Ok, before I start with the tragedy, first I got to tell you my tale of how I got where I am. I currently reside in Shithole, New Jersey, although I moved here over the summer from Dallas, Texas. My bestest friend ever, I'll call him Bill, lives in Texas. He's the craziest coolest slickest cat you'll ever meet, and our dream is to go to college together, as in ever cool high school movie. He visited Shithole for a little while a few months ago, and the both of us went to New York together to purchase a sweet pipe, which we did. After searching all day, we finally found a tiny little head shop, and proceeded to enter.

The man there shouted at us "You guys got ID?" We responded as minors usually do. "Crap, we forgot 'em." He then proved to be the coolest clerk ever. "Need 'em? Forty bucks a piece." We knew then it was the coolest store we would ever lay our grungy torn converses upon. It turns out the store was about to relocate, so everything was on sale, big time. Like Circuit City sales. So we looked at all the beautiful pipes and bongs and such, and the clerk pointed out a beautiful magnificent bubbler, hand blown glass, double chamber, with absolutely glorious design. I knew then that I would love this pipe more than I ever could love a woman. At fifty percent off, I was not leaving the store without this pipe. Me and Bill went to the clerk and payed for it and entered a brief conversation. He asked us how Dallas pussy was in broken English, and told us about how he recently moved here from Morocco. I probably don't have to explain how pimpin this guy was. On the subway home, me and Bill talked about how this would be the Bubbler we would keep till we get to college, and this would be our first piece together. Being the couple of simple seventeen-year-olds we are, we named it Morocco. From then on, thats what we constantly referred to it as. We got back to Shithole, and had a good time with it. Eventually, Bill had to go home, and we said our goodbyes.

I've been smoking off Morocco since then, and I've taken good care of it. Last night, (the same night I made this DT account coincidentally) I went to clean Morocco before I smoked off it, and as I picked it up to dry it off, it slipped from hands and made a shrill cracking sound as it shattered into the ground. I couldn't even respond. I just dropped to my knees and shouted out in horror "Mooorrrrooooooocccooooooo!!!!!!" My dad, from bed, shouted "Donnie! What happened!?!?" My brother responded "It's just his pipe" across the house. My dad, still half dreaming said "Um... okay." and went back to sleep.

I carried the fractured pieces of my bubbler back down to my room in the basement and laid them down on my shelf. I sat on my bed, clutching my hair, trying to figure out how to tell Bill. I knew what had to be done. I rolled a joint and lit up. In my blazed euphoria, I found the answer (as I watched 'License to Drive'). The answer lay in two simple words that have dictated the ways of my life, and I have come back to in every peril I have faced: Fuck It.

I sat there thinking about all the really shitty things that have happened in my life, and the great thing about life in general. It always seems to go on. My friend would hear this, be devastated and move on as well. And everything was going to be alright. I don't know why I set up a DT account yesterday, or why Morocco broke within hours, but writing this blog seems to help. This is partially a first greeting to the DT community, and partially a way to vent some steam about the whole thing, but I feel better in general.

So Hello, DT Community.