New Sidewalk Tagged by Frat Boys
- by Trevor Alibaster (aka "Alibastard"), CAS Junior
Dude, it was the fuckin best! Swear to God, dude! Me, Dickweed, Tampon, and Opie were all walkin from Peter's to Cumpie's on Saturday and we saw these hot bitches walkin down Oakland Ave., so we like followed them and stuff. One of em was a Lambda that I hooked up with before; well, I mean she was unconscious and stuff, but when she got up the next morning, she didn't ask me why she was naked or nothin, she just put on her clothes and left. I really respect her for that.Anyway, so we caught up to them, and I was like grindin on her and stuff and singin “Oops!... I did it again,” and she was all giggling and stuff. So, I told my brothers that I'd “meet them back at the house,” which was like, totally a sign that I was gonna get laid and they should either try to hook up too, or leave, cause I didn't want them around if they were gonna get in the way.
They took off, which was fuckin awesome, cause then I was walkin with these three hot girls. But they kept ignoring me, and one of them turned and said she didn’t like “frat boys.” Fuckin bitch! So I told her, “You wouldn't call your country a cunt, would you?” I should have told her she was a cunt, but I was too pissed to be funny, and stuff. So, anyway, I left to try and find Tampon and those guys, and right next door I saw this driveway that must have just been poured that afternoon, cause there was plastic over it and stuff. I pulled up the sheet and wrote “KEG” and drew a little keg with a tap coming out of it! It was awesome, dude! I found my brothers hangin out at Cumpie's, and told them about it, and they said I was the coolest. And that's like permanent, 'cause, like you can paint over spray paint, but cement gets hard, dude! KEG rules!
Antonia Family Pissed
- by Salvatore Giacome Antonia Jr.
My father, God rest his soul, was a man of respect. If you respected him, he respected you; it was his way, our way, the Italian way. When he came to America in 1946, he found a place where he could earn a decent living, raise a family in a good environment—he found South Oakland. He was a skilled tradesman, a craftsman, and nowhere was his proficiency with concrete more respected than in South Oakland. Walk down Pier St. and Oakland Ave., and you will surely notice two things—Italian flags, and beautiful concrete work. My father prided himself on his ability to take any patch of useless grass, no matter how small, and turn it into a beautiful slab of concrete. He poured concrete for 45 years, and in all that time, through thousands of cubic yards of concrete, not once did any of the concrete crack. Not once.Respect.
Out of respect for my father, I chose to be a masonry expert, and recently, I bought a house in the Little Italy section of South Oakland on Pier St. from some Muslim-type pisan. It's a beautiful house, but it looks like he had some monkeys pour the alleyway. Judging by the cracking, it looks like the slump must have been around 1.5, if they even had a slump cone. And they obviously used too much water to finish. Sure, it made the concrete more workable for those no-talent bums, but now the top is spauling and chipping—terrible. I can't respect a man who does work like that. So out of respect for my neighbors, my house, and most of all, my father, I had my crew pull up the old concrete and pour a fresh slab. We worked all day Saturday, and as the sun was setting, me and Vito brushed the concrete, and covered it the same way you cover a grave with dirt—respectfully.
The next morning I got up to go to mass, and as my wife was putting the kids in the car, I walked over to check on the concrete, and I noticed that some muthafuckin, cock-suckin, dickless, piece of shit, son of a bitch put his initials in it. And if that wasn't enough, the sommabitch drew a bomb next to his initials. Nobody threatens me. You don't disrespect my family. Luckily, my next-door neighbor, Mary Carmonella Bellafonte (you should try her alfredo sauce, it is delicioso) had been unable to sleep that night, and was sitting on her porch and saw a man with some ladies in front of her house talking about his "frat." She went on to tell me that he then proceeded to defile my concrete tribute to my father's life. She gave me a description of the young man, and I think I will pay a visit to him very soon, and teach him a little something about family. And respect
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