Prologue to "Strange Days"

so that last post was kind of fucked up, right? i'm so happy you agree. what spawned that whole hot mess of textual activity is this:

i recently made a new aquaintence and she wanted to get a little background on why i am the way that i am:

an asshole

hateful

spiteful

misanthropic

vulgar

cruel

pessimistic

well, as i am fairly open with strangers, as you would know if you have read "Strange Days" already, i felt it would be a good idea to spill out a summarized chronicle of four events (there is another but that is a too much) that helped to sculpt me into the vile plague writer that you have witnessed here.

would you like to see this email? would you like to be in "the circle" as it were?

yes? really? seriously, you want to know? fine, be warned: this is all true to life.

Prologue To "Strange Days":


i saw the first therapist at age 6. my mom thought there might be something wrong because i wasn't "making friends" and i often played by myself and ignored much of the world. simply put she thought i was autistic. this was not the case. so we went to the "shrink duo" and they asked us each questions seperately, thinking that my mom was molesting me or covering up molestation: luckily this also was not the case. i was just not into being friendly with other kids because i was an only child and i liked it that way. these people told my mom that "i should be allowed to do as i please" because "freedom would breed boredom" and that would "lead to cog-like assimilation". my mom laughed at them and we left, never to return.

at age 8 i was in elementary school and i was told i was "exceptionally bright" and i was put into a set of testing with 2 other kids from the school who were just like me in that sense. 2 of us passed with flying colors and were accepted to an "Advanced Placement" elementary school. i got the short end of the stick because the principle lied to my mom and said "there is no transportation to this school" and thus my mom passed on it because it was not do-able to get me there and herself to work on time 5 days a week. it was no big deal at the time, BUT NOW i long to find that principle and skin him alive until he begs for death, at which time i would gladly roll him in salt like a margarita glass.

age 16 was super fun. i was adopted by my step-dad and his 2 daughters were hellbent on making my life shit because i was supposedly "stealing their dad from them". i never asked for that, he just felt it was "right to adopt me if he was raising me like his own". brilliant idea, considering he didn't think that far outside of my mom's vagina. she also backed this idea, so as much as i love her: she's a fucktard too. the parents decided, again on their own, that i should see a shrink for "emotionally distraught" teens. it went swimmingly (sarcasm like a motherfucker). we talked and i kept telling him that i was "misanthropic". he asked me to define the word, which i did, after which he stared at me like i had been quoting mein kampf. his only retort was "you're exceptionally brilliant" and we jabbed about all kinds of stuff, not limited to, how many objects in his office could be used to take his life. by the way, that number was 64: including his shoe-laces and ID lanyard.

at the wise age of 18 it was my choice to leave the failed education system in search of my GED considering i was a classic case of "slipping throught the cracks". i made zero trouble and was persistant with my view that "homework was as big a bullshit play as mass religion" and my GPA was a whopping 0.042, even though my in class average was 91.7. i took the GED test (which is a 2.5 hour test) in 45 minutes: front to back and double checked for errors. the teacher was so shocked and so unable to let me leave before the timer that she kept me occupied with the SAT test and then an IQ test. keep in mind: i took only 1/3 of the classes needed to take the SAT test. i finished them both in 1 hour and 52 minutes. she called me a few months later, when she got the results back and it was determined that i somehow scored a 1450 and had an IQ of 135, which i guess are good scores, or so she said.

in closing, all of these people told me the same thing essentially: i was a brilliant and intelligent child/person who could do anything anywhere anytime and that i would be smarter than 98% of all the people i would ever encounter.

what they left out was even funnier to me:

"you're massive thought processes and abilities would alienate you from the world you lived in and cause you more trouble than if you was crippled and left to rot in a wheelchair, or on life-support".

so this is why i hate most people: they always highlight the good things when they know for a fact that all of that shit is only the silver lining to the acid rain cloud looming over us all. i was built up with hype about what i already knew, only to be blasted by almost every single peer i've ever known. they should've filled me in that being too fucking smart for your own good will only lead you to ridicule and torture by the people you wish to be friends with on a daily basis.

