"he just winds me up," he said.

"i get so frustrated." The silence was palpable in the air of the living room. "It just takes one look, one glimpse of his name somewhere and my fists start to clench. I have dreams at night and gnash my teeth."

Johnny Doe is just a regular ol' dude that isn't usually one to keep grudges. "The history between us is years old by now, and I'm supposed to have moved on, right? But I just can't seem to let it go, especially when I get reminded about it all the time on Facebook or whatnot. It's really an inconvenience to know so many of the same people. I never thought I'd be pissed off that I'm social."

Doe held his head in his hands and wiggled his toes, staring down at them with a resigned sigh. All through the interview he'd been fidgeting constantly as if the subject matter made him physically uncomfortable. Frequent eye-rolling ensued on behalf of the interviewer out of sight of the interviewee.

"There's no gain to it at all, for either of us," he said. "You know? Sure, it gives you a kind of dirty pleasure to shoot him down and talk shit about him behind his back, but you wait a day and you wake up and feel ashamed at yourself. I've tried a couple of times to do the mature thing and try and patch things up to no avail, and my friends have told me that it's a waste of time. They don't seem to understand how hard it is for me to let go; I have trouble understanding it myself. I guess I really feel uncomfortable with the idea that somewhere out there is a person who thoroughly loathes me, that hates me enough to want to tell other people just how horrible I am. I can't imagine myself being that bad, but I worry..."

He shook his head and looked out the window. Birds squawked and hopped around on the power lines above the row of houses. In the good old days, men who had an issue with each other would simply fight, and that would be the end of it. "On one hand it feels kind of manly to keep all this pent-up rage, but on the other hand it feels not only juvenile but even feminine to maintain this grudge for no good reason."

Although Doe is clearly a grade AAA corn-fed retard, at least he realizes how womanly he is. A recent study by the Mayo Clinic discovered that young men of today often develop phantom period cramps in keeping with their staggeringly high estrogen levels and poor body image. What a bunch of fairies.

"Sometimes I just want to punch that shithead in the teeth. I bet I could go twelve rounds with that douchebag and never get tired of hurting him."

That's the spirit, sonny.

"it creates false hope," he said.

"in my own head, i guess." The evening was cool atop the hill in the middle of Queen Elizabeth park. "Maybe not hope... No, no, I meant more that it prompts my imagination, which goes weird places."

John Doe had just received a message from a friend of his that had recently moved away. "She said she might have made a mistake, and that there were some troubles at home. We didn't expect things to be perfect, or even normal, but I felt badly for her. I do, still, now. We understood certain things about ourselves that were singular to us, and I know that sounds stupid to you, especially since nothing happened or anything. We were, or are, just friends, though that seems to imply that there is something less intrinsic and meaningful in friendship."

What psychobabble. Laughable. He ran his palm down the pleat of his slacks. He didn't usually dress this way, that much was clear. But he often thought this way, that much was clear also. Cherry blossoms fell from the trees, as they often do in the springtime.

"I always read too far into my relationships with people," he said. "Any kind of relationship, I mean; spiritual, physical, mental, whatever. It's stupid to overthink things like that, I suppose, but it's just part of my personality, I guess you could say. What's funny is how little I consider other things in comparison. If I had my way, I'd change a lot of people's lives around... and I don't mean in the typically altruistic public way. Specific people, that I personally know, deserve to be in different situations. I feel good that I wish I could make them happy."

He nervously or unconsciously repeated the pleat-smoothing motion. It seems that while a great many people put little to no thought into their relationships at all, a nearly equal amount believe that they consider their friendships and romantic engagements too deeply. They probably do; it is the opinion of this publication that since humans are so fundamentally stupid, they should not be under any notable intellectual burden. All the important thinking should really be left to those who are qualified for the task, like whales or moose. What the fuck do moose do all day besides eat, anyway?

"Well, whatever. I mean, either it's a thing, or it isn't. I should probably spend some more time online and try to get in touch with them. That's the right thing to do, isn't it?"

How should we know? Ask someone with a degree in that.

"you lose your optimism," he said.

"seeing so many demo tapes." Incandescent light glinted off of the action figures carefully placed on every surface of the room. "I used to think it was about the music. Now I know it's just not realistic. But nobody thought the dream was for real, did they?"

