Heartache in the Absence of Love and then, Eventually, the Other.

Posted on April 3, 2013 by You Monsters Are People

My first girlfriend was a lot like my first job; not particularly enjoyable and only obtained because of peer pressure and convenience. They also both sort of had a weird bleach smell. It probably doesn’t come as much of a surprise when I admit that she wasn’t a very good benchmark for women. There were rumors about her sleeping with one of the teachers and she definitely had some bad habits. She thrived on drama and had a weird need to occasionally try and arouse my friends. She would also routinely utter nonsense phrases and laugh hysterically or proclaim it to be poetry. Something like “the baby eyes of a sheep are your blanket” would somehow wedge its way in the middle of a conversation and you had to make up your mind on whether to laugh or not.

We had very little in common. I was a slacker with a crummy job and a desperate need to figure out the universe without much guidance. She was an obsessive over-achiever that had been given everything by her parents under the assumption that she would become a textbook case for success. Her house was the kind that required the removal of shoes and the living room was for special occasions only. The carpet and the furniture were both a blinding white and, the few times I was actually allowed in there to watch television, I had to be inspected for dirt. Even the cat wasn’t allowed and he cleaned himself habitually. Sometimes he would try to test the water and move a paw from the wooden floor onto the alabaster carpet. Everyone would gasp and tell him no. This would make him withdraw it but he always went back for one more touch and I think it was only to piss people off. I always thought it was a totally cool move on his part. I gave that cat chips all the time when nobody was around.

Even though I thought she was just great, my family and the majority of my friends didn’t care for her. My parents once found a used tampon wrapped up in the label she had ripped off an ice tea bottle sitting in the corner of a room. My father couldn’t even explain to me why he was so mad so he had to enlist my mother’s help. They both sort of stammered through angry bewilderment until I was sent to my room. It was easily the best team-parenting I have ever been witness to. They were much fonder of the girl that I actually loved. But she was currently dating a fine young gentleman and, as far as I knew, was well out of my league. So I stuck it out with the dud and even took her to the prom, despite previously swearing off ever going to such an event. We left early and I later found out that I had won a television set and mini-fridge in the raffle but that leaving early meant I couldn’t collect. A lot of things like that happened and it always seemed to be about what she wanted. She would often try to convince me to go shopping for new clothes and spend all this time at the mall instead of letting me hang out with my friends making bizarre comedy videos or going on adventures. Of course, a lot of my other friends had girlfriends too. Sometimes we would all get together so each of our girlfriends could sit around and we could watch them not have a good time. It was awful. They legitimately seemed to be making us miserable and we were doing whatever they wanted. They weren’t really our friends and, if there wasn’t some biological trickery involved, we would have never put up with them.

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After a while, I just didn’t see the point and I was one of the lucky few who were actually having sex. We had waited a while because she said she was a virgin but, a few girlfriends later, evidence mounted that would substantially weaken her case. It seems like a weird thing to lie about but I’m pretty sure that’s what happened. I find it hard to believe that a virgin would be quite that sexually aggressive or adventurous. Her mood dictated how sex would play out. Some nights would be romantic while others would be an erotic hellscape where I came out bruised and scratched up. Her body was tanned and petite and her tiny hands were quizzically rough. It was almost like she had spent the majority of her teenage years cutting down trees with an axe. I always saw her applying lotion on them to spread around her arms and legs. It was perplexing how soft those legs would become yet the tiny strong hands would remain like the hide of an old baseball glove.

She entered a program where they offered college courses for credit to smug high school students during our senior year. I suddenly stopped seeing her so much and, eventually, she stopped returning my calls so I assumed we had broken up. Weeks later she reappeared and said that she wanted to work things out so we continued dating for the next month. That was the same year nobody remembered my birthday, everyone except her anyway. The gray haze of winter was overtaking fall and, as usual, I didn’t feel very good about celebrating. I relayed that to her but, right at eleven-thirty, she showed up anyway to take me out for lunch.

“Where do you want to go?” she asked.

I had no preference and explained that I didn’t even really feel like going out and wasn’t even hungry so she drove me twenty miles to my least favorite restaurant and made me pay. On the trip back she broke up with me. Apparently, she had been seeing an older guy by the name of Aaron. She liked the way Aaron tied shoe laces around his wrists and they had gone to a concert and few parties together. He had, allegedly, introduced her to his band, cocaine and convinced her to smoke marijuana- something my friends had been trying to get her to do for months.

“We’re in love.” She said.

“Alright.”