i hope that clears up things a bit as to why i'm such an asshole most of the time. i don't place blame on any one set of people but i would rather, like to spread it out to all the adults from my past who couldn't take the time to warn me that showing what i was made of was only going to be own demise, at least until adulthood. had i known that, i would've toned it down a bit and just been the secretly smart guy instead of the freak with the info that all the other kids hated because their parents drank too much mountain dew and fucked too many sheep in their teen years.

that is basis for the previous post. i hope you all enjoyed that "TMI" moment from yours' truely.

have the time of your life tonight, because tomorrow isn't set in stone.

Dirty Dancing With The Dead,

Dax

Strange Days

no, not the hauntingly awesome Matthew Good Band song. fuck suckle, now i want to hear that song.

*listens to song...feels slightly dreamy...crushes an orange monster...demons awaken once more*

RIGHT, where were we?! fuck, thats right! i did something i suggest every should do at least once before you meet your ending once and for fucking all:

i spilled my guts to a complete stranger without the influence of alcohol or drugs and it was weird.

i'm usually guarded in reguards to spilling the beans about stuff i've done/been through/seen simply because it's not your business unless i say it is. this isn't a flaw, it's a defense mechanism and a great one to have. if you tell your friends things they will later use it against you for their own gain when they're at a low point in their own savagely shitty life. a stranger, on the other hand, has zero fucks to give when it comes to you and what your life has developed into, at least they shouldn't give a fuck, unless they're stalking you...in which case you should put a bullet in your own head before you suddenly wake up in a dimly lit basement to a constant loop of The Pixies "Debaser", with four fingers missing, pumped full of animal tranquilizers and being watched by some strange looking doll - that is actually a real person - who is franticly masturbating right in front of you and grunting the words "yeah, this is what i do to colostomy bags like you".

(i think thats enough about my first real girlfriend and her silly drug induced antics)

what i think i'm getting to is the main point at hand:

strangers will give you an unbiased opinion and problem solving technique long before your friends, as your friends know what you want to hear and will be happy to say that before the truth that needs to be said. friends are great to have but they tend to bullshit you when they become comfortable with you, instead of remaining true to absolute friendship, and laying into you when you're a douchebag and telling you the haps when you need some real back up.

so every once in awhile ditch the friend talk and just ask a stranger instead.

trust the angry man-boy, TRUST ME I SAYS.

Secretly Watching You While You Pee,

Dax

Trailers And Feature

TRAILERS:

Dear Underage Bitch lollygagging around OneTribe,

kill your-motherfucking-self with the credit card mommy & daddy gave you to pay for the ESSENTIALS while you're away at college. instead, you're dicking around downtown RVA, annoying the up-beat and heavily pierced people at OneTribe. your lack of substance practically makes you water and your lack of depth makes you a kiddie pool.

please, summon the wonder-twins and when their powers activate i hope your lack of substance fills your lack of depth and drowns you like so many parentless toddlers. you're nothing more than a sorry ass excuse for a daughter who rocks a pre-designed haircut you jacked from "that guy, in that band, from the tour, i saw last year", wasting time getting every form of herpes cheap liquor can buy.

Your Lexiconal Ninja Assassin,

Dax

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Dear Hoodrat Fucktard Fake Gangster Wannabe,

when you're done riding around in a rental car, blasting your corner store mixtapes and yelling at fat bootied "bitches" you'll never get your dick wet in, you should really remember to take your gun with you when you head back to your "SPRAWLING" crib, better known as the 5 foot by 6 1/2 foot spare room in your momma's house.

now that i have possession of your side-arm i will be looking up your contact information and coming to see you personally, as i am currently armed and you are not. if i decide to give you back your gun without dropping hot brass all over your mom's lawn, it will be only because i have decided i want to have fun ninja style assassinating you.

it's the whole "not knowing" thing that usually scares the target into mistakes, not the actual threat.

