My turd-heavy existence

If you're like me--and I hope you're not--then you know a thing or two about bad luck. You've dropped your Big Mac, you've peed in front of the class--you know. So because you know, I won't go out of the way to tell you how many ways your life can go sideways. What I will do, however, is tell you how many ways my life can, and has, gone sideways. At this point you're probably scratching your head, wondering why you should give two shits about a stranger. And that's a great question, my pupil. So let me enlighten...

First, let's start with my early days, when I was but a slimy fetus-turned-baby crying and pooping and vomiting all over my mother's blonde hair. See, when we're young, we're annoying. There's really no way around this. Sure, babies are cute because they can giggle and they have these "wondrous" eyes, and hell, maybe they even echo your curse words, which is kind of endearing in its own way. However, babies are still highly, impossibly annoying. And I was no different. 

My parents relate to me the details of my youth like recounting the hazy fragments of a drug-induced yesteryear. I must have done things that pissed them off, but I assume they suppressed those memories. Mostly, they just seem recall that I was always moving, always in my own little world as my anxious feet carried me onward. Upon further inquiry, it becomes clear that I was a ball of lightning energy, running this way and that, bumping into furniture and knocking over lamps like a gremlin on speed.

As I grew older, I learned to harness this speed. Or abuse it. At one point, when I was still a scrawny, pimply teenager, watching boobies sprout on the women around me, I learned two things. One, that Coca-Cola makes you feel awesome, and Two, that Italian subs with hot peppers are especially delicious. Furthermore, I learned that by guzzling Coca-Cola and then eating an Italian sub, I could prepare myself for anything. With slimy, nitrate-filled meats pumping through my veins and caffeine addling my brain, I assumed powers that could only be described as... otherworldly.

But where was I? 

Oh that's right, my life. Where did it all go wrong? Where did this space-cadet, soda-fiend good boy go bad? Well, I can't know exactly (could be the drugs), but I'll do my best to travel back, back, back to the precise moment at which a cute, freckled boy with curly hair became the shit-shoveling sunnavabitch he is today.

Because most writers must first 'prove' that they are worth their salt, I will similarly 'prove' that I am up to snuff. I could tell you that I'm a regionally-ranked writer, that I've been published in over 30 different publications ranging from horror to erotica, that I'm a wordsmith, that I'm currently up for several top prizes if the judges so decide--but then I would be lying. See, what really matters is what's on the inside; the gooey stuff (some women even like this).

Anyway, where was I? Ah, yes, that's right--my awesome writing capabilities. Well... I guess if you aren't convinced of my ability by this point, you will never be. Listen, I'm a good person. I go to church (when forced), and I rarely, if ever, allow my pets to poop inside. And when I do, I usually admonish them in the most efficient manner before, of course, giving them a treat for being so damn cute. I typically oversleep my doctor appointments, I'm indebted to many people (sorry "student loans"), and from time to time I've been known to smoke marijuana--medical of course. Oh, and if you haven't noticed, I typically list things in lists of three.

You can typically find me sleeping till 3pm and blaming society's "structural deficiencies" for my problems.