Creeper Article, Approved by Bill Preston
by: The Creeper
The summer directly following your senior year in high school (for all intents and purposes) should be the most fun summer of your life. You are, for that summer still a reckless high school kid. The things you can get away with are mind-boggling. Your high school buddies are still around. Your high spirits have not yet been crushed. The possibilities are endless.
The first summer after your first year in college is the oddest summer of your life (mine was at least). You still feel like a high school kid. Your responsibilities are still small and best of all you’ve probably required a fake ID.
The local skate spot in Northport is King Kullen (it sucks). It’s just a parking lot, people just meet there bring their own ledges and flat bars (and other assorted skate objects) and skate. The spot was originally waxed a good ten years ago by a close friend of mine named mike. Mike smokes a hell of a lot of weed (more like shit load). He’s always befriending weird weed buddies. This (first college summer) summer he met a hippie guy skating a Kullen, his name was Tony. Tony was a nice guy I guess, but I’ll be damned if he wasn’t the most annoying person I’ve ever met. Tony invited Mike back to his house one time to smoke after a session. Mike agreed after the promise of free weed was brought to the table. Tony lived in the town over from Northport known as Centerport. Mike eyes lit up as he entered Tony’s house, it was complete with all the toys any skateboarder could ask for. He had all the newest skate videos, he had play station and last, but not least he had a lot of free weed. A good chilling spot had been discovered. Word spread fast of Tony’s place. It became a regular party spot (a whole different story, stay tuned). This is the story of one particular night starting at Tony’s.
Every weekend it seemed we would end up at Tony’s place. This weekend was no different. We stopped at the local bodega to buy beer. As I walked in my eyes lit up. Next to the refrigerator was a stack of records. Being the record nerd I am I dove in. third record down: 2 LIVE CREW “Me so horny” with the B-side “Get the fuck out of my room”. Sold, I brought my 40′s and record to the counter,paid, and left triumphant.
We never wanted to go to Tony’s, it just kind of worked out that way. The night in question was an off night there were about ten or fifteen people all of whom were skate friends from Northport (and some girls), none of these people (myself included) knew Tony all that well. We spent most of the evening sitting around the living room. All of a sudden like a drunken sailor my friend Nelson (First name Mike, but avoid confusion with the first Mike we’ll go by his last name, Nelson) blurted out that his parents weren’t home and we could party at his place. We all jumped at the chance to get the hell away from Tony’s. We left one at a time so Tony would suspect anything. We all arrived at Nelsons and got to some serious drinking (DUDE!).
I didn’t spent to much time there unfortunately. I got in a drunken wrestling match and that turned serious and decided I wanted to go home, right away. I slipped out the front door undetected (I am after all The Creeper). I was horrified to see that my ride’s car was not longer in the driveway (he was getting beer, but I am very dumb). “Fuck” I thought to myself. There was only one thing to do; walk. I lived a good three miles away from Nelson’s house. I had my work cut out for me. With my 2 Live Crew record under arm I set out for home. I was rather notorious for leaving middle of parties and walking home, so no one though anything of my disappearance (that and nobody really likes me).
I was making great headway. I had made it almost the third of the way home when my heart froze and I nearly wet my pants as the unthinkable happened. I heard a dog barking then saw the shadowy figure of a dog charge across the road in front of me. I was dead. I knew it. “That dog must be a killer,” I thought to myself. I looked around for something to defend myself. I spotted a large pile of garbage. I ran to it and noticed a handle of some sort sticking from it. I reached in and prayed I would pull Excaliber from the heap. What did I get? A plunger, yes, a plunger. “How am I going to fend off this rabid beast of with a stupid plunger”. I was dead.
I treaded on hoping the beast had cleared the area. I made it quite some way without seeing the beast again. My confidence was rising, But it was soon to shot down in a different way. A car screamed around the corner in front of me and headed in down the road in my direction. I then realized that I was staggering home at two in the morning carrying a 2 Live Crew record and a plunger. What if it was some one I knew? How would I be able to explain myself? I would be finished in this town. I sprinted towards the nearest front yard. I was apparently not very stealth (they did have the drop on me) because they honked and yelled some unintelligible Guido banter out the window of their mustang as they sped by. I slinked out from behind the skinny tree and moved on. At long last I got to my block. I ditched the plunger and thanked God that the dog and car had not had it out for me that night. As I lay in bed that night I realized that I am an idiot.