Bo scored some heroin this afternoon—an early Christmas present. He only threw up once and managed not to splash behind the toilet this time.

He and I are polar opposites: I’m passive; he’s aggressive. I’m tolerant; he’s racist. I respect police; he shoots at them. I keep a list of books I’d like to read; he keeps a list of people he’d like to kill. I’m a first time offender; he’s a career criminal.

There’s also the generational gap. At fifty-years-old, Bo is exactly twice my age. I grew up with iPods and Google; Bo grew up with eight-tracks and The Encyclopedia Britannica. Consequently, there aren’t many things to talk about, and when we do, the discussions are one-sided and consist mostly of his racist rants against "chimps" and "beaners." During one such tirade, after reading in USA Today that the number of interracial relationships in America has risen over the past few years, Bo looked up and seethed, "Un-fucking-believable! This country’s turning into a fucking mutt factory?"

I didn’t indulge him with a response, but I found it amusing that someone who enjoys getting dicked in the ass happens to think that interracial relationships are perverse.

With few common interests and vastly different world views, Bo and I stick to the most neutral subject there is—the weather. We sound like a couple of farmers:

"Chilly out there tonight."

"Boy, is it freezing."

"Burrr."

"They sure got that AC running."

"Feel my hands. I’m freezing?"

"You see, it’s that window that’ll kill you. I stick my jacket in there—keeps the cold out."

"I hear it’s supposed to warm up this weekend—upper 60s."

"Better bring a jacket—that wind’s really kicking. Brutal. You see, it’s not that bad out—it’s that wind that’ll kill you."

"Warming up out there."

"Boy, it’s colder than a mother."

"Were you cold last night? I had to put on my thermals and sweatshirt. Brutal."

And after we’ve exhausted all local weather, Bo goes national:

"Yeah, my mom says it’s in the 30s up there in Oregon. Hasn’t gotten above 40 all week."

"Just spoke to Mom—said they got two inches of snow."

"Dude, when I was up there in Coleman, it got so cold at night, the water in the toilet would freeze. Brutal."

Brutal.