If Your Apathetic and You Know It Clap Your Hands

After yesterday’s tirade of nonsense I’ve returned with even more unjustified angst. Trying to be constantly positive and “love the struggle” is exhausting. I’m running out of steam and unfortunately I’ve barely made any headway.

When I began my quest to be a writer I was passionate about the practice of writing. I understood that it would be a long, hard journey with a high possibility of no reward. I accepted this truth and barreled forward in a naive (as I usually do) manner that has resulted in the unexpected emptiness I’ve felt the past few days.

I decided to level up my life thanks to a book by a similar name and since then I signed up for a marathon (no issues there, my training is going well so far), will try out for  local production of The Elephant Man in early July, made a promise to a friend to climb Mt. Rainier next year (never climbed a mountain before), started to learn Russian, decided to learn piano, and of course my goal of making a living off writing. In an attempt to maybe gain an audience I came up with the idea to document my marathon training on a website called myfirstmarathon.com (don’t steal it I might still do it) which would also include starting up brand-spanking new Instagram and Twitter accounts (have I mentioned I deleted all my social media accounts in January and haven’t looked back since, until now.)

Overwhelming isn’ the word. Suffocating would be a better way to describe the way I feel when I look at the list of “accomplishments” I’m setting my sights on. It’s fear holding me back. I recognize that but it doesn’t make it any less breath-taking (not like a Maui sunset breath-taking.)

I get between 6-7 hours of sleep each night because I’m convinced the truly successful push themselves at all hours and will sleep when they’re dead. I quit smoking cannabis back in January, I haven’t drank in over a month, I no longer watch television unless I’m stress-watching (see stress-eating for the definition), and I have absolutely no social life. My wife and I barely spend our free time together anymore because I’m so “focused” and she, well she coined the phrase, “no worries, bro” (okay, she didn’t obviously but what I’m saying is she is the definition of laid back in all aspects of life.)

I’m an all or nothing kind of person. In my attempts to live the lifestyle of a minimalist over the past five years or so I’ve whittled away my possessions down to a checked bag worth of clothing and a large storage container of belongings. I still feel like I have more to get rid of.

I feel as if I don’t devote myself entirely to my goal I’m not committed and of course the deeper I’m in the quicker I’ll reach it.  The inevitable always happens when I do this. I end up losing interest in everything including life itself. I become critical of everything. The smallest task becomes worthless of my time. Negativity runs amok. Maybe it’s because I haven’t done my morning meditation for the last four days.

I constantly second guess everything I do including the words that I’m currently typing (like this word this very moment, right now, now that word, and word that word too and even that.) My blog isn’t good enough. What’s my niche? What’s my brand? How do I market myself to reach the highest level of SEO?

Why are we commodities? I just want to be a writer.

Add a Picture It Will Get You More Clicks

Usually I write using Microsoft Word like the rest of the fucking world and I rely on it’s grammer and spelling suggestions. I’ve been lazy the last few days and tonight I’ve sat in front of my computer beginning poems, rants, stories, commentary and whatever other bullshit I try to make sense of and continue to backspace it to oblivion.

I decided if I was going to post today I had better just go for it directly in Word Press. I’m typing what comes to my mind and I’ll end when I feel it’s time. I’m not going to proof it a dozen times like I normally do. I’m not going to use dictionary.com or thesaurus.com or rhymezone.com. I’m not going to add hyperlinks to the before mentioned sites either.

I’m sure most writers will say editing and changing is all part of the process and I agree but for once I’m letting the words fall where they may. I hope this makes some sense. What does it mean to perfect the written word anyways? Is it fair? Is it truly genuine? Isn’t that what art is supposed to be? In today’s world you can use all sorts of progrms and machines to make the end product exceptionally manufactured. We criticize musicians and film makers for too much production and forget photography. Any person with a phone can be a photographer now. What’s left?

I began this blog becasue I want to be a writer and in 2017 you have more opportunities to be recognized however with those comes many more obstacles to avoid. Truth is I’m insecure like most writers and artists for that matter. I hate referring to myself as an artist because I feel you have to create something original to be considered one. I’m not horrible at putting words together and compared to much of the world today I have a better vocabulary than most. At least in the top 50% I think. My writing is incoherent usually. I jump from one thought to another because that’s usually how my brain works. I also have an extremely hard time putting my thoughts down the way I want to and frustrating is the word I would use to describe it but I can’t think of the word that would best define it so moving on.