See you soon my tenacious little pussy-fart,

Dax "i'm-gonna-rape-you-like-nobody's-business" Rose

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

FEATURE:

i feel as if maybe, just maybe i haven't been taking these things far enough. someone people seem to think i HAVE been taking them far enough...too far even. these people are welcome to have an opinion of their very own because, well, trying to stop every jack-ass from talking is nearly fucking impossible without being able to openly:

slap, kick, punch, hadoken, stab, poison, hang, shoot, disembowel, choke, burn, cripple, strap-down, hog-tie, donkey punch, explode, implode, crack in the face with a golf club...

...OR...

dry anal prison bitch date rape with 20 grit sand paper wrapped around either the head of my dick, or better yet, a broken broom stick named "Pedro".

so from now on i will find some obscene, distasteful, repugnant, offensive and down right haggard pictures to use in my posts that will help space out my "dirty language, foul humor & rude commentary".

oh, i'm sorry, did i miss the part where YOU run this blog now and get to call all the MOTHERFUCKING shots?!

i suppose i did. well then, let me say this as a retort:

when you find the time, outside of your BUSY facebooking CAREER, to think up - write down - edit - type AND present all of this and more then I will gladly hand over the cunt-juice encrusted reigns to this whole GOD DAMNED blog to your obviously muscular as FUCK hands and leave YOU to entertain anyone and everyone with epic talks of morality.

until such time magically happens, let me advise you on your only option at hand:

IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT, DON'T FUCKING READ IT OR CLICK ON THE LINK.

this isn't rocket science. get over it or get self assassinated.

Your Loving & Profane Favorite Past Time,

Dax Ian Rose

Vaguely Interested, Vaguely

have you ever been hit on by someone and felt compelled to seem interested, for the sake of finding out what kind of potential stalker this person could be?

ABSO-MOTHERFUCKING-LUTELY!!!!

have you ever discovered that the person from the question above was indeed nuttier than a 10lb. bag of squirrel turds and yet, for whatever sick set of kicks you enjoy, you continued to seem interested and hung out with them?

STOP IT CHRISS ANGEL, STOP READING MAH MIND, JUST STOP IT!!!!

taking into consideration the answers to both of those questions, that i'm sure are still swimming around inside that dirty little brain-case of your's, would it be safe to conclude that the two of you had sex and things got exponentially worse in a matter of say...HOURS...??

OH MY GOD, HE'S THE DEVIL, HE CAN SEE INSIDE MY BRAINS, TRAUMATIZING MAH SHIT!!!

well, rest at ease knowing that you are not alone. i too have bumped uglies with a medium range psychotic person who then used her fluids to glue herself to my life until she snagged an ENTIRE photo album of pictures, of me, from my mom's house and disappeared into the murky darkness of raging hormones & brain rot.

sadly, we never got the photos back from....Courtney Robertson:

that huge toothed, thick black left nipple hair sporting, asian boy built, emotionally damaged, photo album stealing wretched little vulva-bean.

Your Nefarious Storyteller,

Dax

Decent Day...Now What?!

so today was lacking in the usual dumb ass co-workers, random eyeball fucking and doubting of mass intelligence. so, what IS there to speak of without the fuel for my misanthropic fires? what indeed?

oh, i remember now! a few things actually, nice pretty things. still, i shall use profanity reguardless.

fuck, piss, ass, cock, tits, twat, cum-stain, shit, dick, uterus, vulva, lap-rocket, squish-mitten...

#1. i finished yet another book, this time in 18 hours, and it made me tear up in a good way. when you get the opportunity read a little book called "Miss Peregrine's Home For Peculiar Children". this book is fiercely similar in ways to "The Chronicles Of Narnia"...kind of. it's spellbinding and full of wonderful imagery and language that borders on the idea of old souls in tiny bodies. a beautiful tale that i hope shall have a follow up or two.

