I’m really trying my best to lay off the majority of the personal stuff when it comes to my blog. I’ll save that stuff for published pieces. Still, there’s always that one person you run into to set the mood.

A random, loud dude rolled up on me in a coffee shop with an obvious attitude. I could tell by his demeanor that he’d made up his mind before an answer could be given. I mean, I was wearing a No Kings shirt yesterday but today I’m displaying a bit of normalcy.

“Yo, bro, what does your shirt say?”

I thought it was obvious; a black shirt with huge purple letters.

“Epiphone,” I replied.

“Oh yeah? What does that mean?” he asked with a clear, poonist agenda on his tongue. I could see him biting his lip in hopes of saying something anti (Insert hateful rhetoric term here) in retort. I responded with the most annoyed voice I could muster.

“It’s a guitar brand.”

He looked so disappointed. In his mind, I’m sure his predetermined response was in hopes it was a French word for butt-stuff. Whether he was against it or in hopes I would graciously agree to engaging in such things, he waddled off to his table to boisterously narrate his phone agenda instead. Aloud. At a table, alone.

He seemed so on-edge. I know, because we can smell our own. Even I know Epiphone means “poor man’s guitar.”

Preach truths, toke jokes, and shoplift Amazon.

Don’t be a poon. Some of us can afford a bail bond, but not a Gibson.

Also, stop poop. By any means necessary.