The internet has done what? Has it made life better? I’m not sure sometimes. So when I do manage to write something I think I could publish I can do it 100% on my own if I choose but then I have to market it, publicize it, and every other things required to release a book. It’s harder than ever to be picked up by and “old school” publisher. Even if I cam up with a really original idea, and I’m afraid there are none left in the world, I’d have to write it well enough to have someone show intrest in it.

I didn’t go to school for writing. I have no real training and although it’s on my list of things to do to reach my goal of being a writer that makes a living off his writing I don’t really have the time or money to take writing classes and basic English classes so I can refresh my-12-years-removed-from-college-self in basic grammar, punctuation, and syntax.

I’m struggling to push myself toward my goal because my insecurities are crippling. Just read this fucking blog post. I was getting to that before too and I got side-tracked by a different thought. I’m not interested in blogging. I’m not interested in followers, likes, comments or any of that bullshit. Readers make a writer successful but blogging is garbage and in my opinion egotistical. It’s all part of the instant gratification society we live in today and I don’t really want to be part of that.

This is a rant about nothing and everything. It’s incoherent. It’s stream-of-consciousness and I’m finding myself pausing before choosing my next words which means even in my greatest effort I’m still self-editing as I type. Is art meant to be perfect? That’s not a modern dilemma though. Writers, painters, composers, sculptors, and the like have been critical of their work since art became an institution in human existence. Are you truly creating when you constantly alter your original concept?

It’s a cliche now but aren’t we supposed to kill our darlings? Whatever the fuck it means. Take what you find to be your best effort and destroy and start fresh. I have no darlings. I have bastards. I have enemies in the form of connected letters. I have partially realized thoughts that my half educated mind spits out in overstated, scream in your face, presumably pedantic prose that are more than likely structurally unsound.

Why all the rules to language? Why all the rules in general? Seriously, is conveying your idea incorrect just because you broke a grammatical rule? Is the arrogance of language more important than the idea?

I constantly switch between pronouns. Forget tenses. I never know if I’m in the past, present, or future.

I chose not to included a picture for this post which I not so cleverly mentioned in the title. Why? Because it is my least favrite part of blogging. I don’t care about what picture goes well with my post. It’s a waste of time and distracting. I’m not an animator, painter, or photographer. I’m horrible at all of them. I’m not including pictures with my posts anymore. Guess that means I’ll have zero hits which will put me in the exact position I’m already in so…

Perhaps, I’m not a writer or artist. I’m mediocre at laying the drums and as I said I can’t draw or do anything crafty. I’m a decent dancer. My singing is best left in the shower or car. I can put on a pretty good act when I need to but I’m starting to think I lack a certain amount of creativity. Some may say you don’t need it if you follow a formula but what the fuck is that about? I don’t want to write the same thing over and over but in a slightly different way. Are we really just constantly repeating the same hero’s journey over n over and over and over and over? Over.

