PastPoop

5/3/2003-The Hecklernomicon Book I: Hell Hath Belched Insidious or, Triumph of the Swill.

It has come to my attention that neither of our 2 readers actually know jack shit about me. Unlike Barnyard, I have yet to reveal any juicy information about my life or experiences, and unlike Highpulp I can't even write a serious article about current wordly issues. So as a nod to you aforementioned devotees of our journalistic syphilis, I've decided to let you into my mind, and share in some of my nuttier experiences. Hopefully to allow you to feel closer to me, so you'll spend heavily when we set up a paypal donation. This article is merely a brief overview of who I am, and a whole lot of what I've done.

Where to begin..... well, I'm a nearly 26 year old father, married for nearly 5 years, and my wife is the biological mommy of both my kids. I'm about to finish college after a 4 year absence, and I am unsure of my degree. There are many things I want to do, but the Force is not with me on this. I told my last counselor I want to be a Sith Lord, and he just looked at me unblinking for five minutes.

Enough of the basic shit, I'm a family man, I have loose direction and I have procreated. Lucky you. I assume you got all of that from the last paragraph. Anyway, that's the gist of my life currently. Now it's time to move on to the machinations behind the man/child. To see why I write what I do, and where the origin of my text based ballgrease lies.

I've always been a bit of an outcast. Since I was a child, I tended to see things in a much different view than even an abnormal mind would. This was reflected in my dress, mannerisms, (or more precisely, lack thereof) and speech. I was an only child, and spent many hours entertaining myself while my parents constantly worked or went to school. Bear in mind, that when you're already a bit off the loop, the last thing your parents should do is leave you to your own devices. I'm a firm believer that most pyromaniacs and vandals get their start from sheer boredom and ignorant parents. At any rate, I found that idle hands truly do the devil's work.

At age 8 I was already quite skilled in the art of neighbor harrassment. I mostly lived in apartments in those days, and even back then Seattle was hella populated. I remember my first act of fun at that tender age was leaping off the first story roof of my apartment complex onto the groundskeeper. After pummeling him to the ground with my 55 lb. frame, he was rather unhappy with me and informed my parents. I received two paddles on the ass for that. Another time during this period I launched our leftover fireworks from the Fourth into this old bitches open window across from my apartment. She was always on my ass for playing outside, and yelled at me constantly to go indoors. Well, I showed her. This also marked my first encounter with the police. That earned me 10 paddlin's and my parents' first citation. Oh, there would be many more....

At around 10, I found that I liked fire. A lot. By this time I had a friend named Daniel Corbett who assisted me in my shenanigans. By the way, if you're by some miracle reading this Daniel, click the insidious_t link at the bottom and mail me foo! I miss your ass, and hope you're not in jail or dead. Where was I? Oh yeah, fire. The apartments we lived in had those outside mail slots that required keys, but still had a huge opening in which to steal mail or as I later found, to drop burning goodness into. You get the idea. This also marked my first foray into the Burien, Wa. police department.

As I grew older I became bored with school, and started stuff there. Some of my more proud moments involved stapling a teacher, launching a bottle rocket on the bus, and waiting 5 months to avenge my humiliation by an upper classman. That's a good story, so here it is: I was in fourth grade and a sixth grader whupped on me good during lunch recess. I was crying, bleeding, and it went unnoticed by the playground Gestapo. I was so fucked up from this, especially since it went unpunished and I was not, nor am I now a narc, and decided to wait... Several months later during a recess, I checked out a Louisville Slugger from our classroom's sports rack. It was solid wood and nicely polished. I found that fat bastard and ran full steam towards his rear flank and with a mighty leap, cracked that fucker horizontally across the back. He was quite hurt, but deserved it. I was sent to the school psychologist, and he thought that such a tactful vengeance for so young a child disturbing.. 'Clouded this boy's future is... I sense much fear in him...' Wait. he didn't say that. Yoda did. Whatever.

I was then sent to my first pro psychologist, and thus started a career with headshrinkers that continues to this day. I keep going to them, cause I love the chat and free donuts. This douchebag decided to put me on some whacked out meds that made me aggressive as hell. I think it was a forerunner to ridalin, but had some PCP or some shit in it.

As I moved forward in life, I began getting even more creative with my felonous (is that a word?) endeavors. However, I'm going to save that till Part II. Why? Cause this article was intended to bore you stupid, while I saved the juice for the next installment. This dose of autobiographical blueballs will have to do until then. In the meantime read Barnyard's newest excorcising of demons. It's boss yo. Since I haven't figured out a good end for this piece, and I really have to press a bowel SCUD, I'll leave you with this pointless pic in which to grope your kitty.

-Insidious_T