As she pulled out of my driveway I know I must have looked heartbroken. I walked slowly back into the house with my head down, turned on the television, reclined in my dad’s La-Z-Boy, took a deep breath and laughed for roughly five full minutes. Then I watched a movie and happily finished my leftovers. She’s married now and, I believe, a successful lawyer.

Nobody ever tells you when you’re coupled with a squid until you can first realize it for yourself. I would like to say that she taught me a lot of valuable lessons but I don’t think that’s how it worked at all. There was one lesson but it took me years of sifting through bitterness, skepticism, and losing several wonderful women to get a handle on it. Love, like all vices, can only safely be enjoyed in moderation. It’s dangerous to commit fully to it because, if it doesn’t work out, you may find yourself tortured and alone going down on a sinking ship.

Then again, there is something terribly romantic about that.

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Posted in college, Current Events, Dark Humor, humor, Life, love, musings, stories, true stories, Uncategorized, web comics, Webcomics | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 46 Comments

The You Monsters Are People Audio Experience: Erotic Mac n’ Cheese

Posted on March 1, 2013 by You Monsters Are People

This second podcast is a little PG-13 and probably best avoided by young children and uptight weirdos. Stream it at work, download it for the commute and share it if you like anything you hear!

In this episode, Vinnie discusses the finer points of cam girl websites and Irene Davis stops by to explain her new gallery where erotic audio and food finally meet. She also brings out a little bit of my whispery NPR voice for some reason. (Edit: Her gallery now runs through March 17th)

Posted in art, Dark Humor, humor, Life, podcast, podcasts, society, true stories | Tagged , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Bedwetting, Twins, and Other Real-Life Terrors from Childhood

Posted on February 25, 2013 by You Monsters Are People

I was a bed wetter. It was so bad that my parents refused to give me fluids after late afternoon. Sometimes I would get really thirsty and they’d flat out refuse to serve me, so I would sneak into the bathroom after everyone was asleep and steal drinks from the sink. To this day, water always seems to taste best out of my cupped hands. But, even on the nights when I went to bed thirsty, there was still a fair chance that I would wake up soaked. I felt pretty bad about the whole thing. My dad would sometimes get angry about it and say he was going to put a rubber band on my “Peter.” Thankfully, that idea never made it past the development stage and my penis remained rubber band free. Instead my parents invested in plastic sheets and underwear. Truth be told, the underwear probably about as comfortable than that rubber band would have been. They pinched my legs and stomach while irritating my skin and, if I did wet the bed, I essentially had a bag full of urine wrapped around my waist to deal with. They weren’t even really that effective at stopping leaks and I would gamble that the psychological shame they incurred probably was not worth it.

The whole situation made sleepovers a grim prospect. I remember being invited once and having to reassure my mother that I would be fine. I had gone nearly two months without incident and was feeling confident but the look in her eyes was that of pure terror. But she still agreed to take me. The house was the kind of place that made you feel a little bad about where you lived. It was new and it was big and it had an airplane hangar in the backyard with a small airplane in it. I hated how big it all was. There was so much wasted space. All the furniture was too far apart and it was easy to lose track of his family members. It just seemed too quiet and too cavernous to be lived in by actual people. He had a computer that talked to you and a few electronic toys that almost seemed too nice to even touch with. In fact, the only thing in the entire house that held my interest was his dog but he kept kicking it out of the room whenever I started playing with it. But even when it wasn’t around, and we were otherwise occupied, I still wondered what it might be doing in that big lonely house.

We ended up “shooting hoops” with some older kids that lived next door until after the sun went down. I had worked up quite a thirst playing all that basketball and probably had six glasses of Sprite. Jesus Christ, did I drink a lot of Sprite on that day. His mother set us up with sleeping bags so we could camp out together on the floor. The plan was to exchange stories and jokes but we immediately fell asleep. By sunup, everything in that sleeping bag had been pissed on. Even the chest of my shirt was wet; it was a full-blown nightmare scenario. Luckily, I had awoken first and had time to slip out of my pajamas, into my normal clothes and call my mom. The conversation went something like this:

“Hi. Can you come get me?”

“Is something wrong?”

“Uh… sort of.”

“Did you-“

“Uh… sort of.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

However, claiming that I sort of wet the bed would be like saying the 9/11 was sort of a tragedy. I was trying to be nonchalant on the phone in case someone was listening in but the real damage had been done and I knew it. After hanging up, went into the bathroom and rinsed everything off, then I opened my duffel-bag and wrapped up my wet clothes with my dry ones from the day before. It felt like trying to conceal all evidence of a crime. By the time everyone had awoken, I was ready to go home. I made an excuse about not feeling well, thanked them for having me over, and promptly made my escape once my mom’s car came into view. As we drove away it was pretty clear that I was not going to be invited back to that particular residence anytime soon.