Love the Struggle


As the final ice cube in my glass appears as bubbles or a tiny solid sliver becoming unrecognizable, I question the finality of everything. Life is always moving, always changing and forever spiraling. The death of one organic material gives life to another and so on. We are walking, talking organic compost that will serve to help a patch of grass grow or a daffodil bloom after a seemingly infinite but more accurately fleeting hiccup of what we refer to as a human life. Our insistence on our importance in the universe only serves us while we are conscious and will cease the second our redox is complete. Although final to our consciousness it is not absolute to the organic material that consists of the form we have manifested during the blink of the universe’s eye that is human life. With such inevitability one must understand that life of a conscious being cannot be wasted in the pursuit of frivolity. This does not mean human life cannot be enjoyed but the contrary; the only way to truly enjoy life of consciousness is to reach for the highest level of personal accomplishment. Being remembered by other conscious beings is the only way to truly show that one lived a life of purpose rather than a life of mere survival. Long passed are the days when humankind’s only goals were to make it to the next sunrise and produce offspring. This we have mastered and continue to improve on both practically and quixotically. As we continue to enhance the comforts of life we must not begin to become complacent and allow ourselves to be blinded by said comforts, which promise happiness but mask what our true nature as humans has always been. We must, on an individual level, push ourselves to reach our own separate definitions of greatness. The struggle to survive has been mastered but the need to struggle is engrained within us. This struggle makes the completion, the accomplishment, the obtainment the sweetest form of happiness we can achieve. Why do we love our children so much? Reproducing is not hard; in fact we love the act procreation more than almost anything in life. The accomplishment is not having the child but producing something that is a part of us that will live on after we do. It is the obtainment of a certain type of immortality that we cannot acquire on our own. The struggle of raising the child to completion is the greatest form of happiness we can experience as conscious beings. I think, therefore I am. I am here and at the pinnacle because I am conscious. With this consciousness I must strive to make my miniscule time in the universe in this current organic form the best that I can. Not try but do because the reason I personally have this awareness isn’t because I was made special as Peter Gordon Lepere. I was made special because against implausible odds I became aware and I was given a chance to understand what the struggle to survive really means. It means a finite time to accomplish infinite greatness. Every moment spent with frivolous pursuits or honest pursuits without the inclusion of significance is a short moment lost at the time but adds up to a staggering regret at life’s end. It is said we don’t regret the things we did but the things we never tried. Life is frightful because our nature is to survive and avoid things that we fear even when we know that real harm is nonexistent. Regret is a direct result of our basic urge to survive tricking us into taking the easy way out, choosing comfort over pain, or avoiding the greatness that comes from struggle. Life is the willingness to struggle and finding the pleasure in it. Love the Struggle.

Window Friends


The hibiscuses open outside my window

They shutter and shake whenever the winds blow

They don’t mind or at least it doesn’t show

Sunlight and water is all they really know


The myna is perching in the cover of the leaves

Keeping watch, there’s no honor among thieves

Squawking he has something up his feathered sleeves

The fittest is the fattest is all that he believes


The butterfly flutters around waiting for her chance

Sweet nectar is only for those that choose to dance

It nourishes but for her it furthermore enchants

Little does she know she brings life to newer plants


The sun settles down another day comes to an end

Hibiscuses close, the myna sleeps, the butterfly will descend

Tomorrow is a new day and the sun will rise again

Bringing light and bringing life to my window friends

Become Your Own Hero: A Review of Level Up Your Life


(Photo: levelupyourlife.com)

Have you ever turned a corner in life and known immediately it was changed from that point forward? Mostly we can look back in retrospect and pick out the moments when something important happened that altered our lives. It’s always easiest to do after the fact but then there are those instances when we know instantly that we’ve opened a new door in life and it’s leading us down an uncharted path.

The minute I began reading Steve Kamb’s Level Up Your Life I knew I had reached a turning point. I’ve read, or listened to, my share of Self-Help or Personal Development books in the past. Not to mention all the videos you can find on YouTube in all its free glory. This book is the Neo of all PD books. (mmhhmm…it’s, it’s the one, you know like the Matrix. What? You haven’t seen the matrix? Go watch it and then come back.)

As a young man I scoffed at such books labeling them, garbage that only weak people needed. (Have I mentioned I was the worst at 20 years old? Oh, I was the worst.) I imagine many people were or currently are in that mindset and think they have all the answers already. But we all grow wiser with age, as they say, and it’s true. We reach the beginning of adulthood thinking we are indestructible and we’ve learned everything we possibly need to know for the remainder of our lives. The truth is we are consummate learners when we are given the chance. Combine that with the willingness and the ability to accept and be flexible to change and we have no limits.

The process of life is change. It is happening all around us every second of the day and there is nothing we can do to stop change from happening. Life is change and resisting it is to resist life. In my humble opinion the best we can hope for is to direct the changes in our life where we want them to go and allow and adjust for the times when it goes off course.