#2. i bought a 5 set of paint-pens (blue, orange, yellow, green and pink) and i plan on tagging and drawing on anything i possibly can. i have the urge...to purge...my mental ink well. so get ready freddy, i'm on my motherloving way.

#3. i am surely heart-broken and slightly terrified at the fact that alan ball may be trying to kill off the character Jessica Hamby in "True Blood". sunday's episode ended with her opening the doors to bill compton's house, in broad daylight. this is definitely not a remotely good idea, considering she's a vampire and a new one at that. if there is one thing you can be certain of it's this:

i have an affliction: that affliction is beautiful red-heads. pale, delicious, red-heads.

*wobbles...stumbles...faints*

#4. i may have a new friend. this friend has engaged in some deep seeded conversation. i'm not put off by this because i have nothing to hide and i will speak about anything if i so choose to do so, however, this series of word exchange begs me to ask the question:

"aye, spiffy lady, what do you wish to know?"

i have no problem explaing things to anyone, especially strangers, but i wonder what line of questioning and what style of debating i'm getting "little ole' me" into. we shall see, we shall see.

#5. i have this urge, desire, want, need...if you will...to tease the shit out of someone with EXTREME prejudice. i'm talking leaving them tied to a chair while i bite, scratch, lick, suck and fiddle with that delicate bag they call their skin. afterwards, i will leave them tied to the chair and wonder off to strong drinks and blissful laughter.

well, i guess that about sums up my semi-regular update, for now.

Lovies You,

Dax

Dear Brain, Stop It.

in the few hours i slept last night, i was subjected to living out some half way sensual dream about some mystery woman with whom i was curled up in an over-sized love seat in the middle of a west end Barnes & Noble. anyone else would've had some fantasy about beating the "ham wallet" off one of the many models/actresses/atheletes etc.

it would seem my brain wants me to read more, be more comfortable while doing so but only before i mount the mystery woman haunting my dreams and decide to turn the imaginary, over-sized love seat into the scene of a "Triple F" in the middle of a Barnes & Noble, making out with her in all of my literacy friendly glory.

(oh yes, YES! kafka, thompson, dumas OH MY!!)

somehow this blurred into what i'm about to spread out before you all: the boyfriend resume.

yes, we've all seen these pretentious, self-loathing, overly chipper drug-head sperm dumpsters post all over every social networking site their own personal "Boyfriend Application", which isn't original or special in any shape form or fashion. so, me being the mental collossus of my greatest delusions, i thought it would be incredibly fucking hilarious to post my very own, super special, absolutely original "Boyfriend Resume".

yeah, i'm that fucking bored and that fucking lacking in new books to read at the moment. shall we?

Name: Dax Ian Rose

Age: 26

Height: 5' 10

Weight: 155lbs.

Eyes: Green/Blue

Hair: Aurburn (natural)

Orientation: Emotionally Bi, Physically Hetero.

Political View: Anyone in a suit lies most of the time.

Religious View: It's all bullshit in the eye of the beholder.

Education: GED (high school was boring me to death)

Employment: Employeed.

Musical Taste: Most anything: except bluegrass.

Cinematic Taste: Again, most anything.

Literary Taste: Also, most anything except books written by politicians.

Edible Taste: Willing to try just about anything.

Anything Else: tingle2thetouch@gmail.com

see, that shit just looks fake, but it isn't! thats me in a nut-shell: average and overlooked. awesome, right?! so this is how my brain works for the most part: 6 degrees of seperation. such is the life of someone who has adult ADD, acute OCD, emotional instability & a large vocabulary with a loud mouth.

