At a certain age, the skate rats all abandon ship. Most freaks mainstream by the time they are about 23. They shut their mouths, mow off their mohawks, monochrome brown their hair, let their piercings close up, and put on button-down shirts to hide the tattoos. To hide who they could have been. The few remaining freaks older than 23 develop new vices like hard drug addiction and sex partners too underage to notice what pathetic losers they are. Why is it that so few people ever really start that band? Or that 'zine? Or that club? Or that publicity firm? Or dungeon? Or stagehand company? Or interview for special effects jobs? Or move to Hollywood to try to act? Or write more than five pages of the Great American Novel? Or fucking anything???

When I was 23, my parents sat me down and told me that all my friends were just like the hangers-on at Andy Warhol's Factory. At the time, I was just like "wow cool, Andy Warhol's Factory". Today I finally get what they meant. I have something to say to the people I loved when I started BLT and Blue Blood to celebrate the lifestyle I enjoyed with those people I loved: "You dumb fucks. Your fifteen minutes are so up. I had that punk rock wedding. I started that 'zine. I may not be there yet and I may not know where I'm going, but at least I'm trying. At least, I still have some life in me and I'm going somewhere. AND I'M SO FUCKING DISAPPOINTED BECAUSE I WAS GOING TO TAKE YOU WITH ME. And I miss you all. At least, I miss who you all were five years ago. I miss who you could have been today. FUCK YOU DC AND GOODNIGHT."