# 1

I thought I had everything figured out. At a young age, I had accepted that everything in this world could be evaluated, analyzed and thought out to the degree where no possible error could be that so-called monkey wrench and collapse everything which I had strived for. Even calculating every possible mistake and the cost to fix or cut losses were not an issue. It’s those unexpected curve balls that throw everyone off balance. A death in the family, split second car accidents and terminal illnesses blind side us every minute of life. And of course, it all comes down to one thing. Single sheets of cotton-fiber rectangles separate wether or not one gets back to where they were going on the road with a questionable ending. I would have had it all. Every single minute fantasy would have been fulfilled, but I had my own monkey wrench and the fall was too great to just stand back up again.
With every action, something bad could happen, well...at least according to my mother.
"Don’t brush your teeth too hard, you could rupture a gum and have to get stitches. Watch out while playing with that toy car, you could slice off a finger with the wheel." She would only accept one reply, a monotone, "Yes mother." anything else would have left my cheek red and sticky hot with pain.
Growing up, I experienced as much free life as a Goldfish. Home school, S.S.R. Violin lesson, bed at 8 o’clock on the dot. That was my life. S.S.R. was my mom’s favorite time. (S.S.R. is sustained silent reading) It was the time where she would watch her soaps while my brother and I read because it would make us better people down the road, and a paper cut was the worst injury I could acquire. When I asked her if I could play outside with the other kids, an excuse and thirty minutes in the corner would be my answer.

Someone Is Trying To Kill Me.

Let's see, what kind of retarded nonsense can I come up with tonight? How about a person trying to kill me? That sounds good.

Almost everyday, my father goes down to the local meat market in Moosup called Meme's. He buys sandwich meat there, and has become a regular over the months. So one day last week, he brings home egg salad and asks me to have some, so I did. I thought nothing of it until I woke up at 3 a.m and make sweet, sweet love to the toilet bowl for at least an hour. That was about as fun as peeing out a razorblade. So after dropping a few pounds and losing an entire day of playing video games and watching porn, I swore to never eat anything from that place again. Well, 2 nights ago, my father made everyone strawberry shortcake. Thinking nothing about the promise I made, I dug in and ate 2 of them. Something was off though, it tasted too sour, and I already knew something had to be wrong. I asked my father where he got the strawberries, and of course he said what I didn't want to hear...Meme's. Upon examining the discarded bag, I noticed a huge fucking RIP on the bottom that was there ALL ALONG before he bought it. If that wasn't so bad, I read the expiration date.....October. Oh, not this year, but rather 2004. I was already starting to feel sick. Luckily, I didn't puke, but just had some fucked up dreams. Well, the next day, I drove down there and gave the owner back the bag, told her about the god-awful egg salad, and got a 20 dollar coupon, but I would have rather have backhanded that idiot into a meat grinder. Whatever, I just asked if she was trying to kill me, but I never got a reply...she had to take a phone call. So I still don't know. If I die this month, you'll know why.

My Best Friend Was Jesus.

I have a story to tell you about a man, a man who came out from nothing to be self-proclaimed reincarnation of our lord and savior, Jesus, A.K.A. J.C. Foster. This is all true, there is no need for any embellishing because there is no way a person can make this kind of shit up. First, you must understand that these people are indeed out of their fucking minds. J.C. First came to be my friend when I was 8 and lived a mile away from the house where he was living in Moosup, CT. He had 2 wives at this point, and they spent the days spray painting psalms such as, "The End Is Near," on the sides of the house (post year 2000). J.C. Really didn't own the house, but took advantage of a senile old man who actually believed that he was Jesus. I would go visit J.C. every Halloween, and he would give me a piece of bread and tell me that it was, "Part of his body," so I just threw it back in his lawn. Some of his neighbors said that one of his wives, or, "Sisters," had a baby, but they buried it in the backyard. That is such a lie, I know for a fact that J.C. eats babies, he doesn't let anything go to waste. A few years later, J.C. was kicked out of the home after the old man whom I called dumbass, finally died. J.C. And his sister hoes had to live in an old folks' home for a couple years after that. I had forgotten about my dear friend until I saw his toothless grin on the news at 10 because he got kicked out and put in jail. I never laughed harder when one of the officers stepped on his robe (They all wore white robes with white veils and shoes) and he called the cop, "A stupid ass cracker". I don't think the reincarnation of Jesus would be saying such harsh words, then again, he was crucified, and that hurts like a bitch, so I guess he is inclined to saying some mean shit from time to time. He was then put in jail for a while on some bogus charge of illegally living in the apartments for old people, and during that time, one of his sisters died of cancer. I was sad, but then confused. Couldn't the REAL Jesus bring people back to life? Recently, I spent a day with the former crackhead African-American man and his only surviving lover, "Sister Rachel," an ex-stripper who still looks like she has the goods. I needed to know an answer to something that bothered me for years, so I decided to ask the man who came from heaven, or the Ghetto of New York. I asked him why he had to buy wine at the package store instead of turning it from water, and he just looked at me like I was retarded and said, "I have no time for this business little man, I need to do me some curing". He actually said that. I was stunned as he walked out of the park where he currently lives to go buy communion wine from the package store. Well, he really doesn't live IN the park, but in a tank that was from WWII that just happens to be in the park. So my friendship died that day, but every time I'm passing the park, I make sure to beep my horn and wave, because after all, he's still my savior.