My good friend Tony asked me to take a look at two stories of misadventure in Grunge Era Seattle. When I had gotten to Weak Devil City early this winter I was set on encouraging Tony to publish his 200 or so pages of stories in print, as he is a natural story teller who has been involved in a lot of bad shit. But as time went on I realized that Tony had not written much about his life, indeed had avoiding writing about most of the bad shit he had been involved in. I also realized that me being around stifled his writing output because we talked so much and he works full time so the creative bottle was remaining corked.

Tony, I am so glad you started digging deeper into the halls of hell you stumbled through as a kid. The two Burien stories are excellent and I suggest them for the opening of your autobiography, and after this great opening you should start from the beginning, "looking at that coat hanger" as you told me one night and write in lineal order from their. I would break your life into three volumes, interrupting the narrative with something real shitty, like getting locked up.

Readers, if you want a treat, check out Tony Cox's blog at the link below and read Burien.

"I’d been in Burien about a week. Burien is basically south Seattle. More of a hard edge than the north side, where I was from. I was 18.

"Somehow I met another 18 year old guy, named Nate. Nate Clarke. The first day we met, we went to a kegger party in south Seattle. This Nate Clarke guy got wasted in the first hour and hid under the sink in the kitchen, curled up like a baby, his ass went to sleep.

"I knew not a soul at this gathering.

"Being 18, and prone to outbursts of belligerence, I began smashing holes in the ceiling and walls with a pool cue, as there was a pool table on the bottom floor of the house which was hosting the kegger party.

"I was soon kindly admonished to refrain from destroying the host’s family home by three black gentlemen around my same age..."