The Day That Fish Died…

My friend had a fish in her office once. As I visited her, I took notice of it. “Fish looks miserable,” I commented. “Yeah,” she said, “he certainly does.” I stared at it for a moment. “How about I take it home with me?” So I took it home and placed him near a window, where he would see outside for the first time in his life, as his old home was one which contained no windows.

He was a good fish. Never did come up with a name for him though. I called him “That Fish” to my friends. He seemed pretty happy for the next few months.

Recently, however, he went back to being a depressed looking fish. He looked exactly the way he did in that windowless office. One day, last week sometime, I brought his bowl over to the sink so I could clean it out and give him some fresh water.

I never really understood people’s fascination with keeping a bird or a fish as a pet. Birds can fly wherever the fuck they want to anywhere, yet, some silly white bastard has to cage them and stare at them 10 minutes a day while speaking gibberish towards it. I bet if these birds had fingers, they’d have killed themselves long ago.

Same goes for fishes.

As I started to drain his little bowl of the foul water, he didn’t appear to try and swim away from the draining water as he usually does. Instead, he headed straight for it and, before I could even blink, he fell into the sink. Luckily, I was able to grab him right quick and put him into the new bowl. I continued cleaning it while thinking, “That was a close one.”

Now he was in a different bowl with the same dirty water from the previous bowl. I had to drain this dirty water in order to put him back into the new bowl. I started dumping the water out while using a net against it in case he tried to make a break for it again. Unluckily, he succeeded in making another break for the sink. Unluckily, I wasn’t able to save him this time. He fell on to the metal part of the drain and just as I was about to snatch him, he slid right down the drain and journeyed down into a world of shit, piss, and used condoms.

I felt awful.

This Empty Bowl (3/2009)

He’s never tried to do that at all, but on this simple day, he tries it twice? How can that be? Regardless, his mission towards suicide was a success. But I felt real bad about draining the hot water from my spaghetti that night down the same drain. It was like I was pouring one on my homie instead of for him.

The Injury Chronicles: Thumb of Flames

I moved to Florida in 1991. Being from Jersey, I didn’t know too much about trailer homes and what not. So when the school year started and a kid invited me over to his house for the weekend, I was terrified when his bus drove into the woods and dropped us off at his trailer home. We were so far from civilization. My brief culture shock was erased when we headed to the movie theater to see a double feature – Child’s Play 3 and Pure Luck, the latter being so fucking awful it still gives me nightmares.

We planned this weekend for weeks. We were the only 2 kids in our class who wanted to see Chucky fuck some shit up again. So I ended up not caring about where he lived – I just wanted to see this movie. It was to be a weekend to remember.

Saturday morning, I was introduced to something I had no idea existed… in this kid’s backyard, was a big pit of garbage. It was kind of gross. He woke me up and said, “Come on man, I have to go handle the garbage.” Idiotic me said, “Doesn’t the garbage man pick it up?”

Not even close. This kid had to wake up every Saturday and burn his garbage in a giant pit in his backyard. Hilarious? Pretty much.

This kid and his brother were out there piling shit up as I sat back and watched with utter amazement. After a while, they poured a little gas on it to get the fire blazing, then sat there for a few minutes and tried to light it with a regular lighter (which I am sure is the safest way). They couldn’t get it going.

It was then that I thought I would step in. I was only 10 years-old and still labeled the “new kid from Jersey,” so I had to show these kids up. I grabbed the lighter and flicked it once; walked over to the pit and slowly lowered it down. This is the point of the story that involves stupidity to the utmost degree.

I guess there was some invisible gas on this milk carton near this paper I was lighting because the flame went straight for it, and fire just shot out of the opening of the jug right at my thumb. “Fuck!” I said with the vigor of childhood cursing abilities, “I burned my thumb.” My thumb was on fire for an inch of a second before I started shaking it around wildly.

Your Thumb is on Fire (3/2009)

It didn’t hurt at first, like most burns, but it hurt like fuck within an hour. I wanted to cry but couldn’t, me being the new kid and all, so I just held it in. The kid said, “Dude, I think you’re supposed to put butter on your burns.” Who was I to argue? Last I knew, people came to collect your trash. This was a new universe to me. Logic was a thing of the past.

Butter does not fucking feel good on a burn dude. It was on my thumb for a few minutes before it melted, turning my burned thumb into something much greasier. A day or two later, I was in the shower, cleaning up. I tried hard not to get the thumb wet or soapy, but I slipped. The thumb hit the water and an entire layer of skin came right off. Fuck did that hurt. It makes my cornhole pucker up just thinking about the pain.

Some weeks later I asked my mom if I could go rock this kid’s house again for a night. She said, “Well, okay, just stay away from the trash, Garbage Man.”

