Armagideon Time

Posts tagged ‘I am my father’s son’

A bit wobbly

June 15th, 2017

In the years before Lil Bro was born, both my parents held full-time jobs. My father worked a regular 9-to-5 gig doing quality control for a local defense contractor and my mother worked evening shifts as a nurse’s aide at an assisted living facility a couple of blocks away from her parents’ place. This was […]

Can the can

June 14th, 2017

In times of crisis, I have found it helpful to look back to an simpler equally chaotic and confusing time in search of answers bizarre shit to marvel at through fragmentary memory and a thick nostalgic haze. Sure, things may look pretty grim on a global scale in 2017, but they still haven’t sunk to […]

Forty-five or fight

March 13th, 2017

I entered this world at 11:58 AM on March 13, 1972 at Fort Bragg’s Womack Army Hospital. My dad was well-liquored up when during the event, visibly recoiling at the sight of the wrinkled squirming infant he had a part in creating. When he showed up later and slightly more sober at my mother’s room, […]

The last Noel

December 23rd, 2016

The 1987 holiday season was the last one I spent with my mother, and gave every impression of becoming the worst Christmas ever. My father was away at the time, sent up to a court-mandated stay at a rehab facility after a cop found him pulled over on a roadside. My dad was trying to […]

The photo above depicts two specimens of the strange and terrifying species of creature which has figured into so many topical horror stories as of late. He was the second child of a family of six that grew up in a house full of firearms with a septic tank and a chicken coop out back. […]

My greatest adventure (person)

September 28th, 2016

I received the Fisher Price “Adventure People” Wilderness Patrol set as a present from Santa when I was four years old. The set was my first encounter what would eventually be labeled as “action figures,” a semi-articulated middle ground between static plastic army men and the larger Mego dolls. They were sturdy as hell, especially […]

Can you dig it

May 6th, 2016

I don’t know why the new fad for serving beverages in Mason Jars has become a flashpoint for my proletarian rage. Actually, I do know why. Its particular manifestation of classist camp has dredged up painful childhood memories I’ve done my best to suppress. My mother was very much into the home canning thing, which […]

Hearts and mindfucks

September 3rd, 2014

The above image features the crest of my father’s unit in Vietnam, bronchi the 7th PSYOPS Bn. I’ve discussed the significance of its design elements before, ambulance but today I’d like to draw attention to the color palette. The red and yellow reflect the colors of South Vietnamese flag. The white, cialis 40mg gray, and […]

During the lean and mean times of the early Reagan Era, pilule my mom took a full-time job at a place that manufactured speakers and stereo components. Thanks to the magic of employee discounts and remaindered inventory, resuscitation it wasn’t long before every member of my extended family boasted a fancy, not-quite-cutting edge soundsystem cast […]

Flow it, show it

May 19th, 2014
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