I am Steve. Both 33-year-olds (Happy Birthday Steve) raised in small towns in the Northeast by loving middle class families. We were both involved in numerous activities as kids/teenagers and we only seem to differ in our academic ambition (he was 2nd in his class in high school and I was average, yup, the 50th percentile exactly.) Perhaps my lack of drive and his abundance could account for his eventual early successes and my only newly realized passion to persevere but that is neither here nor there. Although, my lack of effort in school and his integrity to achieve did not separate us from sharing the problem we both faced in college; we had no clue what to be when we grew up. We both just settled for our majors and spent our college years having fun as often as possible outside of class graduating no closer to any definitive plans for the future.

This is where our similarities end. Steve made the smart move to a secure job out of college (although he hated it) and I drifted to Las Vegas with no direction in site. We both have always had the adventurer’s spirit but both fear the unknown and find it hard to step out of our comfort zones on occasion. His adventurous spirit led him to quit his secure job and move across the country and mine found me working on a cruise ship in Hawaii. Steve worked at a job he loved, albeit briefly, in his new home but eventually left and developed the now wildly successful nerdfitness.com and the beginning of his life’s adventure is history. What should have been the beginning of an adventure for me subsided when I fell into a comfort rut which I stayed in for the last eleven years, until recently.

If you have followed my blog so far you might know I’ve only recently begun writing again after years of fear and insecurity clouding my dreams and “life getting in the way.” Is that an accurate way to describe life? Is life something that gets in the way of the things you really want to do? Hell no, life is the way. It’s not getting in the way. When we say something like that we’re referring to the grind that is surviving in today’s world. Working for pay that isn’t sustainable, most often in jobs we hate and never feeling like we can get ahead or are making an impact. We focus so much on just paying the bills and “staying afloat” and spend free time recovering or wallowing that we let time pass us by, not life. Life is happening and it is our choice how we fill in the time while it does, happen.

Now I know you’re already saying the words that I, myself, have said many times before. Steve addresses these same excuses in his book: no time, no money, my job, too old, lack of opportunities, and the call to be more realistic. These are major concerns and they should not be discounted but they also should not get in the way of living life. The problem most of us face is fear to step out of our comfort zones (or “hobbit holes” like Steve calls them) and take a chance doing something we know won’t be regretted. It’s a pretty well known fact in this day and age that when people lie on their deathbeds it is the things they didn’t do in life they regret, not the things they did do.

Level Up Your Life provides its reader with a plan toward reaching goals and self-fulfillment like I have never come across before. With his concept of applying the standard incentives of most role-playing games both live action (Dungeons & Dragons) and video games (Assassins Creed to name one of many) Steve has literally made achieving goals a mission you complete in your own game: life.

Not a gamer? Neither am I, in fact for a 33-year-old male in the United States I’m probably of the minority when it comes to that. However, the concept Steve uses still struck a chord with me. It didn’t hurt that he is a fan of, to name a few, Star Wars, Indiana Jones, Back to the Future, Lord of the Rings, and superheroes, although my allegiances lie closer to Peter Parker than Steve Rogers but at least we’re routing for the same team. He doesn’t just shamelessly reference classic nerd bait either, he manages to tie in the journey most of our favorite characters go through to real life and delivers a fresh look at being the “hero of our own stories.”

Granted, I’m Steve’s target audience but if you dig deeper into the members of the, appropriately named, Rebellion (the community of folks leveling up their lives one quest at a time) you’ll find men and women in their 20’s through their 70’s in different parts of the world with a wide variety of socioeconomic, cultural, and educational backgrounds. This is a testament to the idea Steve has laid out. Or it could just be there are nerds in all walks of life and either way it doesn’t matter. With the help of his book and nerdfitness.com folks are getting themselves physically and mentally in shape and stepping out into the world taking control of their lives and becoming the heroes they’ve always wanted to be; their own.

So where does that leave me? Here I am at this corner I’ve just turned entering a new path in my game of life.

Personally, I have been dedicated to my health and fitness for close to nine years. It’s something that came easy to me having been an athlete as a kid and being blessed with a good metabolism. I am grateful for my advantage in this aspect of life, as I know it is difficult for so many people and can be taken for granted sometimes by people that come by it easier. However, were I excel in one area I more than make up for by lacking in another.