I spent the weekend watching television and drawing maps of what I thought the inside of a space station might look like. On Monday, he came up to me at school and asked about it. Kids have no tact and very little subtlety so the questioning went something like, “Did you pee when you spent the night?”

I, of course, denied everything. I acted like him even asking me about it was totally ridiculous. I made huffing noises and rolled my eyes. When he started to bring forth evidence and press the issue, I suggested that it was probably the dog. To this day I deeply regret having blamed the dog. If I could go back in time, I would assume full responsibility. My mind would not let me forget about that dog and I imagined a million different scenarios where they went home and spanked it or put it outside because they thought it had a bladder control problem. That dog was the shining beacon in an otherwise dreary and enormous house and I betrayed it so that I might save face. I still feel really guilty for having sold it down the river.

Eventually, as I approached pre-adolescence, the involuntary urination stopped completely but there were plenty of ruined sheets and couch cushions that had to be flipped over in the interim. Even after things dried up, I was still pretty apprehensive about spending the night anywhere. In fact, it was pretty rare that I would even bother going to another child’s house period. I may have been the only child in history that actively avoided birthday parties. The problem is that, until you’re about twelve, parents do the majority of the social planning in your life. You have a few real friends and then all of these other children who have parties that you are obligated to go to. My life contains countless examples of parties and play-dates that I wanted no part of, yet found myself participating in anyway.

The first set of twins that I knew were named Alex and Andrew. Even at the age of nine, I remember thinking that was an awful choice for any parent to make. They even had matching bowl cuts and similar styled shirts. Just knowing they existed gave me this sort of unpleasant uncanny feeling. I don’t know why parents like to trump up the fact that they have identical children, it’s already in your face enough without needing any extra help. But they were nice kids and were good enough to invite me to their birthday party. I tried desperately to get out of it but my parents insisted that I get out of the house. Usually, I could craft an expert excuse about the children that would get me out of it. Normally it had something to do with fighting or swearing. But the best I could come up with for Andrew and Alex was that I was not yet sure if I liked them or not. Again, they were good kids. My ruse didn’t work and my mother made it perfectly clear I had to go to their party. When we drove up, I remember having to go down a private drive. They too had the sort of house that made you feel weird about the one you lived in. Their backyard was the woods and their nearest neighbor was really far away.

After my mom left, I spent twenty-minutes socializing and then immediately started playing video games while ignoring everyone else. I probably never left that room. While they were running around, playing games and eating cake, I was beating all of their high scores. At one point their mom came in and asked me if I wanted to play with everyone and I said that I did not. I think they got sick of me being antisocial because my parents showed up early to take me home. The point is, I was great at video games and twins creeped me out. It bothered me how close they were and I did not see any reason to try and break into that. I liked them individually but the instant they were around each other, they became off-putting. They looked the same, they sounded the same and they even smelled the same. I remembered thinking about all of the grown-ups who said we are all beautiful and unique individuals. “Not if you’re a twin,” I thought.

Being a twin always seemed like it would be awful because it would only take a couple of years until you figured out which one was the bad one. After that, the family would subconsciously nurture the good twin while ignoring the other. This would go on for decades until the bad twin inevitably went insane and start plotting against the other. The concept of an “evil twin” is likely based firmly in this reality. If it were not, why would the idea even exist? Why else would people put them into movies specifically to make the moviegoer uneasy? This was my line of thinking as a child and as an adult it has been difficult to condition myself not to continue thinking this way. It is my one true prejudice and it took years for me to overcome.

But, to get off that tangent and back on topic, I know that it is likely just a matter of time before I am wetting the bed again. Some night, decades from now, I will wake up to use the toilet only to find out that it was all a bladder confusing dream and that will be that. Thinking about it as an adult, it doesn’t really seem like that big of a deal though. In my childhood, bed wetting was an all consuming fear—but, today, I would probably piss myself almost every night if it guaranteed the rest of my problems could be more easily sorted out. Things like having enough money to live on, creating meaningful friendships, achieving any sense of fulfillment or just finding someone that will continue to love you are all much scarier problems to overcome. And, of course, we all have them. Then again, maybe I’ll feel differently about it when it actually happens. Life is usually like that.

Posted in comics, Dark Humor, humor, Life, love, stories, true stories, web comics | Tagged , , , , , , | 42 Comments

Pedophilia: Not Always Funny

Posted on February 5, 2013 by You Monsters Are People

Like a lot of children, I went to church at the behest of my mother. I spent the majority of my time there pretending that I was a robot or a detective (or a robot-detective) and wandering into places I did not think I was allowed. Sometimes I would write notes, sign them as Jesus Christ, and hide them all over the building. I found sermons that didn’t involve some sort of magic practically unbearable and would stare at my shoes or doodle on scraps of paper until something crazy caught my ear. I could never resist a good story and The Bible is absolutely chock-full of them.

