Smells Like Teen Tennis Shoes

Todd's been back from Chattanooga for two days now, and in that time he's managed to tell me about 15 hilarious stories about various events and instances in his life. 
For example, I've known Todd for over 20 years, and only yesterday did he tell me about the time he hitchhiked down the west coast from Portland with only 40 dollars to his name. Apparently, two broke hippies picked him up while hitchhiking (one of whom was named "Cheech"), and their ritualistic plan to score money for gas went only as far as digging aluminum cans out of the trash and begging truck-stop waitresses for money. 
Seriously. Think about that:
Find a restaurant. Go in. Approach waitress. Beg her for 5 dollars.
(Todd, by the way, did not partake in this activity. He just cringed in the backseat while the hippies got to "work.")

Later (amid discussions about misheard lyrics and the wonderment of Agnostic Front's Victim in Pain), he regaled the time he got kicked so hard in the face by a stage-diver at a punk show that he was forced to "smell that dude's tennis shoe for the next ten minutes."

It occurred to me today that Todd should be the one to have a blog called Misadventures on Earth, not me.

Photo by Chris Grady