Enjoi, because i'm your BoiToi,

Dax

Peculiar Children

thick, muggy air collapses the bubble of my personal space and tries, with it's great majesty, to put me to sleep in the city streets that surround me, endlessly. my earbuds are pushing dismal tricky, trip hop overtones into the deepest parts of my brain as my heavy feet pound away at pavement that i know and loathe so well. this is a tradition of sorts: me, music and the night; mingling like awkward high school prom dates, too afraid to just fuck and get it over with. we speak in tongues without saying a single word to each other.

a human death dance that is lined in "two left feet" calligraphy. the artistic intentions of comatose cripples.

sluggishly i mope thru the empty streets that were constructed like a labyrinth, in tones of brain matter grey and 60 watt yellow. something isn't right, or at least it feels that way when the subtle bass lines hum in perfect collision with faint breezes between lifeless buildings. a graveyard full of bodies that haven't quite given in to their ends. i stand alone and unbroken beneath the moonless sky that stands over me just like a catholic school nun.

being that alone in a living world is beauty at it's best. it's the same feeling that an optimist gets when seeing the speckled traces of tumor growths on the MRI results they didn't think would disprove their sunny disposition. it's an obscene irony lost on the living and best admired by the long since dead.

the cell phone in my pocket begins to buzz against my thigh, reminding me that it's now 4AM and i should've been asleep hours ago. my chest gets tight and i laugh a little before lighting another cigarette and start on making my way back to my car. these outings are the closest thing to therapy i can afford, the closest thing to sanity i can admit to having. it's always the same out there beyond the fold of the stiffling dwelling that pushes me into the wall and refuses to allow me breathing room.

so tonight, just like all the rest, i walk the dead streets of my own post apocolyptic wasteland, my little movie back-drop that soothes me with it's lack of life, it's abundant scenery unspoiled by pretentious phone conversations and it's seraphim-esque calm serenity.

in the event these shoes never reach their destination:

kiss the sun for me while gliding on your wings of frailty and wax.

Brush With Cyber Death

no, sadly enough you're all wrong: i wasn't really that close to death.

pay up suckers, pay the fuck up.

i was on FB of all places when a good friend posted a status update which read:

"My penis is ______."

so, myself being a vicious ass-hat, i wrote the absolute first thing that came to mind:

"the visual eqivalent of taco's."

by that i meant that it's meaty, hard and almost everyone likes it...except vegans. WELL, this is where i ran into a very awesome amount of trouble. the person who posted damn near right behind me and schooled me is a real live VEGAN WOMAN.

yes, i escaped my end by the skin of my teeth. allow me to copy and paste the results of my insta-post...

Amanda C. "Ahem, as a vegan, I will chime in here with my favorite veggie quote: 'the only meat I eat is between my boyfriend's legs'."

to which i replied:

"okay, i apologize. i have been schooled. thank you. *bows in apologetic way*"

followed by:

"i love the fact that an actual vegan schooled me and it was funny on top of that. yes sare-bear, this status of your's is emmy worthy."

then, my new found female hero added:

Amanda C. "Yes, "actual vegans" are much like the evasive "trouser snake". You always want to point and laugh and make fun of them when you finally come across one, but they're not too bad when you get to know them."

as always, i had to redefine what i meant in my textual activity:

"i have no problem with vegans because they show some fierce self control and foward thinking about the only planet and animals we have to admire. my hat goes off to vegans everywhere. i also used "actual" to set the good aside from the bad.... which are the douche-nozzle fucktard bastard guys who PRETEND to be vegan so they can attempt to bed the ACTUAL vegan woman who is, in 99% of all cases, aboslutely (and naturally) a beautiful and wonderful person."

also, adding to the full explantion about people who don't tolerate vegans, was this:

"those people are backwoods, cancer ridden, mental midget, dumpster babies who have the same information retention capacity of broken condoms. tolerence is a good thing as long as it is sincere. i assure you, my tolerence is just that, sincere."

so, to conclude this little fucktarded diatribe, let me say the following:

i love gays, bi's, lesbians, transgendered, vegans, blind, deaf, hanidcapped and living people of all walks.....

