Wednesday, May 2, 2012

Ankle High Brotherhood

It's always good to have friends. But it's always better to have friends who'd scream "It's baseball tiiime!" when you get pissed on by stank wankers. From our boot heels and smelly gloves and greasy bike chains, real friends will hold them for you even if they feel like holding a pair of nasty hairy ball sacs.

My friend Chok and I go way back. From the first time he snuck his hands inside our Choc-nut jar until the time he and I almost swung at each other's face, we were very much doing stuff together. I don't know if that sounds a little awkward but this one will be: the man is just plain cool.

He gets the music, the digs and the dips of our "kababata" highs and lows. Traditional thinking roots him and possibly anchors us, the less traditional ones to the ground. Hot temper is something that we also share but are currently trying to work on.

Now we are excited about restoring a scrap metal bike frame that I bought, thanks to his side comments that he argues to be just "side talk" but lean more towards on being sales talk. Thinking that we'd be ironmen in our own accord, cycling, gym and road work are the things we do on now occasional weekends.

Drinking buddies, gang members and weekend warriors: those are the typical images that we see ourselves in. Now, I've gotten the chance to influence him to go and consider swaggerjacking classic styles for his current outlook. Just an image, I'm younger but I look older because I'm naturally a bigger guy than him. And his attitude and wide eyed smile trumps my usual smug mug.

Few people have ever ingrained something in me. And fewer continue to exist in that way. As friends of the longest time, I thought that we'd be getting tired of each other's face. But I guess that's what makes us unique from other "gangs" out there.

I am proud to welcome you to the another brotherhood old friend. One that is founded on the love of good threads, better shitkickers and awesome bonds. We may begin to grow old but I guess old dirty dogs start from being greasy barky pups. 

Till the next beer we'll soon down! BTW, I still do not forgive you for beating me to a Red Wing.

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