going through my e-mails


Chris, stop beating your dick like it owes you money and start sounding off like you have a pair.

remember all the things you used to write on your door, on your door's dry erase message board. Back when we were in the army. You would sit around and think of the perfect things to write on your door. You were calculating! You were an assassin. It pissed me off a bit. It pissed me off that you thought about the whole “cool writing neat quotes on your door” bit before me. I was even more pissed when people started gathering around to read the cool things you were writing on your door.

And then there was your room. What the hell? Why didn’t I think of that? The whole "loft" thing. There was also the hot sauce-poured on indivule chips, and how about your rules to eating French onion dip.... (survey says-) skim milk. There was skim milk that would run away from your hungry lips after a basketball game. Not just a game, but a few games because you couldn’t stand loosing. That was back when I could/would kick your fucking ass into the floorboards. Back when I could pop threes at will, back when I could jump like I was in a dream. You would run back to your room and drink milk. You would kill milk, and if I were milk I would be scared. Who the hell drinks that much milk? I thought to myself/ and then I tried to remember the last time a drank milk. Never.

Do you remember the quarterback game over at the end zone? Do you remember ordering chicken wings when everything was black, the music was black, the people were black, the night was black… and you let everyone know how white you were?

Chris Holland, chicken-head-message-board-onion-dip-white-milk-drinker. Hear me roar.