AS LONG AS THEY DON'T USE ANY OF THE ABOVE AS A CRUTCH OR AS A WAY TO STATE THAT THEY ARE BETTER OR WORSE OFF THAN ANYONE ELSE.

i'm sorry, i couldn't give a damn - two fucks OR three squirts of duck shit if you're any of the above and choose to use it as a way to pull at my heart strings or tear me down because you're just as easy to shoot in the face as anyone else. we are all targets for ridicule and judgement. the only way to fix this horrible americanized problem we all exhibit is to put yourself into a better state of mind and get the fuck over it, everyone else AND yourself.

no one is unique: we all have 46 chromosomes and we are easily murdered by high velocity steaming metal. so stop pressing the "you don't understand because i'm (insert excuse here)" button because that shit is motherfucking broken and i'm never calling anyone to repair it for your simple, should've been swallowed, ignorant, lazy bitch ass.

tonight i would like to say to you, my new found VEGAN FEMALE HERO, the following statement:

Amamnda C., you are not only appreciated for your forward thinking and down right 80's power ballad styled ability to leave the animal's unchewed but also respected fully for not keeping your mouth shut when it comes to someone saying something about vegans and veganism. the fact that you took a stand for your lifestyle without a second thought makes me know that the collective intelligence and honor of the world isn't completely lost in the over-hyped bullshit gangsta rap and jersey shore hair product that so pollutes our world.

thank you, Amamnda C., for being a strong as fuck female role model for the ages.

may the little girls of tomorrow become the tough as nails broad you are today.

Dax

A PSA About Lazy Crackers

the term "lazy cracker" may seem down right offensive, racist, paradoxal and even rude.

excellent, i'm on the right track.

we all have "co-workers" who lack the "worker" part of this title. it's a sad, depressing thought that, with the unemployment rate being as high as it currently is, people who DO get hired misuse their good fortune. i can speak from experience when i say that when you FINALLY get a job after being out of work it is one of the greatest moments you can have.

sarcasm, witty remarks, misanthropy aside: i love having a purpose and a paying job.

kill yourself if you disagree, as you are probably a lazy fucking cracker. thug life.

this PSA is about the worst kind of crackers (those of you lacking hood sense, thats a white person).

LAZY ASS CRACKERS:

(The Egg-Shell Colored Cock-Sucking Bastard)

this pastey fuck is the kind of person that makes me understand why black people will keep finding ways to stay as far away from being in the same social range as white people.

thats right kid, i under-motherfucking-stand you, like whoa.

so, let me make it rain on them ho's!

so while i am at work, sweating profusely in a rage to get my shit done right the first time, my "co-worker" who i will anti-promote by re-naming him "Derh", constantly finds new and exciting ways to ditch the majority of his work load on my back.

what a mega-zord sized douche-nozzle this "Derh" is shaping up to be, right?

so, like a fairly good worker, i keep my earbuds in with my head in the game and i get my fucking shit done. i have been at the same job for about 7 years and i have out-worked, out-survived and definately out-thought more than 50+ ex-employees. keep in mind that includes regional rep's, several managers, and a seemingly endless amount of other hourly workers.

YOU WILL NOT TAKE ME OUT.

today was no exception to what "Derh" does best: fuck off and collect a check for doing as little as possible. i know for a fact that i did LITERALLY* twice as much work as good ole' "Derh" could muster out of his fraile, bird-like walking sperm receptical that is known as his body. what a fucking cunt.

(twice as much literally is: i cleaned 22 cars and he cleaned 11 cars, in same amount of time)*

well, i managed to get my shit done and i didn't even slash his tires, his throat, his dog's chest or his mom's baby making tubes. she already gave birth to him: an over-sized, walking, zombie fetus. however, out of the constant migraines this poster child for anal sex has given me, i have been writing better and better stuff (poetry, lyrics, snarks, etc.) and i have a new one i want to share with ALL of you.

When asked what I think when the name of my 'co-worker' comes up I can only muster a single hateful phrase:

"I loathe your horrid parents. Your have the information retention capacity of a broken condom."