Sometimes a loaf of bread and some tiny cups of wine would come around and everyone would eat and drink their tiny portions all together. I found it off-putting that they all partook in unison and asked around about it often. Someone eventually told me that eating the bread and drinking the wine meant I had accepted Jesus into my heart and that it represented consuming his blood and body. This was a concept that I found immediately terrifying, so I would always pass on communion without participating and never bothered to get baptized either. Outside of the singing bits, I really was a pretty half-assed Christian.

Church just did not do a whole lot for me, but that didn’t keep me from actively participating. Usually when my boredom was about to peak, the minister would call us all up front for children’s corner. This was a “private sermon” just for us kids that took place in front of the entire congregation and involved him asking questions that had to be answered into a microphone. I hated being put on the spot but liked using the microphone. Most of them ended with him saying something like, “I guess God must really have to love us to do something like that, wouldn’t he?”

Then he would dismiss us all to our respective youth group leaders where we could learn the biblical basics. Outside of my single read-through of the bible as an adult, this is where I acquired the majority of my information on Christianity. While there were a lot of people helping out, the entire operation was run by a man named Sam, who I didn’t much care for. Sam was the type who would always put his hand on your shoulder or ask for hugs that lasted too long. His red face was always too close to my face and his breath smelled crazy. On a few occasions I would see Sam outside of youth group and he’d chat up my family. My mom would always comment on how nice a man he was and I’d tell her that there was something about him that I didn’t like.

My primary qualm about Sam was due to the fact that he was basically the Michael Jordan of child molestation in my neighborhood. As a little kid, you are immediately taught to stay away from strangers but you’re never given any useful pointers about how to handle familiar creeps. I recall a few brief “bad touch” conversations but was not particularly well prepared for the dangers of the friendly pervert. If I ever have children, I am definitely going to prepare them for all contingencies. I’ll try to be nonchalant, so as to give the maximum amount of information without scaring them into a few weeks worth of nightmares.

“Listen, this is going to sound crazy but there are a few people out there that are going to want to touch your butt or your pee-pee and it’s your job not to let them. So, unless I say they’re cool, don’t let anybody ever touch your butt. It’s just one of those things.” -Father of the Year

I must not have been alone in being ill-prepared either because Sam had a pretty illustrious career as a pedophile before finally getting caught over a decade later. Either this guy was a total mastermind, or molesting kids isn’t nearly as difficult as I originally assumed. I don’t really recall him being master strategist though. There were a few occasions where he followed me into the bathroom and asked me if I needed help, but I always said that I was good and don’t actually remember ever being outright molested. Maybe I just wasn’t an attractive enough child, maybe I was clever enough to avoid him or maybe I just blocked the traumatic memory of it happening. He definitely broke new ground for creeping me out though. He was the only adult I felt perpetually uncomfortable around. The frequency at which he hugged us was alarming and he was always finding excuses to rub our backs or talk one-on-one with his mouth close enough to moisten our cheeks with his breath. I even remember him fogging up my glasses.

I don’t tell this story a lot for reasons that should be immediately obvious. Child molestation is a very touchy subject for most people and I have a tendency to inject humor into even the darkest places. But, I assure you, I do not endorse pedophilia. I do, however, have a partial solution to the problem. It might not be a terrible idea to spend some extra time listening to our children. I could not have been the only person to have told my parents that I didn’t like Sam and that there was something wrong about him, but he was in his sixties before he was finally caught and convicted. Kids say a lot of stupid and nonsensical things, so it’s easy to dismiss them or tune them out, but there is usually an actual message buried somewhere in there. My parents were good ones but I remember visiting them during college when my mom told me that he went to jail. She asked me if he ever did anything to me and I think that was probably the first time anyone had ever asked me that.

A few years before I found out that Sam got caught, I worked with a man named Norm. He was the type of person that would tell you stories that were really entertaining but that you also sort of wished weren’t true. I liked working with him even though he preyed upon everyone with less fortitude. He’d inquire about their sexual exploits and tease them but keep his distance. He was a character and, while off-putting, entertained me by just being strange. Then, one day, he told me a story about his daughter and a custody battle that made me like him a lot less. I just want to remind everyone that these people are out there.

