ShredNJ: February 2012

I did a write up on Dillon for The Skateboard Mag that is in the new issue with Elijah Berle on the cover. After a bunch of rewrites and editing they still managed to get my name wrong. Fuckers. Congrats Dill!

Before a million re-writes and add ons here's the original write-up:

The amount of times I have read the words “we’ll let his skating do the talking for him” has gone onto an uncountable number. My good friend Dillon Constantine, on the other hand, whose skating also speaks very loud, has an even bigger mouth that does most of the speaking. There have been times where I would look around a room at the people surrounding Dillon and they all had the same look on their faces; the look of someone thinking “why won’t this kid shut the fuck up already?” Just listen for the loudest person in the room with a heavy Jersey influenced dialect telling the most ridiculous tales, and chances are it’s Dillon. If I had to describe him to someone that doesn’t know him, I’d probably say he was a 40 year old trapped in a 19 year old’s body. This might give you the idea that Dillon is ‘wise beyond his years’, but no, using the term wise alongside his name just simply wouldn’t be accurate. It’s the wild stories he always is telling that make him seem like he has been everywhere, seen everything, and done it all. Whether it be about his crazy sexual exploits, wild parties, or tricks he’s claimed to have done, you can be sure to scratch your head as to each story’s credibility. “Did he just make that up?” is a common thought that comes to mind after a story, but I dare not question it or acknowledge it for the fear that he may continue talking. The main thing you’ll probably encounter in a Dillon tale are his sexual conquests with women. I have to admit, I’ve become quite impressed with the amount of beautiful girls that Dillon has somehow wrangled into his lair. This is because I just cannot understand how a guy whose game includes lines such as “Yo Baby” and quotes from the movie POINT BREAK, can snag such ‘lookers.’ However, on one New Year’s Eve a couple years back, Dillon’s ability to woo a few pretty girls just didn’t pan out the way he planned. After a few drunken lines to the last remaining good looking girls at my apartment failed to do the trick, Dillon decided to call it quits for the night, or so I thought. Upon heading to bed, I took notice of the last remaining souls scattered around my apartment: a couple skate related stragglers too drunk to drive, girls that are planning to sleep with my roommate who oddly resembles that dude from TWILIGHT, an extremely obese girl, and Dillon. After a night of celebrating another year gone by with booze and what not, I forgot to take my bedtime piss, so I stumbled back up the stairs after a few minutes of trying to fall asleep. To my surprise, I open the door heading towards my bathroom to see Dillon ‘floating’ a few feet above the couch. By floating, I mean he was atop the 300-pound behemoth of a girl left stuck at my apartment. I hate to be mean, but damn, hop on a treadmill for fuck’s sake. He quickly jumped to his feet as if I wouldn’t have noticed uttering a nervous “What’s up man?” I said nothing because I knew this would tarnish his reputation amongst his friends as a lady-killer, unless of course that list of ladies included a beached whale. I went back to my room after my piss and said nothing. The next morning I wake up to the sound of girls talking. I look around for Dillon, but he is nowhere to be seen. That’s when I heard it: the big girl was saying “Yeah that little boy took me into the bathroom and bent me over the sink. It was over quick and I felt like I committed statutory rape.” Dillon had slayed the beast. He disappeared for a couple weeks, deleted his Facebook, and didn’t answer calls. He was on hiatus in fear of the torture that his friends would give him and in fear of having a chubby girl wanting a groom. To this day, I have trouble believing anything he has to say about women anymore. I could sit here and write a novel about Dillon that includes stories about him giving himself a striptease while he thought no one was wacthing or the time he had sex on a freshly pissed on pool table with a girl that was the town bicycle, but I’ll let him tell you himself, which he undoubtedly will. Through all the headaches and hangovers Dillon has caused in my life, I am still proud to call him a good friend. He’s helped me out countless times and stuck around through the trials and tribulations of growing up to become an overall awesome dude. And to all the fatties out there, just listen for the “Yo Baby” call, Dillon is coming.