Enjoi.

Dax I. Rose

T-Shirt Wisdom (And A Story)

some people may think that you can't get a good dose of wisdom from anyone who isn't older than dirt OR anywhere that isn't unspoiled by humanity.

those people are wrong:

....like giving someone herpes because they gave you AIDS....wrong....

i was looking for one of my favorite shirts the older day, and when i found it, i got the same laugh that i always get out of the particular shirt in question. let me help you first to understand this shirt.....

imagine if you will a standard size "L" black band shirt. on the bottom left side (left because of how the viewer sees the design) is the schematic drawing of an "All Terrain Armored Transport (AT AT Walker)" in white silk screen glory.

while i'm not a star wars fanatic by most means i did think the shit was fucking hot looking. suck it.

on the back of the shirt is a band logo & quote done up like the star wars "Empire Strikes Back" logo...fucking sweet right?! yeah, it is no matter what the fuck you think. suck it twice.

in the center is the band name "The Acacia Strain"

around the logo it states the stone cold fact: "No Remorse For Anything"

....what i'm getting to, after that mild tangent, is this....

while hanging out with a couple friends and recapping the hilarious past we know and love so much, i came upon a story that was so indeed fucked up and horrifying (involving me, a girl & faux gayness with a long time friend) that caused quite a great deal of mental anguish on "the girl".

i still, to this day and all days after, have Z E R O fucking remorse for what happened.

Zee Row, Zip, Ziltch, None, Nada, Abso-FUCKING-lutely no remorse.

....now you get to understand the story/reason i have no remorse for anything....

for some retarded reason i got to be the momentary lustful figure for several girls/women while going through high school. i'm not "tooting my own horn" right now, just stating what is a scary fact. one of these females, who we will re-name "Marta", was by far the most...(new adjective, please)...interesting one that came into my personal space uninvited and lived to tell the old sailors' tale.

she left not long after with a whole new set of, to be nice, "in-house" problems if you catch my drift.

so this "Marta" was hot on my heels and ready to make me a part of her life. sounds wonderful, pleasant even, HOWEVER, as i said before she was "interesting". she got into a heated arguement with a good friend of mine at the time, Caleb, and they proceeded to banter back and forth on instant messenger about me. why, i don't know, but i was filled in and it was indeed funny as a motherfucker. so here is roughly how that went...

Caleb: "so, you like **** huh? thats okay, i guess. has he told you about himself?"

Marta: "yeah i do. what is he supposed to tell me?"

Caleb: "lol, so thats a no then. well, it's really not for me to spill that kind of shit but i will if you want."

Marta: "what the hell are you talking about?"

Caleb: "you know he's gay, right?"

Marta: "okay caleb, don't insult my intelligence. he's not gay. never has been, never will be."

Caleb: "yeah, okay. are you so sure? what do you think we do when we hang out...all the time?"

Marta: "you're an asshole and a liar. **** isn't gay! he's not! i would sense it like yesterday!!"

Caleb: "lmao!!! you have no clue what you're getting into but i know what he won't be getting into. you."

well then. so Caleb instant messenges me and gives me the low down and states this to me:

"Dude, keep this joke going as long as HUMANLY possible! it's going to be brutally awesome!"

...so, being a good friend, i did...

Side Note: the following morning was a "special holiday" and i officially ruined the fuck out of it.

"Marta" arrives at my bus stop early the following morning in her station wagon, the burgundy tank, and proceeded to pick up myself and another friend (who i filled in on the mounting joke at hand) and we tooled on toward our high school and what i was sure, at least that day, was going to be my funeral service.

the car ride to school was absolutely silent, not even the radio was going. it was such a surreal road trip that it should've come with a Johnny Depp voice-over, like Fear & Loathing In Las Vegas.

we arrived in one of the parking lots and "Marta" turned off the car, slowly pivoted toward me and just kind of stared at me like she was trying to search my sould for FABULOUS particles of light. all i could do was sit in anticipation of what could, would or might happen. let the stare down begin.

we sat for a few more minutes and suddenly, without warning, "Marta" screamed at my friend and said only this:

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE CAR....NOW!!!"

he stiffled back a huge laugh, masking it as a quasi-clever cough and said this as a reply:

"But...it's really could outside."