Steve’s focus is primarily with helping people get in shape and healthy but this book deals with more than just that. I have had the difficulty of applying myself in life and pushing myself out of other comfort zones. I have allowed my fears to guide me for the past decade and it has been a struggle to find my way. Many books, videos, lectures, pieces of advice, and internal reflections before Level Up Your Life have lead me to a point where picking up this book made an undeniable and eternal impact. I have taken Steve’s concepts and through levelupyourlife.com created a profile where I now create new quests for myself to accomplish to finally find peace and enjoyment in my life. (That’s right! Leave it to a nerd to write a self help book about turning your life into a game and make it interactive through a website where you can play your life’s game.)

Since beginning this I have found myself happier in all other areas of my life as well. I entered to run in the Maui Marathon coming up in October. I have never attempted a challenge like this before but have wanted to for many years. By using the “20 seconds of courage” method Steve borrowed from the movie We Bought a Zoo (Not the best Matte Damon flick but Steve mentions Jason Bourne at length so we’ll let it side) I signed up for the marathon without backing out and finding reason why I couldn’t. Now I’m on a training plan to get me race ready in a little under 17 weeks.

I made a quest to make a living as a writer and laid out steps to build my way to accomplishing that as well. I made other quests as well. I want to learn new languages and travel to the areas where it is spoken and speak it. I want to hike both the Appalachian Trail and Pacific Crest Trail. I want to bungee jump and sky dive. My adventurer’s spirit has returned and I won’t let it leave this time. It is and has always been who I am.

Now, I know I will stumble and have to overcome obstacles but that makes life exciting and loving the struggle, even when I want to hate it, keeps a smile on my face.

I highly recommend this book to any nerd or non-nerd. (I hate labels by the way so anyone could benefit from reading this book. Are you anyone? Great! Check it out then.) Whether you’re looking to change your life or not, it’s an interesting read. The intensity and passion Steve possesses is evident in his writing. His company is still growing so he is still grounded, yet optimistic and he is completely relatable which leaves me and people like me with hope for our own journeys.

If you can relate to anything I’ve said or just want an easy read with tons of pop culture references then head over to levelupyourlife.com and take a look at what it offers and I promise you’ll be buying it before the day is over.

Life is already a game we all play. Maybe it’s time we play it by our own rules.

Recurring Nightmare


I panicked and I ran

But had no place to go

You came out coldly creeping

Leaving footprints in the snow


I ducked behind the first tree I found

But saw you closing in

You were so damn relentless

I felt the frost upon my skin


With a hop I took off to my left

And tried not to turn around

I knew if you saw my face

You would forever hunt me down


I neared the end and felt a break

In the panic that you produced

But looked up to see you dead ahead

With fresh blood upon your shoes


I only made it a mile or so

When I finally figured it out

I couldn’t hear your crunching boots

Because you took a different route


I realized rather quickly

That what you had actually done

Was taken the right when I went left

And your walk turned to a run


If it hadn’t been for my reflexes

I would have ran into your range

You’d sink your teeth into my flesh

Feasting with your frothing fangs


I managed to make my escape

Away from your grotesque grasp

The ground was slick and I slipped

But I recovered rather fast


On my feet you’re an arm’s length from me now

And I am nearly to a door

I reach out for the latch as you leap

I gasp in fright only to hear a snore

We Lost The Sea


(Image courtesy of We Lost The Sea. I came across this band and their album, Departure Songs, randomly on YouTube one night and this poem was a result so I named it after the band. Check them out they are very talented.)


We build pyramids and modes of transportation

We carve hieroglyphs and grow with anticipation

We sell to one another and sell ourselves short

We can speak many languages with no hesitation


We have traveled near and far and conquered the moon

We breathe underwater and face impending doom

We steal and rape and murder and beguile at will

We exceed every expectation wherever we have room


We are constant and conscious and calculated

We lose but win and are extremely educated

We forage, we gather, we hunt and diversify

We create reasons to live and religion to be curated


We laugh and cry and scream and feel love and feel loss

We make fire and food and foie gras and dipping sauce

We roll on wheels and rock and drugs and deodorant

We work together in the dirt and can be somebody’s boss


We use, reuse, recycle, reinvent, retire with disregard

We fix our flaws and faucets and pop pills that will enlarge

We hold ourselves accountable to pay accounts payable

We move by car and truck and train and plane and barge


We battle in war and fight for futures of family‘s fame

We evolve our biology and write biographies in our name

We solve issues and make tissues to hide our sense of shame

We have what we need and want and forget who is to blame

Back In Front


Call me Freddie because I want to break free.

