Years and years of life’s shitty lessons piling up like trash in a back alley, all supposedly designed to make you tougher, sharper, wiser. Instead of becoming some polished warrior, you chose instant‑noodle death. That was me, god damn NUT CRACKER. Quick collapse. Quick surrender. Quick rot. Come get some! But don’t downgrade it. My collapse wasn’t soft. It was Godzilla stomping through my block, thinking it owned me and I had to do the unthinkable, sucker punch him in the fucken NUTS. I swung at that lily ass monster because it thought it could rewrite my story. Thought it could crush my people. Thought it could crown itself king. I put it to sleep. Go mimis, lizard.
Before the chaos, I was a technonerd. Wanted programming. Numbers and symbols like the RAINMAN. Wanted machine guts. Wanted to chew binary for breakfast. I was already messing with DOS, visual tools, dreaming of code like a madman. Then I went to the university expecting a throne. Instead, I got baby‑food classes teaching me how to “internet” before YouTube existed. The disappointment was a punch to the ribs. Basic Java. Basic HTML. Basic everything. I wanted fire. They gave me lukewarm tap water. Life never gave a fuck about me and you. It shoved a job in my face and said, “Try it.” “Eat some shit.”
Working with criminals isn’t easy, but it isn’t impossible either. It’s a world where you test backbone, not resumes. You throw hands. You measure who cracks first. And somehow, I ended up in that field. Twenty‑one years old, drowning in YMCA five‑dollar‑an‑hour jobs, suddenly making eighteen an hour. And that’s when the spiral opened up like a sinkhole. Alcohol. Anger. Resentment. Dreams that felt like they were locked behind steel doors. I did time. I did life time. I did my own time. I blinked too long and too hard, and twenty‑one turned into forty‑five. Just me with an army of loyal family heads behind me. Yeah, forgetfulness can never undermine the FAMILIA.
Now I’m getting paid alright. Am I happy? What is happiness? Does purgatory exist? Because I swear I’m stuck in it. Life comes at you sideways, dumps a mountain of fucken dookie on your chest, and waits to see if you choke. Give up, give in, or give out. Sometimes the only move left is to burn the whole universe down out of spite. Not for glory. Not for redemption. Just because you refuse to die quiet. All I ever had were matches and fuel, and pyro hands.
Excelsior!!!!!!
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