I love to destroy things. I get some sort of thrill when it comes to ripping the crap out of anything. I usually control myself since the time I got trapped inside a Victorian house in the Highlands of Denver. Back in my early twenties
I climbed inside a beautiful mansion that was slated to be demolished. My goal was to photograph myself jerking off in one of the bedrooms that overlooked downtown and smash some plaster walls. After my territory was marked I soon realized that there wasn’t a way to get out of this massive shell. The first floor was strongly boarded up and the fire escape that was easy to climb up was impossible to climb down. I wandered around for a couple of hours trying to find an egress but nothing.
After jerking off again I decided to jump from the second story on to the only soft ground that didn’t have broken glass glistening in the moonlight. I dropped like a stone and rolled into a chain link fence. After that night of limping home with two twisted ankles and covered in my own seed I curbed my enthusiasm for breaking into abandoned houses.
When I get the chance of playing demolition man I jump at it. This is why when BFF Carl asked if I could possibly help him gut his fifty year old garage I acted like an eight year old. I had to pretend it was work since Carl slaved over a huge breakfast that morning. But, the entire time I was giggling behind my mask.