Parents Is Dumber – How American Parenting is Destroying Society

This piece was originally written by me a few months ago in an attempt to get published in some educational journal or literary magazine or something. As it progressed, I realized that sometimes my dreams are just too big. So I’ll post it here for you guys. And soon I will tell you where I’ve been for the past 2 weeks…

I used to think my childhood was rough. During my younger years, I used to think my mother was as evil as they came – even my friends never wanted to come to the house. She was so vocal about everything and her voice was strong enough to pierce through a mountain made of solid diamond. I hated living in her house when I was a kid. But now that I am older, wiser, and a touch on the bald side, I can honestly say that I am now a bit thankful for those rough years. Because of her strict regiment of shouting and debasing me at every available turn, I think it’s safe to say that I turned out to be a pretty decent human being because of it.

It was only about a year or two ago that I thought about becoming a teacher – a shaper of young minds if you will – and this is something I never quite thought I would actually do. Today, I am currently a 9th grade English teacher at a public school in the glorious (and by “glorious” I mean “awful”) state of Florida.

The first day of school was nothing shy of brutal. I walked in with a million questions. What kind of kids would I have? Would they be troublemakers as I once was at their age? Would any of them actually want to learn a thing or two from the curriculum? Would they like me? Would they care about anything other than the cell phones in their pocket or who is saying what on their Myspace accounts? I left that day with all of those questions unanswered.

The first semester is about to end. I have had these students for 18 weeks and in that time, I’ve learned more than I ever cared to. For example, each and every one of them has a cell phone on their person at each and every minute of the day. My school has a strict “No Cell Phone” rule that is ignored by 102% of the student body. They’d rather text than listen to the importance and significance of literature, Frederick Douglas, Shakespeare, and capitalizing words at the beginning of each fucking sentence.

When I first started, I’d make my kids write something every day – a simple composition where they would have to use critical thinking skills in order to answer a question about something we’ve read. I can’t tell you how many 14-year-old American children use things like “LOL” in a paper they have to turn in for a grade. It’s quite scary. The following story is something I will quote from a student’s work but I will not use their name. This is actually something that was turned in to me and after getting to know this child more and more as the year progressed I realized that this was indeed their best attempt at writing. They simply knew nothing more.

We were reading a short story called “The Open Window” about a neurotic man who moved to a new town and decides to meet all of his neighbors. So he shows up at this one house where a little girl creates this fantastical story about ghosts and such. The man panics and leaves, confirming his state of social retardation for the rest of his days. I asked my students to create a fiction and answer the following question: Who do you think will walk through this door next and what will they want? It was something simple to keep them busy while I took attendance and such. This anonymous student provided the following snippet of Pulitzer Prize winning material, complete with how they think proper punctuation should look like.

Theys gonna be 5 top modls walkin threw that door. They gonna come right for me and all the ladies be hollerin. Then theyll take me out this class wit them cuz they need to go wit em someweres. My teacher will be like oh damn were he goin’? but he ain’t gonna be able to hold them back.

That’s the long short of it. I’ve saved that paper in my desk drawer as a reminder of our futures. Today’s kids aren’t like us at all, though it seems that every generation is afraid of their youth. Not as afraid of them as I am now. This is a generation of the selfish, the gross, and the inconsiderate. If it isn’t on their phone or Myspace page, they don’t care for it. They talk to their parents as if talking to a friend. I guess that’s the point after all. When did parenting stop and friendships begin?

I’ve made over 60 phone calls home to parents about children misbehaving or failing. I think only 4 of those calls made a difference. The others would come into class the next day and laugh at my efforts and implore me that their parents don’t care. At first I wouldn’t believe them – my administration told me to never take their word for something like that. Then I would see how they would continue to misbehave or fail or not pay attention to the lesson just to get another text in or two to their friends down the hall.

I take cell phones all the time in my class. That’s the school’s policy – if we see a phone, we take it and turn it in the office. A few months ago, I took this girl’s phone. She spent the rest of the period pleading with me – “please, my mom doesn’t get off work until the school closes” – and on and on. I then told her that I stay late a few nights a week so she can come to my classroom to collect it if she’d like. So the mother came in, all irritated looking, because she was upset that her kid was using the phone in class. The mom tells me, “You won’t have to worry about this again sir, I am terrible sorry. I am going to take her phone away for a week.” Her daughter was with her – the girl I took the phone from. As she walked towards my door to leave, she begged her mom not to take the phone away. What happened next? After 4 seconds of begging, her mother handed her phone back. Lesson fucking learned.

What do kids need cellphones this badly for anyway? It’s not like they are helping prevent rape or kidnapping – just read the fucking news. Back in our day, if your kid was talking to someone on the phone, you’d be able to keep track of it, via caller ID or straight-up stalking. If someone wanted to talk to us, they’d have to call our house. That way our parents would actually be familiar who we were talking to. There be a bit of control – or parenting – involved.

