Saturday, December 22, 2007

In Memoriam: Jason Dean Brantley

I first stumbled across Jason while he was in jail for the third year.  We became penpals and fast friends.  He had lived a very extravagant life—as well as a very dangerous one.  He lived a life of dark alleys and drugs.  Expensive cars and fancy labels.  He lived just as he had meant to.  As the law caught up to him, he did his time.  That's when I began to know him.  He told me about his plans to change his life, get a job and a home of his own.  Legitimately.  Legally.  He wanted to return as a productive member of society.

He was released this summer and we became very close friends.  We learned a lot from each other.  One of the things I learned was a phrase he and another friend of his used a lot, I tried to understand it in context but that proved impossible.  I couldn't tell if the words "going through" meant becoming drunk, engaging in general merriment or fighting.  As it turns out, it's all of them.  He taught me that it's following one's actions and one's convictions to the fullest extent; it's going through to the end.

Through his recovery from a number of serious drugs, he was gripped by alcohol.  He considered it an innocent strand of his former life.  He was also in a lot of pain, and it helped him to cope.  I don't agree with it.
In fact, I differed from him in a number of aspects and even though I didn't agree with him, I understood him.  I understood his motivations, his desires.  His dreams.  And in that way, I loved him as I love myself—for I found that they were the same as my own.  He and I followed different paths to the same end.

However, Jason's end came to an early and tragic halt.  It was a car accident at night.  It was something that could have happened to anyone.  I regret that this sudden end came a mere 6 months after his release for I know that he would lament the impact this has on his mother, but for himself he would not weep because he felt that he had a life worth living. He lived exactly as he had meant to.

This is my memorial to Jason Brantley, someone who went through as he lived.

In Memoriam: Misty

When I was in kindergarten, my aunt saved a little black labrador puppy and gave her to my family and me--we named her Misty. Misty and I were inseperable for some time, both incredibly energetic. I used to make little books about Misty, the Wonder Dog. They were lacking in plot, but they more than made up for it in love. She was more than just another one of my friends. One day, I was curious about the variance in the life expectancy of different species, so I asked my stepmother how long she would live. She replied, "Misty will live to see you graduate high school." To a kindergartener, that's lifetimes away.

And here I am, lifetimes later. I graduated last year, and since then we've pretty much been counting down the days, not taking any more for granted. Even I've shown her the love I've always had for her even though I haven't shown it like I used to...
It finally happened while I was at work.  My parents called the vet to come to our house, Misty doesn't like traveling to the vet and we couldn't let those be her last moments.  My parents then took her to my grandparents' property in Leonard and buried her there facing towards the pond so that she'll always know which direction the water is in case she feels like playing in it—just like she loved to do before she started to hurt.  She was gone when I came home that night.  Though we lost someone very important to us, we know that she's gained something in return:  Peace.
Though we'll miss her, we take solace in the fact that she's not struggling anymore--she's no longer in pain. She's free again.

Misty the Wonder Dog, always our hero.

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

World Domination

There comes a time in every megalomaniac's life where he or she must attempt to take over the world.  For me, that time is now.  I'm tired of not ruling the world with an iron fist.  But I'm going to do it right.  If you look at those historical figures who attempted such a feat in the past, their failures were obvious.  Ghengis Khan, Alexander the Great, Pinky and the Brain.  Stopped by death, their own hubris, or the fact that they were laboratory mice, those conquerers have paved the road for me, with unsurpassed bravado, to complete my hostile takeover of the world.  This is a three-step process.

Phase One:  I would create two kinds of hats: purple jester hats and red/yellow top hats.  Then I'd advertise them by showing lonely ugly people without the hats, then when they put on the hat, they become sexy, wealthy and surrounded by beautiful people.

Phase Two:  When everyone got either a jester hat or a top hat, I'd set them against each other, to create a deep hatred between them: People with purple jester hats and people with red/yellow top hats.  I'd spread nasty rumors...(Hey, did you hear that the people with purple jester hats said that the mothers of people with red/yellow top hats are all fat?  And ugly?)  Eventually, this would lead to an all-out war between the jester-hatted people and the top-hatted people as tensions rose to a boiling climax!

Phase Three:  I'd use an invention I make to teleport all of the hats so that everyone that was wearing a purple jester hat will suddenly be wearing a re/yellow top hat and everyone with a top hat will suddenly find themselves with a jester hat.  This will lead to a self-loathing mass suicide of everyone, save me because I'll be wearing my red ball cap.  Being the last person on the planet, I'll claim it in name of Jason!  And I'll rename it "Funkyland"...

Quote of the Day:  "Why is there toast on the orange?"

