Fucking Goons

Goon as a verb was used back in my club days as a term meaning “to be high on meth” as in “That dude has been gooning for four days”.

@Tommmcatt Be Fat, And That Be That: Whatever Los Angeles just sent down to Sandy Eggo, you can have it back.

I dunno. I don’t shoot my goons with a gun. Paintball gun, sure, but not one that fires real bullets.

Meanwhile, Charles Blow interviews Trayvon’s mom. Break out the Kleenex before reading, folks.

She and her mother paint a portrait of an all-American boy, one anyone would be proud to call his or her own. He liked sports — playing and watching — and going to the mall with his friends. The meal his mother made that he liked most was hamburgers and French fries. “And brownies,” his grandmother chimed in, “with lots of nuts.”

He was a smart boy who had taken advanced English and math classes, and he planned to go to college.

He was a hard worker who earned extra money by painting houses, and washing cars and working in the concession of the Pee Wee football league on the weekends. He also baby-sat for his younger cousins, two adorable little girls ages 3 and 7, whom the family called the bunnies, and when he watched the girls he baked them cookies.

[…]

And now he is gone from his mother forever, only able to stare out at her as a shining face on a cellphone. She has no home videos of Trayvon. She doesn’t even have voicemail messages from him saved. The only way that she could now hear Trayvon’s voice would be to call his phone and listen to his answering message, but she dare not do it. “If I hear his voice, I think I’m going to scream.”

Every night she says she dreams of him. Every morning she says she thinks he’s going to walk through the door and say, “Mom, I’m here. You were dreaming. It’s not true. I’m not dead. I’m here,” and give her a hug and a kiss.

And the bunnies — they still don’t understand where he is. They’re still asking for Trayvon, the cousin who came over and baked them cookies.