Mr. Doe is the co-owner of Dogfucker Records, a prominent label in North Vancouver studio culture. "Even if someone gets to your submitted cd, or heaven forbid attends your band's show, you get a fifteen second judgement and then we must move on. And god help you if that short opportunity involves an experimental or old-school approach in any way, because we know what sells and what doesn't."

Doe toyed with an Action Man figurine made of extruded plastic and stroked his significant facial hair. A cable modem blinked idly and car engines roared quietly outside the venetian blinds.

"It used to be that I would go to shows and really love a band and believe that I would be the one to make them famous, to make others see their quality and potential," he said. "But the fact is that a huge number of these demo discs have bands like that, which is either encouraging or disheartening depending on how you look at it."

Some people believe that record labels of late have absolved themselves of responsibility for developing niche market trends, prompting marked stagnation in anything not currently in vogue. "This makes money. We know that. It keeps making money even though Old Navy is totally out of girls' straight cut jeans. The mentality in the business is, if it ain't broke, why fix it, and the statistics support this apathy, the RIAA's efforts to the contrary."

Shifting weight to his left butt cheek in order to fart, Doe explained that people are truly idiots. "Nobody will admit it, but they don't really know that their chosen bands are that much greater than any other, and the only factor that determines their initial respect is coverage in the appropriate newsrag. No offense meant, of course."

The paper did not take offense, as it is an inanimate and nonmaterial construct representing shareholders. 

"my parents ruined them for me," he said.

"drugs, i mean." The sun made you squint your eyes and everyone sported armpit stains. "Anything, you name it, I feel guilty doing it," said John Doe, a clean-cut young man in his late teens.

"I'd come home and they wouldn't say anything, they would just look at me quizzically, or sometimes they would entertain my long, rambling, weed-spawned conversation in a mildly amused tone. Either way, it was uncomfortable, even if I didn't realize it at the moment; I would often wake up on a weekend morning and 'reagan' myself after the sudden realization."

Doe paused for a moment to shield his eyes from the sun and glance furtively at his shoes. The wind blew in a smell of garbage and plastic wrap drifted out of a dumpster behind a Chinese buffet. Why do it if you feel uncomfortable?

"Well... I wasn't going to say no, you know, I mean, that's rude. I'm too nice, really, is the problem," he said. "My politeness will be my downfall someday. I should go, though, they're packing another bowl."

John Doe is a graphic arts student at the Emily Carr University of Art & Design. His jeans are Diesel and he wears size 8.5 NIKEiD "Sweatshop Specials" with double cord lacing and neoprene orthotic insoles. Clothing providing by Shmerican Shmapparel. It is the opinion of this newspaper that most young people are cripplingly insecure and criminally insane and should be chemically euthanized for use as fertilizer.

"There's a dress code," he said.

"unofficially, of course." Rainwater dripped from the leaky ceiling at The Cobalt, Vancouver's Hardcore Bar. "These hipsters, they have no respect for the territory," said John Doe, a regular at the legendary East Van establishment. 

"It would be the equivalent of me going to work in leather pants and chains. It's one thing for a person to really enjoy metal music and to come out and support the local music scene; nobody can say that's a bad thing. But some legendary bands have played here, and these desert scarves and v-neck shirts are just inappropriate."

When questioned about how a black t-shirt makes the difference between one beer-bellied 21-year-old belligerent retard and another, John became agitated. "Goddamnit, you can tell the faggots apart! I'm not a clown so i don't dress like one!" Mr. Doe has been an insurance salesman in the Lower Mainland for over 25 years.

Mr. Doe had clearly imbibed far too large a portion of alcohol during the evening, as he proceeded to furiously ramble invective too inflammatory for this publication to print. Cobalt proprietor Wendy Thirteen was unavailable for comment on whether the group was a positive or detrimental addition to the crowd, but was seen alternately serving "one for the road" beverages to coked-out fashionistas and yelling "go home!" to a large man in a burberry fedora. On a similar but coincidental note, a drunken groupie fell off of a table.

In spite of heavy buzzkill legislation on behalf of the GVRD, The Cobalt has nursed along the Vancouver metal/punk underworld for decades and will continue to be the place to go for Moosehead, chlorine bleach inhalation poisoning, and grls girl; however, it remains to be seen whether this influx of fixie-riding crystal castles fans will turn it from a kvlt kave into a stop on the Kylesa/My Bloody Valentine ugly shithole tour. Bystanders suggested that they had just wandered in while looking for a place to hide out from the pissed off bare-knuckle canucks fans thirsty for blood. it should be noted that this is a particularly logical thesis.