Personal Confession

[ThirdMarioBro]

I don't know if all of this fits in this forum, but this is where I'm putting it. I need to say these things and I don't know where else to say them. I'm going to do it professional style. Its broken up into two posts.

The proceeding article is editorial content. The views expressed are those of the author and do not neccessarily reflect the official position of the Anyone Else Who gives a fu*k about what this nut is saying.

Okay, maybe not so professional.

I am so damn shallow. I really am. Okay, I'm a writer. To be a writer, you must dig hard to pull the lowest and craziest thoughts from the deepest levels of your subconcious. I've been thinking about the last few years, and suddenly I realize I needed to do a deep personal review on my attitude twords life. Now, it's my job to write things that make other people think about their attitudes twords certain subjects. I try to make people think about themselves and maybe not be quite so damn judgemental twords the things they claim to care about so much. I am guilty. I have been guilty for so long. Guilty of the things I write about, guilty in committing the very actions, sins, and atrocities that I accuse others of in different areas. Let me explain some history for you.

Like many, I was born into the 80's. Decade of crazy hair, whack ass style, moonwalking, break dancing, Nintendo, and Electronica. It was a wonderful time and it ended too soon, but that's besides the point. Cyndi Lauper, Madonna, Michael Jackson, MC Hammer, Hulkamania versus Roddy Piper, Fine Young Cannibals, Vanilla Ice. Some legendary, some slutty, some cheesy, and some just plain stupid. Regardless, it was a great time in my opinion. I may have been young, but you'd be suprised just how alert I was to the world at a yound age and how much I remember. When other kids were watching Seaseme Street, I was listening and learning the words to Time After Time.. Me and that song have a little history. When I was two years old I heard it on my Mother's stereo, I crawled up to it and would lay against the speaker. I didn't understand a word of it, nor did I know anything about the singer or what the words meant. There was some kind of simple beauty and......what would I use to describe it.....perfect elegance and magical aura about it. Every time I heard it play I would run into the room like crazy to get near the stereo. I would run from te table, from the upstairs floor, and once from the potty. My Mom wasn't pleased with that as I left a trail behind me. Hey, I was a little kid I would run to that speaker and sometimes try to chew on the foam covering it, but that song was what drew me there like a beautiful magic whistle lulling me to the point where it was eminating as though I was a mouse and it was the piper. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard then and now. I still cry when I listen to any version of it that Cyndi sings then or now (btw, fu*k you Celine Dion).

When I was five, I could moonwalk. I almost broke my ankle several times trying, but it made me the coolest little bastard in the whole school. That was the year my "badass" uncle on my Mom's side would come to pick me up on occation. Seriously, the guy was big enough to kick Hulk Hogan's ass and rode a Harley everywhere. He lives in Alaska now. Such a badass, yet really kindhearted under all the leather. I miss him. He would come to pick me up on Fridays with the dead bear skin seat on his Harley (yes, he killed that fu*ker when it was trying to raid his ice box) and we'd blast Smooth Criminal all the way home. Wonderful years. Well, years passed and times changed.

When the 90's began, I was a bit older and more cynical, but still me. That was when circumstances around me started to change little by little. My Dad started to not like the fact that we lived in the city (if you can call Little Rock Arkansas a city, but that's a book in itself). He wanted to move us to the southern half of the state so many times but my Mother wouldn't allow it. Thanks heavens, for I have no doubt I would have slit my throught by age 13. He wanted me to grow up in a more "country" setting, surrounded by beer swilling, wife beating, hillbilly hunters. Those were my Uncles. Still are. Pieces of sh8t. Still, that never came to pass and I'm still here. But things got worse. Now, I had left public School by then and was being homeschooled by then because kids at school had begun try to ram broomsticks up my ass. Ghetto city. But my Mom felt I needed to be around people my age. That's when it happened. We went to a private Baptist school three times a week. Now, we blonged to no Church because we thought they were full of sh*t. They wern't there to worship. They were there to judge each other's clothes. If we wanted to talk to God (whatever his real name is), we kept it to ourselves. But to go to this school, we had to walk the walk and talk the talk. So we faked it. We lied our way in and pretended to agree with their docterine bullsh*t while we were there.

>>continued in next post