Cellphones make all of this impossible. Sure, you can read the incoming/outgoing numbers and times on the bill when it comes at the end of the month. But that’s often to late. Your daughter has moved on to blowing someone different in the bathroom at school by this time.

“Wait, what?”

Oh yeah, you’d be pretty shocked with how often blow-jobs happen in a school bathroom these days. Thanks to text messaging, this sort of thing can be planned in a matter of seconds. We’ve even bust kids having actual sex in the bathrooms – it’s that crazy. And we wonder why so many of our children are turning into Juno.

That is Probably Your Kid (3/2009)

I found out yesterday that I am not being re-hired at my school next year. I am not sure if it is because of my lack of experience, budget cuts, or if I genuinely suck as a teacher, but I can’t say I am all that sad about it. I’ve learned a lot this year, tons actually, that would make me a much better teacher next year. I just don’t know if I’ll be able to muster the strength to give it another shot, especially considering how parenting is ruining the classroom environment. What would be the point?

Sigourney in the Mist – 2009

Last year I decided to “remake” a blog entry I wrote a few years ago for a completely different website. If filmmakers can remake shit less than a year old, why couldn’t I do the same in with a blog? No one cares about blogs anyway.

I actually liked the remaking idea because you can clearly see how much I’ve evolved as an “artist” over a few years time. This blog appeared in May of 2006 on Film Threat’s Blog page. You can see the original right here by clicking. Here is the remake version, complete with original words and artwork (with new artistry posted also).

Kids often times have one single moment, perhaps more, of complete and utter stupidity that they’ll never forget for the rest of their lives. I have one such moment, a moment that has stayed with me for the past 17 or so years. And the sad thing is, it was a moment that last about 17 seconds, yet, it still resides within my memory; haunting me, teasing me.

It was September of 1988 and I was seven years-old. I traveled with my mom from Jersey to Zephyrhills (yes, that Zephyrhills), Florida to visit my grandparents and their new home. Seeing how Zephyrhills is as exciting as you can imagine, we decided to head to the movie theater and watch movie.

The theater in this amazing town only held two films at a time. Our choices were Lethal Weapon 2 and Gorillas in the Mist. Being that I was only 7, my mom opted not for the Rated R action spectacular. She instead chose the safe PG-13 movie about the life and times of Dian Fossey. I wanted fire, explosions, gun fights, etc. My mom wanted Sigourney Weaver and a couple of monkeys.

I remember the film being longer than one could care for. By the end, when some unknown person stabs Weaver and kills her, I was happy to see the screen fade to black.

As we walked out of the theater, my mom says, “That’s sad. Did you know that was a true story?”

My ignorant mind at the time couldn’t quite comprehend what my mom meant by that. My brain spun that as meaning that the actual Sigourney Weaver went to Africa, fought for some gorillas, then got stabbed. My 7 year-old mind thought that meant that when Ghostbusters 2 finally came out, it would be Weaver-less.

“So, that lady really died?” I asked.

“Yes, yes she did.”

Check out how dumb I was…

“So, Sigourney Weaver is really dead?”

Sigourney’s Requiem (5/2006)

Sigourney’s Requiem – Redux (3/2009)

My mom looked at me like I was the dumbest kid on the planet. She had a look on her face like, “This kid came out of my womb?”

She then explained to me what a film “based on a true story” meant. It was a film, fiction, fake… like The Da Vinci Code. Sigourney Weaver wasn’t dead. The person she was playing was dead.

That was the dumbest 17 seconds of my life. And a moment I will never forget, although my mother has no recollection of this story, which is for the best.

Sigourney Weaver was nominated for an Academy Award for this film. Perhaps there was a member of the Academy who thought she was dead too. But she wasn’t and because of this, we were able to see a few more Alien sequels, that second Ghostbusters movie I was so amped about then, and lest we forget 1492: Conquest of Paradise.

Actually, maybe we lest.

So that’s it. The story pretty much speaks for itself and is, sadly, true. The picture – the new one anyway – isn’t that much better than the old. Sigourney looks a lot stranger in this new one…

Untitled

Untitled March (3/2009)

Monday’s blog entry will be a visit to my past… another remake of a blog entry from years ago. Be sure to check back, as it’s a pretty hilarious story of my childhood.

Tidbits of Info (or Tiny Pieces of Informative News Offerings)

I know, I know. 4 entries in one week? Don’t get too excited… just look at the quality of artwork. They are nowhere near as great as last week but that’s a whole other conversation. This particular entry is to clear the air out on a few minor issues, or services, you may not be aware of. So read close and you may learn a thing or two about a thing or two.

