 Back in the late nineties I owned a SID number (12218354) and an address in an Oregon state prison. For part of my biddy prison bid—the old heads said my time was short fore I got there—I worked as an orderly in a mental ward of the Oregon State Hospital. The official duties included sweeping and mopping the halls, changing sheets soiled with feces and/or soaked with urine, and making beds tucked with tight hospital corners. The unofficial duties included learning to at least feign aplomb when residents tossed food trays, tantrumed to the point of restraint, or screeched refusals of their meds. Research also attests that I was a slave at the time. And I ain't speaking hyperbolically or philosophically but literally and officially here.
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 At Javon Walton's high school, there's no play with a six-figure budget, no kids in the audience of such a production who look exactly like Tom Holland, no six-and-a-half-feet-tall psychomaniacs stalking the hallways, and definitely no underworld of drugs with names you've never heard before. At least to Walton's knowledge. "I don't go to parties," the actor, 15, makes sure to tell me, "but there'll be parties. They get busted for drugs, but it's definitely not as intense as Euphoria." You certainly hope not. In Euphoria, HBO's prestige-y portrait of Gen Z, Walton plays the hyper-witted Ashtray, the adopted younger brother of Angus Cloud's Fezco. The show, which debuted its season finale Sunday night, was Walton's first TV gig. He was 11 years old. Now, 15. Which means that Javon Walton has school today—at his totally real, non-HBOified high.
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 CM Punk was the unlikeliest WWE star. He made his debut in 2006, looking nothing like a bodybuilder and having none of the moves of an acrobat. He eschewed sequined robes and cheesy catchphrases for a hoodie and grimy wrist tape. His arms a blur of tattoos, a faded drug free etched on his knuckles. His eyes perpetually bagged, face stubbled, hair slicked back to reveal a widow's peak. He looked like a guy you might know. Fans loved CM Punk. Because wrestling blurs lines between characters and people and stories and reality, Punk's biggest story line involved him quitting the WWE due to the very problems that led him to walk out for real. In June 2011, the company gave him time on live TV to air his grievances. He sat cross-legged on the stage and talked until they cut the mic. That moment is called "the pipe bomb."
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Monday, February 28, 2022
When I Did Time, I Was—Technically, Legally, Constitutionally—a Slave
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  His wife was just thirty-four. They had two little girls. The cancer was everywhere, and the parts of dying that nobody talks about were about to start. His best friend came to help out for a couple weeks. And he never left.  The Davises are like any other family, only instead of a son, they raised a chimpanzee. Then something strange and horrifying happened—though not necessarily what you'd think.
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