As I was writing those opening lines, there was no question in my mind if I was going to be famous it was just a matter of when. “I’m thinking about switching back to Steve Glover because now I’ve kind of begun a career and I don’t know if I want a nickname when I’m famous.” I was so sure that it was just a matter of time before the world found out how totally rad I was that I decided what I really needed to do was get a jump start on my memoir. But sitting there on my bottom bunk in jail-an unemployed, homeless college dropout with some gnarly-looking front teeth-I was absolutely stoked. I hadn’t quite gotten around to getting them fixed.Īnyone with any sense would’ve looked at my life at that point and seen nothing but a grand fucking disaster. Also, my front teeth were all busted up from a drunken face-plant I took off a second-story balcony trying to impress some girl at a party more than a year earlier.
#Professional idiot a memoir free#
I liked to tell people that I was a stuntman, but except for some free T-shirts from a very fledgling Florida-based clothing company called Bizo, I had nothing really to show for six years of videotaping myself skateboarding, jumping from rooftops into shallow pools, and doing whatever else I thought might get people’s attention.
#Professional idiot a memoir license#
I was mostly crashing on friends’ couches in those days or, when things got really desperate, sleeping in my car, which I’d been driving around with a suspended license and expired tags. Mom had kicked me out of the house, and not without good cause: I was an irresponsible slob who seemed completely incapable of keeping any sort of job. The arrest report actually reads: “Defendant declined roadside sobriety tests stating he’d prefer to take a nap.” Upon my arraignment, I pled guilty and asked the judge if I could just start my ten-day sentence immediately, since I couldn’t really afford round-trip bus fare home to South Florida and back.Īctually, “home” is a generous way of describing my living situation at that point. I tried to tell the officer I wasn’t drunk, just tired. I was pulled over for swerving badly while making an illegal U-turn through a red light.
A couple months earlier, I’d gotten my second DUI in less than a year. The Orange County Correctional Facility in Orlando, to be exact.
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