1. Dunkin’ Donuts has the best fucking coffee of any fast-food/coffee chain. Shut up – you know it to be true. Starbux coffee tastes like it was burnt beyond repair and McDonald’s tastes too watery for me. But Dunkin’ handles their shit.
2. Let me know if you add me to your blogroll or webpage. I’ve noticed I’ve been getting some hits from strange places, which is awesome, but I’d like to return the favor. Let me know if you add me so I can then add you. I don’t read minds you know. I also have a strange goal to reach 50,000 hits by summer for no other reason than my life will end if I don’t.
3. Click on my pictures to see them in their full glory! What you see in a story of mine is only 75% quality. Colors lack, details fade, etc. I want you to see them in their full glory. What’s the point of looking at them if you’re not really seeing them? Here is one for you to try on:

Click on the Coffee Cup Right Now! (3/2009)

See the difference? Isn’t it spectacular? That is all for now. Going to see The Watchmen this weekend. Hopefully it will stir up some movie conversation because it’s been a while for that.

Charlie Got Punched…

I have no story today but I do have a picture. I’ll let your imagination create a story for this one.

Steak Can Cure That (3/2009)

Wow, I actually drew an entire person, not just the torso. Things may be happening for me after all.

The Story of Cletis

So this is a tale, my good readers; one that will surely stretch the threads of your imagination. But you must realize it to be true. I would never steer you wrong, especially when you’ve been so kind to me throughout the months. No matter how strange this story seems, you have to understand that it really happened. I was there and I witnessed it in its entirety. I was at a gas station sometime last year. There was a line and I was in it, bored, looking around at things. There was a man behind me, probably aged 35. I couldn’t see his legs – they were invisible – so I could only deduce that he was wearing camouflage pants.

I happened to notice that right under the counter above was a display for gift cards. This gas station had gift cards for every store/restaurant ever – it was a amazing. They had them for Blockbuster, AMC Theaters, Regal Theaters, Home Depot, Chili’s, Applebees, Olive Garden, Wendy’s, iTunes, Rhapsody… this list goes on an on. They had an amazing selection of gift cards for being just a simple gas station. I thought people only went to gas stations to get gas, beer, smokes, and beef jerky. Learn something new every day.

There was also a gift card for Barnes and Noble. Without even thinking, I commented outloud, “Barnes and Noble gift cards? Who comes to a gas station to get a gift card to a book store?” That funny man I described earlier, who was standing behind me, started to laugh a bizarre, mentally challenged-sounding laugh. Some of the other patrons laughed to. Perhaps they were laughing at him? I don’t know. But it’s about this time when the unthinkable happened. Something that took me by surprise. I should have known then, however, that living in Florida brings out the oddest treats.

This guy – I call him Cletis every time I tell this story – then said, “Man, I ain’t ever read no book in my entire life.” He said that proudly, as if he was the smartest man in the universe and he got that title without ever having to read. But I didn’t believe him.

We Don’t Need Education Dollars (3/2009)

I quickly retorted with, “So you’ve never read Green Eggs and Ham or The Cat in the Hat?” I thought the suggestion of Dr. Seuss classics would jog his memory because who hasn’t read these? “No man,” Cletis said. I shot out some more simple childhood titles but he still denied me. “How did you get through elementary school without have to read anything?” I asked.

“I didn’t get too far in school.”

That was it. He was done laughing. All he wanted now was to purchase his Natural Light brew and go home to his trailer or whatever to party. Poor Cletis. Part of me wanted to teach him to read right there in the gas station, the other part of me wanted to destroy his existence.

I’ll never forget that story. Was he lying? I don’t know. He was pretty convincing. But why would he brag about something like that? Finding out a 30 year-old man, who is clearly allowed to have his driver’s license, can’t/won’t read. I guess being able to read stop signs should be enough for me. Clearly it’s enough for him.

And yet our government keeps taking away money from education. If these results are yielding such fine products as Cletis, what will happen to the rest of us in the future? It’s only going to get worse. Who gives a fuck if we have plenty of people to man fast-food jobs. Who is going to be able to handle anything else? That movie Idiocracy may have presented the closest thing to an actual future I can figure.

Hot or Not: Kiera Knightley?

I bet even the Scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz wouldn’t even want any of this action. Why doesn’t someone throw this bitch a donut? Or a taco? Or an Oreo? And for fuckballs sake, keep her fingers away from her throat! Look what’s happening to her!

The Fruits of Kiera Knightley (3/2009)

I saw Domino in theaters a couple years back. I remember a scene where our beloved Kiera became topless. At the time, I was too shocked to cover my eyes. It was a horrifying sight – like looking in on a dressing room full of 10 year-old boys changing before a baseball game. I think I have bigger boobs than her. So does my mailbox. Why do people want to penetrate her?