Free from all that has been holding me.

Back when I was young I could not see.

My future is finally focused and clear.


Clearly my mind has been clouded in the past.

Passed on other opportunities that last.

Time to follow the dreams I have cast.

Aside from fears nothing will stand in my way.


Waiting on life to happen has slowed me down.

Down on myself, helpless like I could drown.

Understanding my talents and keeping a lown.

Head in the direction I know to be true.


Truer words I do not know in my heart.

Strings being pulled the moment I start.

Believing brain and passion aren’t actually apart.

From this moment forward I will answer the call.

A Bit Off Point


He was a maniacal little bastard.

Okay, bastard no. I knew both of his parents; married for 36 years. They were lovely people.

Little maybe. In a crowd of people he was probably in the lower 25th percentile. I’ve got nothing against short people mind you. My favorite uncle was a little person or dwarf. I’m not up-to-date on the proper nomenclature.

But maniacal, you bet your ass he was! He bit my dick once; I shit you not!

Get this, okay. We were in Puerto Vallarta. We had just come ashore on a tender we took from the cruise ship we were on. I don’t remember which ship; so don’t ask me. God dammit, it was a good, twenty, twenty-five years ago now.

Anyways, we get off the little boat and we’re waiting for a shuttle that’s supposed to be picking us up to take us on some tequila distillery tour. The tour was shit, by they way. They took us to this out of the way area to these tiny mom and pop operations that are clearly there just to sell their mediocre tequila to dumb tourists that don’t know where the fuck they are.

So we’re waiting, right, and the shuttle is flipping late man. I mean, our tender pulled up maybe five minutes after the shuttle was supposed to arrive and we must have waited 40 minutes for that thing to arrive. The damn driver didn’t speak English, or so he said, and we just wanted to get to where we’re going, you know, so we just didn’t tip him.

But anyways, we’ve been waiting for maybe 10 minutes at this point and that little hyperactive, crazy son of a bitch is restless. You can’t blame him though. I get it. He was maybe six or seven at the time so it’s understandable that a kid that age doesn’t have much patience to begin with and add in a foreign country and all the excitement and the standing around waiting and you’ve got a freaking pint-sized powder keg ready to blow.

But like I said, he was about seven. It was a long fucking time ago for me but I’m positive I knew things at the age of seven that this little fucker should of known. Looking back, he probably did know and just chose to ignore. Like, I know for a fact, at seven, I knew it wasn’t cool to bite a grown man on the penis.

Let me be clear here. I was in no situation whatsoever that would have called for anything close to begin bitten on the dick. I was talking to my buddy, Gary and his wife Sheila.

Sheila’s a putz but I love Gary so what the fuck you going to do? I remember this vividly because moments later I would be holding old Wendy’s napkins through the zipper of my jean shorts sobbing like a newborn baby girl that got stood up by the prom king.

Gary was telling me about his daughter’s clarinet recital. Abbey, Gary and Sheila’s daughter, is my goddaughter and she’s like a niece to me.

In fact I like her more than all my actual nieces and nephew. They’re all a bunch of entitled little brats, even now in their early 30’s. My sister and her douche bag husband spoiled them and now they all suck nuts.

Yea so, Abbey was having her first recital and she was so nervous, I guess, she peed herself while playing “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” While Gary is telling me this, I see the little maniac running all over the damn place.

I didn’t know his folks that well at that point. We became friends over time especially after I lost my wife.

The little shit’s mother, Terry, was Rebecca’s college roommate and they had had a falling out before Rebecca and I met and didn’t reconnect until after our wedding so I didn’t know her very well at first. We only really saw them on the vacations until they ended up moving back up here. Rebecca and her had resolved their shit years before but became best friends again once Terry and Jerry moved back.

How ridiculous is that, by the way? Terry and Jerry! I mean come on. Teresa and Jerome are two respected adults but Terry and Jerry is a fucking Saturday Morning Cartoon. I shouldn’t say that though, they were lovely people.

