When adrenaline-driven teenage computer hackers sporting Scientology Kills t-shirts are body-pierced with enough metal in their tongues, eyebrows, and genitals to shift a compass' magnetic north reading, the people tend to notice.
When trailer-park trash suddenly see themselves at the summit of life's gene pool in the presence of these visually disturbing individuals, you gotta know that the party's about to begin.
So there i am, in a sparkling white Chrysler Sebering JXI convertible with only 60 miles on the odometer. With 36°C (plus humidity) in Montréal and with the warm beer we managed to rip off from a fat tourist's hands while at a red light.
Cruising rue Sainte-Catherine. Molotov is on the car's stereo. CyberChrist is behind the wheel. And Jorge, the Irish-Mexican hacker that holds a senior ingenieering position in a major ISP when sober. CyberChrist is muttering Jim Morrison's motto in a thick Russian accent: "Drink, sing, drink, sleep, drink, die" as he swings the Stoli bottle (Stoli: Stolichnaya vodka, I guess CiberChrist call it Stoli because they seem to be old friends). "Hot vodka is better than no vodka!" he shouts.
While driving arround Montreal, with some russian friends and a mexican hacker I decided that it was moment to write down my life.
This is my life. In HTML.
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