Years before Rickety Cricket was the dog-loving, PCP-abusing monstrosity you see today, he was Matthew Mara, the rising star of Philadelphia’s Catholic Church scene. But just like your image in those sexy college graduation photos, Cricket’s charming good-looks lasted just long enough for the real world, played by the Paddy’s Pub Gang, to get its greasy sausage fingers into him, leaving him scarred, grizzled, and begging for euthanasia in just ten short years.
Think you’re any better? Well I’m here to tell you ass blasters that your FB profile tells the same sad story. In fact, looking at your latest Timehopper, you’d probably even find yourself pining for the days when a couple camouflaged war birds would hunt you through the mean streets of Philly like a feral dog. But i’ll let you decide.
Remember all that good you were going to do?
Crick was tight and attractive once too, you know? Just like ten-year-ago you, he had some big dreams: “Gonna finish school and make a big splash. Maybe I’ll even clean up these streets that are flooded with the ejaculate of the homeless.”
But just like Cricket, you got distracted along the way. Building schools in Haiti didn’t pay enough to keep you fed, just like being a Priest didn’t help Matty get with any giant birds; suddenly you’re making compromises with your life goals.
Maybe you didn’t end up being that Priest or Astronaut or whatever it was you people wanted to be… crab people maybe. The real world got to you first. But you’ll still be something special…right? With these looks?
Then shit got expensive
The real world hit you hard like the gust of a thousand winds. Maybe you got a little off track when the drugs became an easy escape. One day you’re a man of God giving alms to the poor, the next you’re popping a squat on the courthouse steps and people start dropping fivers in your empty coffee mug.
Life becomes a confusing, lonely spiral of shame, where the harder you try to succeed, the more the real world comes at you from every angle, demanding your money, encouraging your bad habits and self-loathing.
Your teeth get looser and so do your profile photos. But you always have your big break: your musical! You’ll show them all by writing your musical one day. It’s going to be so sexy, all hips and nips, and you WILL get paid. But for now it’s a lonely, gradual descent into madness as you question what the hell it’s all about.
What about that thing you got way into, just long enough to tell everyone about the “new you”?
You’re a few years in now and things are getting tougher, including pretending you still look good naked in the mirror. But what are you going to do, give up? Cricket didn’t and neither did you. Instead you went and found some meaningless bullshit to dive head first into to try and round out your identity.
Maybe you got into bicycling and wore clippy shoes everywhere you went for a few days. Or maybe you became a vegan and shamed everyone you could reach on social media for a week. Or maybe you had a brief stint as a misunderstood villain in a wrestling show for the troops.
The important thing is you committed… Just long enough to make a deeply annoying impact on your FB profile, theme-ing out your wall and your posts and your default photo with promises that the new you is here to stay…
Remember how excited you were about your new thing? Until a sharp trash can edge came at you from across the ring unexpectedly, clipping your jugular vein and bringing you back to the real fucking world. For most of you this trash can was your first divorce. Sure it didn’t take you out, but damn if it wasn’t the first scar of many more to come. And you had such a lovely voice before that…
And then you got trapped in a burning apartment
Okay, okay, so you’re not the priest you thought you’d be. Hell, you’re not even in the social class you started in right out of college. But dammit, you’re making an honest living, washing dogs, and putting down strays.
Hell you even had the balls to show up to your high school reunion and scam those bozos into thinking you were really somebody. But they could see the scars, the loose skin, the smoker’s voice. You aren’t fooling anybody, and your constant check-ins at the YMCA aren’t helping either.
Shit’s getting dark and life was just waiting to lure you into the greatest trap of all: The locked, burning apartment fire that is kids. You get an invitation to a nice dinner. You think “yeah, I want this. It feels good. No way is this all a terrible trap.”
Then some serious fucking drama unfolds and before you know it, you’re screaming and scratching to get out of a sealed, twenty-year commitment that’s burning away what pretty, pretty youth you had left. Welcome to parenthood, bitches!
At least there’s freedom in owning the “Street Rat” persona
So you had a tough ten years, and your FB photos are gonna keep reminding you every time some college friend decides to share one of those time-capsuled photos of that night your hot, tight body set the world on fire, instead of your face. That’s not so bad. The important thing is you still have your sense of humor… and PCP.
So if you find yourself showering in a broken urinal as you contemplate leveraging a glory hole incident for college tuition for those kids of yours, just remember: Cricket doesn’t have to hide the truth about his three-doggy foursomes because that’s the sort of gold that gives art context.
So own that shit, you disgusting Street Rat. And post about it so we can all laugh at how rough you look these days.