
 
Ross Bender
 
In a message dated 4/13/2005 5:14:14 PM Eastern Standard Time, [EMAIL PROTECTED] writes:

so i'm walking home up walnut street, i pass two kids, about eight years old, i get ten steps past them and one of them turns around and hits me in the back with a broken beer bottle. i was wearing a coat, so it didn't hurt, but i was startled. i whirl around, one of them yells something rude that he didn't learn on sponge bob, and the other one throws what i presume was the other half of the broken beer bottle. since he had an arm like charlie brown and was a good 15 feet away so i was able to step out of it's path but i was ... really dismayed.

i spent the rest of the walk home in somber thought; contemplating the extrapolation of their little lives, following a myriad of unfortunate trails that i could see branching out from the sort of attitude which has you throwing broken bottles at people bigger than you when you're eight.

when i arrived home, i discovered that someone has stolen our last remaining trash can, sometime between 8:00 this morning and now.

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