Bully

My dad told me a story once and I didn't understand it at first. I thought I did. Then I was tellin' the story to somebody else years later and it finally hits me. All of a sudden I get it. That's the way a story is supposed to work.

It was an old story. You've probably heard it or some variation of it. Something like there are two dogs fightin' inside a fella. One's good, the other's evil. Which one wins? The one I feed the most.

I was like eight when I first heard that one. I took it pretty literally, thinkin' it was obvious. As I got older the meanin' of the story changed a few times to me. Maybe each of those translations was right in its own way. Then I told it to my brother and that's when it struck me that the deeds done in a person's life were his dog's food. So, whatever good or bad you do feeds other people's good or bad opinion of you. Which dog wins? That's the sum of all your good or bad deeds, what are they gonna say 'bout you when you're dead?

You think you're the hero of your story. When you tell your story you tell it in a way that makes you look good. You fought the good fight, you defended your honor, you withstood adversity. Sometimes that's exactly how it happened. Sometimes you just told yourself that's the way it was. What if the stories other people are tellin' are true? Maybe you're just a bully, a monster. Maybe you only tell yourself you're the hero 'cause you couldn't stand to live like that.

I had a friend over a few nights ago. A good guy, bit of a slacker in high school, but funny and relaxed. Good guy. Well, he comes over and he and the wife get along, that's good. We talk and laugh and tell stories. All about how things are goin', what's happened since high school, and high school.

I remember high school fondly. I felt like crap a lotta times 'cause of the usual you know: Not enough friends, not enough dates, too stupid to get an A. But there was a lot of fun to be had too: Parties, girls, doin' stuff you shouldn't. Overall it was a lot of fun. Time of your life, as they say. Nothin' was very serious.

As we reminisced it came to light that I was sumthin' of a dick back then. I did stupid things to people that didn't deserve it. I said mean things to people without thinkin' or because I was tryin' to be funny. A lot of people thought I was shy, quiet, and nice. Not everybody thought that though.

My June, who has been fortunate enough to me only as the hero of my own story, couldn't believe I had done some of those things, that I'd played such a villainous part. I'd been just as mean and cruel nd stupid as any bully to some people. But I'd all but forgotten it. I pushed it to the back of my mind. I'd done even worse after high school. I started down a muddied path and found it only got muddier.

I met June about the same time I was tryin' to turn things around, so all she's ever seen was me givin' blood, raisin' money for charity, and tryin' to do some good. But I'm glad she saw a lil of that ugly side too, so she understands a bit more about why I want to be better than I am. I hope that when we have kids all they'll know of my time as a jerk is one sentence, "Your dad was kind of a jerk in high school but he sure grew out of that."

It's important to have friends like that around, I think. What he said was no lie. It didn't paint me in the best light but that's the way it happened. I'm glad I had someone to remind me of the failures I'd forgotten. I'm glad I know people that can be honest with me and tell me that everything I do isn't always the right thing. When I falter, when I make those mistakes, I don't want cheerleaders ushering me toward damnation, I want someone to slap me back to my senses. I don't want to live in a bubble of all the wonderful things I've ever done. It sounds nice but when someone tells you that you're being unjust and all you can do is look at them with hate, you better question yourself before you throw that first punch.

Coming Attractions...

I'll start with an apology: sorry I haven't written in a while. I have been actually, just not here. I'm working on a comic, short stories, poetry and all the usual. Busy, busy, busy.


I even wrote something for you guys and then it got eaten by the bastards of technology and files that are for some reason incompatible and blah, blah, blah. Anyway this is what you get now...

Things to come:

The Sons of Brazil is my first attempt at makin' a comic series completely and 100% solo. I did a few crappy comic strips in highschool that got canned before the end of the year I was wanting to have the first issue finished today, but I suck. I have a few pages done but not nearly enough to call a whole issue. So because I suck you get this and I'll post that first issue as soon as It's all done. I'd expect that to be around January.

Now the part where I don't suck. The Sons of Brazil draws it's title from the novel The Boys from Brazil. Case you haven't read that, scientists clone Hitler and try to recreate conditions that would create a new leader for the Nazis.

In The Sons of Brazil, scientists clone quite a few celebrities in an attempt to control the fate of the world. Two of these clones, Jesus and Hitler, find out their destiny and want nothing to do with it. The two instead go on a series of misadventures from job hunting to being deported to being part of a drug raid to engaging in an outrageous orgy (or two).

I'm usin' these two to tell a twisted, crazy, satirical story that hopefully is amusing enough to make you pee a little. I'm tellin' a story that will hopefully leave everyone offended and make you reconsider the way the world works.

Perfect Blue is my latest short story. It's about an imperfect and immortal man. A man as flawed as anyone, mistakenly drinks a mysterious solution that he finds to grant him immortality. He and his flawed personality make their way and mistakes through life. He goes from a family man to a drug-abusing, sex fiend to a widely respected father figure and scientist. This strangely immortal man even saves and destroys the world, indirectly.

I was listenin' to Dan Auerbach's solo album one day and the image came to me of this large blue man, something like Dr. Manhattan, and then that contrasted with the image of a resentful old man. I started thinkin' about how hard it is to make the right choices in life and and how it's much easier to get a few things right in a short time span than it is to live a long life and come out lookin' like a saint. I also touch on a few things like our dependency on oil and how a good idea can be taken and warped into something horrid.

I'm also writing more poetry but I don't really see a point in tellin' you about that in such detail. I may post those before too long to make up for my absence here. Speakin' of which, I'm glad a lotta you guys haven't run out on me. I appreciate any comments, likes, or reading that you guys do. I know writing isn't as flashy or as easy to absorb as a picture or a song and in this day and age it's still not that cool to read for fun but I love those of you that do.

Anyway, thanks for readin' I'll write again asap.