"Marta" cut her eyes, like a thousand daggers and her left eye twitched just a little, as if to say "you're already dead to me" and he was already half way to our bus ramp headquarters. i was left alone with her, the seemingly devious and evil, "Marta".

she stared at me again, with an even more intense glare, and said "your presents are in the floorboard." to my udder shock and awe there were SEVERAL wrapped presents.

it was like christmas morning, just before the tree too close to the fireplace goes up like a gasoline pole dancer.

it was time to seal the deal, finish the punchline and let the joke take me where it so desired to take me. at any point i could've called it off and explained everything to "Marta" and maybe (lolz) have spared her emotions and mental stability.

i chose a defined joke over the possible poke.

call me crazy or whatever you will, but sex isn't everything when a super sick joke is at hand.

at least i didn't pull the typical guy card and "hit it then quit it".

that should count for something...right?!

so i did the only thing i could do, say something fucking stupid funny and ridiculous. here's the convo:

Me: "Sweetheart, I can't accept these. I can't keep doing this dance with you."

Marta: "Oh my god! You better be fucking joking."

Me: "I'm not joking, I can't accept these from you. I know you talked to Caleb last night and..."

Marta: "DO NOT insult me. Yeah we talked. He said you & him are gay and thats bullshit!"

Me: "Darling, it's not bullshit, it's the truth and I didn't know how to tell you without you being...like this."

Marta: "Like what? Pissed? Insulted? Angry? I know that YOU are NOT gay! You're NOT!!!"

Me: "Believe what you wish but, sweetie, we're both after the same thing."

i exited the burgundy tank and made haste toward large numbers of people and bright lights. i listened in "Rape Prevention" and did exactly what i was told: run to lights and people then blend in and escape. i got to the bus ramp and judging by the various looks i was gettting, i could tell my friend had spilled his guts with the exception of the "he's not REALLY gay, it's just a really fucked up joke" part.

all of our friends now thought i was a super fab, semi-erotic, absolutely gay man. awesome, kinda.

from out of the mayhem there came a voice like a thousand angels:

"HIDE HIM, SHE'S ON THE RAMPAGE! QUICK, COVER HIM IN BOOKBAGS!!!"

she was indeed on the rampage. it would be acurate to state that she sat in that car for AT LEAST five full minutes and let this horrid information sink into her already fragile mind.

it was like nuclear fall out turning Bruce Banner into The Hulk, Chuck Norris, Henry Rollins and then into a very very, incredibly pissed the fuck off "Marta". she came bounding into the bus ramp area screaming at everyone in range of her:

"WHERE IS HE, WHERE IS HE?? I KNOW HE'S HERE! HE AND I NEED TO TALK ABOUT THIS RIGHT NOW! WHERE THE FUCK IS HE?"

so i hid onder this mountain of bookbags, listening to everyone swear that i had gone unseen. maybe i was at breakfast, in the bathroom, making out with a suave man in the bathroom OR at breakfast. none of these answers were appreciated by "Marta" and she stormed off in search of me: dead or alive.

......SOOO......

even though that event was terrifying and absolutely fucked up on my part, i still have no remorse.

she said it herself: "I know he's not gay." so, why then did she go ape-shit and tear through the high school like a coked up horny gorilla sniffing out a virgin asian school-girl? i don't know.

it surely wasn't because of love considering we weren't dating in any shape, form or fashion.

i think she had never had someone refuse her and i just so happened to be the one to do it and in a HUGE way.

well, that concludes story time kiddies.

enjoi.

D.R.