Friday, November 16, 2007


I know I talk a lot about how awesome it is to be gay, because I'm gay and I'm a very awesome person.  However, it really isn't the perfect glorious heaven I make it out to be, because of one thing:  Discrimination.
We had another blood drive at school and, of course, gays aren't allowed to donate.  The question is:  Why?  All donated blood is screened for HIV, other STDs, even cholesterol levels.  Do gays have a SuperHIV?  Yes.  We do.  We ALL have this new SuperHIV.  It kills all life on contact, this is why we have no souls.

And what's this deal about gays not being allowed to marry?  That's pretty uncool.  Are they afraid we might bring down the exorbitant divorce rate?  Do they think we may set up drive-through chapels (wait.....)?  I don't see how we can make marriage any worse.  The only direction the intitution ca go is up!  I think that they are just afraid that we'll do it betterthan them.  They don't want us to show them the right way to have a marriage--a family--a life.  Banning gay marriage is their way of cutting down the competition.
And there's no escape from this perennial discrimination.  At least women can pretend to be male, blacks can pretend to be white--gays have no escape because no matter how straight we pretend to be, we can always be picked out by our impeccable fashion sense and fabulous wardrobe.

Quote of the Day:  "I'm glad I don't live in the attic, it would get so dusty..."

Sunday, May 27, 2007

The Blog in which I Do Not Join a Cult

There are a number of cults I have never joined in my life, it's true.  In fact, I've never joined a cult.  I can't exactly pinpoint the reason why, however.  Perhaps I just have an aversion to ritualistic animal sacrifice?  Or maybe I formed a habit of not joining cults when I was a kid?  Whatever the reason is, it holds true today that I have not joined a cult.

The reasons this proves to be good for me are threefold.  First, I save money because I don't have to pay to reach my next level (I gain levels the normal way, by killing monsters....okay, bad D&D joke...).  Secondly, I have more free time to waste on things like television and sleeping instead of seeking "enlightenment" or whatever.  The third reason that my cult-lessness is awesome is that if I'm ever held at gunpoint in a random darkened alley (as we all are at some point during the week) and the guy says that he'll shoot me if I'm in a cult--then he wouldn't shoot me.  You know, because I'm not in a cult, nor was I ever.

I do however, work at a children's bookstore owned and managed by Scientologists.  And apparently they are heavy on recruiting, which is slightly weird.  And by "slightly weird" I mean "utterly bizarre".  I was greeted at this job with threefold rules (I like the word threefold, obviously as I've used it thrice thus far).

The first rule is that I'm not to engage a customer in conversation (so that I don't disturb their connection with the books), thus I'm not allowed to actively seek to assist them.  This works for me because I don't want to talk to them anyway, conversations with myself are much more interesting.

The second rule is that I'm not allowed to ask "how are you?" to anyone, at the risk of forcing them to look inside themselves.  Apparently that would be a travesty.  I would actually perfer that more people look inside themselves so that they can understand that they are useless, vacant shells of people and will hopefully quit talking to me, allowing me more time to converse with myself as I love doing so much.

The third rule states that I'm not allowed to insruct the customers to "have a nice day."  According to the policy I'm supposed to let them have whatever kind of day they feel like having.  And it is this policy that I blatantly defy.  No!  They shall not have crappy days, I demand that the customer's day not only be good, but rather amazing!  If they have a crappy day then it will affect not only them but anyone they interact with, thus my defiance of this particular rule is a public service.  I'm rather magnanimous that way.  More people should be like me.  More people should especially follow my lead of not joining cults, because apparently it makes you crazy and have all kinds of crazy rules.

Quote of the Day:  "I made a new game called EXTREME Patty-Cake.  The first player begins by reciting the patty-cake rhyme, and then the second player shoots the first for being annoying.  The second player wins.  Always"

Friday, February 23, 2007

The Secret is Out

Yes, there is no use in hiding it anymore. I was monitoring the PFOX website (for those of you who don't know, PFOX stands for "Parents and Friends of Ex-Gays and Gays" that does indeed spell...PFOX and not PFEGG). So in my monitoring duties, I find out that they have stolen our "Top Secret Homosexual Secrets", which we abbreviate as TAWESOME.

Here is our top secret is revealed:

Gays actively recruit and are aware that there's no such thing as "born that way".

It's true, folks. We're recruiting now. Membership is running low, so we're thinking of instituting a draft. But you can't blame us, we have incentives too good to turn down. For every seven recruits, we get a FREE TOASTER-OVEN!!!

Join now! Along with our Homosexual Membership card, you learn the secret handshake, and you get a great beneft package including, but no limited to the following:

1. You get to be outcasted and shunned by peers! Hoo-rah!2. Free self-loathing and shame until you're able to admit to yourself that you are, in fact, gay years after realizing it.
3. Then you get to tell your family, whether they disown you or not!
4. You get an incredibly limited social life, with almost nobody to date!
5. And best of all, you get to see first-hand about how it feels to be completely alone and unable to share your feelings to even your closest of friends!!!
Join Today! (I need another toaster-oven...)

Quote of the Day:  "I can only travel through time by beating people up first."