Black Metal Column

Hey, Nut balls! It's me, Tim Patrick! Guess what? My life blows! Talk to you later. Munch!

Here’s the thing… I’m waiting on Christmas. It’s roaring our way. We’re staying at Mr. Murdoch’s trailer. It’s a little small but he says, “Ba-boom! We can stay over the Holidays!” Well, guess what, Nope! December 19. We’re sleeping under an awning of some trailer or other hoping that no one catches us.

Merry Christmas! I hate everybody. I haven’t had batteries for my CD player for three days. Black Metal? None for me thanks. In my mind, I hear the pounding and feel the reverberating bass but for real…I ain’t got shit in a sack, Jack.

And, here we go. You’ll love this. Guess who doesn’t own a single black metal CD at the moment. I don’t need to hold a quiz. Me. We traded in all my CDs so Mom could get some cash for Christmas. Mr. Murdoch made me some sort of CD-R but it doesn’t play on my stuff. So…bite it. This sucks.

Santa won’t be visiting because where the hell will he visit? No presents, no nothing. I hate that rain so much. Mom doesn’t know where we’ll go next. The only fun I’ve had all week was writing this. And, who knows if Marlene And Arthur will be able to read my writing because it’s so dark here.

Bones.

If we get somewhere warm and lit-up by Christmas, I’ll give a yell. If not, F**k it. Right in the ear.