Tito’s Vodka – East Hollywood Blues

Submitted for your approval: a transcription of two twenty somethings talking as I sipped on a Tito’s Immaculate Conception at the Local. The words are easy to understand as they are uttered in English but the context, syntax and grammar appear to be in a foreign tongue unknown to most but spoken fluently by the Gentrifying denizens of East Hollywood known as Millennials.

1: No I’m talking about my sister’s friend. He’s a big fan of Kazakhstan.

2: Dude he must be into ballers.

1: That’s because he’s into popping pills all time. He must be Andy Garcia.

2: You know what’s weird I don’t remember seeing Ocean’s 13 but I totally remember seeing it.

1: Dawg you must have been to Paris with a cat burglar. I don’t remember seeing it but I saw it when I was learning English.

2: Dude it’s like all about the subtitles. And languages, not to mention words used in vampire lore

1: You are a serious guy dude.

2: The Louvre has never come up in conversation.

1: The French Revolution was the world’s coolest party that got out of hand.

2: Just like my frat man.

1: It was so cool with that movie and the guillotine.

2: You need to drink a diet soda and kill quickly.

1: That’s like Snow White.

2: It all seems like a cliché dude.

1: Yes you got it in there.

2: It’s over and over again dog.

1: Vape?

2: Not in front of the audience.

1: Basically they’re 3,000 strong.

2: Because every time you die you come back.

1: It’s over and over again dawg.

2: White people suck rightfully so I totally get it.

1: It’s just still gripping so drink the water because I love this movie so hard.

2: But only if Russell Brand is being racist and Brad Pitt hangs out on set for like a year.

I am forced to conclude William S. Burroughs’ Cut-Up technique has become passé.

Thursday night.

Two self described ‘Bros’ sitting next to me at the Local drinking Blue Balls , which they claim are shots of Fireball with cans of PBR back, were rather distressing.

It wasn’t that they dressed alike with white t-shirts and Navy blue Dickie slacks or that they had the same Man bun and long ZZ Top black beard or that they had the same sleeve of the same Jewish themed tattoos all the way down their right arms. No. What stood out was they each had a tattoo of five numbers on their left forearm and nothing else but virgin flesh no Valley tattoo artist had yet feasted upon.

I tried to put it out of my mind but the numbers were so odd I couldn’t stop stealing glances. After my second Tito’s Immaculate Conception I couldn’t stop staring.

“What are you looking at bro,” the Bro closest to me asked.

“Those numbers on your arms seem out of place,” I said.

The Bro furthest from me held up his left arm. “This is my grandfather’s tattoo number from Buchenwald bro.”

“This is my grandmother’s tattoo number from Auschwitz bro,” the Bro closest to me said.

“We’re taking back Jewish tattoos from the Nazi’s bro,” the Bro furthest from me said.

“Have a shot with us bro,” the Bro closest to me said.

While Jack the Albino poured the shots I decided to make one more attempt to explain to the Bros what their tattoos meant.

“You know those weren’t tattoos the Nazi’s put on the Jews arms. They were brands placed strategically to humiliate those people before they were murdered.”

“That’s right bro. We’re taking back our brand,” the Bro furthest from me said.

Obviously I lost the debate.