In which our intrepid hero witnesses the birth of a legend.

With my sudden poverty and the state of the media, it would be easy to become depressed. In fact, I was feeling a bit low this morning.

I had a great dinner with Matt W and a couple of my other friends last night; Matt came up from Canberra especially for this dinner, and stayed in my spare room. I guess I don’t get to see him as much as I’d like to.

Anyway, I changed trains at Redfern to head to work as Matt headed on to Central to catch his coach back home. Two guys in their mid-teens squeezed into the two-seater in front of me (they’re only really comfortable enough to seat one, unless the train’s crowded or you know whoever it is you’re sharing with) and each popped an earphone in from the iPod beween them.

The tinny noises that escaped sounded like thrash, or maybe-nu metal. Definitely not the third-rate hip-hop or emo crap that seems to be in vogue with the teens of today. I smiled.

And then they began to talk. They were loud, trying to compensate for the volume of their iPod, but given that they had at least some taste in music, I didn’t mind. Their conversation, however, blew me away:

Right-hand Teen: "Dude, I got something to tell ya."

Left-hand Teen: "Yeah?"

Right-hand Teen: "Yeah. It’s whacked-out, man, but I swear it’s the truth."

Left-hand Teen: "What?"

Right-hand Teen: "You know Slipknot?"

Left-hand Teen: "Yeah, course I know Slipknot."

Right-hand Teen: "Violent J stabbed ’em all in the face, which is why they wear those masks all the time."

Left-hand Teen: "Fuck, man. Really?" He paused, then: "Bullshit."

Right-hand Teen is silent for several seconds. Finally: "Yeah, but he did cut ’em, just not in the face. All of ’em, ‘cept for 133, ’cause he’s too scared."

Left-hand Teen: "Really? Why?"

Right-hand Teen: "He’s fuckin’ skitz" — the volume drops to deliver the real juice—"’cause 133 is really the Unabomber."

Left-hand Teen: "The who?"

Right-hand Teen: "The Unabomber, man. You ain’t heard of the Unabomber? He’s this guy, right, he sends bombs in packages to people. Violent J knows that 133 is the Unabomber, ’cause 133 sends him these packages all the time. But he’s not worried or nothin’. Violent J’s too smart to get blown up."

This, my friends, is how religions begin…

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