I noticed the shit for brains kept kicking Jerry in the balls but like not very hard and Jerry, man, he was used to that garbage so his reflexes were honed, you know. I’m not watching him though. I know he’s running around like a little monster but ignored him otherwise. I didn’t even see him run up to me, and Gary and Sheila didn’t acknowledge him cause they had kids, whereas, at the time I didn’t so they knew how to tune that shit out.

For years I felt horrible because I backhanded that bastard, hard. I mean he came off both his feet and fell a few feet away from me. Of course, he started wailing and until everyone found out what he had done and saw that I was literally bleeding from my pecker they freaked the fuck out on me.

The cartoons run over and Jerry came up on me like he was going to throw a punch but I was half-way down to my keens screaming my-damn-self by the time he reached me.

Everyone gathers around the kid mostly. Rebecca, Gary and Shelia are checking on me because nobody actually saw what had happened. It wasn’t until later that night when Rebecca checked me out closely that she realized I had distinctive teeth marks on the helmet.

I had to walk bow-legged for the rest of the damn cruise and I couldn’t do the zip line either. I was pissed. That was the last cruise we went on before the kids too so I was planning on wiling out.

Let me tell you taking kids on a cruise is a whole different vacation man. I love my kids but they used to suck the fun out of everything when they were little. I can say that now because they’re grown.

That tiny little turd runs up to me and I didn’t see him but then he puts both of his hands, like, on the side of my thighs, you know. They were like right here, right below the hips. It startled me because I’m looking at grown up level and that jerkface must of snuck up on. Fucking stealthy lunatic.

I look down to see what’s going on with this little kid placing his hands on my lap in a weird way and I just see his head lunge forward. At first I didn’t know what he was doing. I reacted, of course, because that’s what happens when something enters the no fly zone around your shuttlecock.

I’ve taking some nasty shots to the sausage and biscuits before too man but nothing compares to being bitten, intentionally, down there. Sure I’ve gotten a toothy BJ once or twice, who hasn’t right? This was deliberate.

He latched on and grabbed my shorts with both hands too so he hung on there for three seconds or so. It felt like a damn eternity to me but it couldn’t have been longer than that. By the time I realized what had happened I was all reflex and that’s when I backhanded him. Shit, what would you have done?

I wasn’t about to miss the tequila tour so I held my hand threw my zipper hole with those old Wendy’s napkins my wife had in her purse until the shuttle showed up. I got shitfaced drunk to take my mind of it. It didn’t work. I was cursing that dickhole for the rest of the trip and then some.

Nobody seemed to think he really did anything wrong either. I guess my backhand was all the punishment he got from that whole debacle. As wonderful as his folks were, Terry and Jerry did not discipline him very well. In retrospect that could have a lot to do with the reason he turned out like he did. Honestly, that one instance should have been enough of a warning sign. Yea so, no, I’m not surprised he killed his parents, at all. Lovely people too.

Love Letter, From Prisoner No. 16J45567


Would you call me bat-shit crazy

If I told you that I love you

Would you think me quite insane

To hear I hold no one above you


Did you think I lost my marbles

When I tattooed your name on me

Did you believe I had a screw loose

When I got down on one knee


Have you doubted my mental state

The times I surprised you with flowers

Have you wondered if I am ill

Sometimes when I run you steamy showers


Are you worried that I have lost it

Whenever I show up at your window

Are you concerned with my mental health

When I whisked you away to that château


Is there a problem with my mind

When I wait behind the corner

Is there an issue causing concern

Then why the restraining order


Could you think me somewhat nutty

For sending my blood in a vial

Could you misjudge me as bonkers

You’re spending money on a trial


Was my brain the cause for alarm

Or the gifts in your locked apartment

Was my love so maniacal

Or the night of the bombardment


Did it come off as kind of cuckoo

When you found me in your clothes

Did it make you think I’m a wackjob

When you woke up in the Poconos


Would you describe me as psychotic

To learn that I have met your parents

Would new evidence still mark me mad

To learn I told them of your disappearance


Am I crazy to be in love with you

I do, I gave you my mother’s necklace

Am I maybe just the one for you

I proved it, by killing all your exes