*This comic was drawn years ago (one of my very first) and is, unfortunately, an entirely true story.
Posted in Dark Humor, humor, Life, society, stories, true stories, Uncategorized, web comics, Webcomics | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 43 Comments

The You Monsters Are People Audio Experience: Roller Coaster DJs

Posted on January 29, 2013 by You Monsters Are People

You no longer need to be literate to enjoy You Monsters Are People because I’ve started a podcast. Listen to it at work or download it and take it with you for the commute, the gym, or into the afterlife. If you like what you hear let me know and, more importantly, let someone else know!

In this inaugural podcast a roller coaster DJ, named Lightning Lou, reminisces about his past and the genesis of his craft. We get a taste of his sound as well as his philosophy. If you find yourself desiring more of Lou’s auditory stylings, I’ve included an extended cut of the Lean Into The Gs Mix (Live from Cedar Point). Much like the interview it’s dripping with ridiculous nostalgia and positive vibes.

While the format is still being established and tweaked, I urge everyone to give as much feedback as they feel comfortable. We are also looking for interesting guests and people to submit ideas for topics and original music. All submissions can be placed into a leather bag with several of your eyelashes and dropped into the sea or emailed directly to youmonstersarepeople@gmail.com

*A special thank you goes out to the Cimbalik brothers, Jols, B-Mo and Ashleigh for helping me hit the ground running with this.
Posted in Current Events, humor, Life, podcast, stories, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 19 Comments

How To Prepare For The Day: Don’t

Posted on January 21, 2013 by You Monsters Are People

Despite our best efforts, it is exceedingly difficult to prepare for the day. Outside of being hungry, there are no guarantees of what the coming hours might bring. Literally anything could happen to you once you’re out in the big bad world. Statistically, you’re not in a whole lot of danger but, since you can’t control your environment, it certainly feels incredibly dangerous. You could get rained on, not given the correct change, hit by a bus or a homeless person could talk dirty to you. These things happen to people every day and that’s why leaving the house can feel somewhat terrifying. I think it’s a miracle that most people can subject themselves to the local news and still find the strength to venture outside.

Despite all the negative hype, it actually does feel better to go out into the world than to cloister yourself away and hone a developing mental illness. It might force you to confront the occasional danger but, I’m starting to think that it’s all the danger that makes life so good. Last week I was barked at by a person, and not a dog, on the street. After the initial shock I felt really good but there was a moment of confused dread that had to subside first. Adding the element of crazy unpredictable risk makes almost everything better. Unprotected sex, landing on the moon, smoking, motorcycles and burning things are all cool because they’re dangerous and, with the exception of landing on the moon, they’ve all played important roles in my life.

As individuals we sort of instinctively avoid danger, and while this has helped us maintain a stable society it has also made it a little dull. Don’t you sometimes feel like life should be all exotic animals in capes and sparkly sounding music instead of paperwork and mundane small talk? Aren’t you sick of putting your dreams on hold while you waste another afternoon cleaning up another person’s mess while they continue to brown nose their way to the top? The obvious solution is to buy a lynx, dress it up in a cape and release it in that person’s office and I would make that recommendation were there not specific situations where certain complications can arise. But such is the case of dressing up a dangerous predator and using it to commit a felony.

You know, in the times before recorded history, you settled a disagreement by eating the other person. This fact has been well documented in prehistoric literature. However, when an argument crops up today, you have to hold a meeting with a third party present and submit a bunch of forms in this bizarre bureaucratic tea party. It’s all supposedly done to keep everyone civil and safe but I would argue that it’s the lack of direct consequences that allow people to continue treating each other like garbage. Someone in my neighborhood has very a large dog with perpetual mid-grade diarrhea. I know this because there have been growing number of mounds with a napkin laid daintily on top as if to say, “an effort was made here and now it’s your problem” near my residence. I feel like that’s a pretty good metaphor for a lot of people’s lives. Instead of cleaning up our shit, we’re just covering it up with napkins and nobody is slapping us around for doing it. It sort of makes me wonder why we even bother. Day after day many of us wake up and make the choice to actively participate in a fairly lackluster shared existence and some people don’t even have the good sense to act outraged.

It doesn’t have to be all rainbows and slam-dunks but it doesn’t hurt to throw a few of those things in there if you find your life lacking. As human beings, we are probably supposed to suffer a little but we aren’t supposed to languish all the time and we definitely aren’t supposed to exist in a joyless emotional stasis. So opt out of your current mediocrity, reach a little higher and fall a little further so you can have a few dreams come true in conjunction with whatever waking nightmare you might currently exist in. Don’t tress about the day or spend every second trying to fuss out the details, it isn’t going to help you unless you’re suffering from crippling OCD. Just spend a little more of your time doing what you love and striving for what you want and a lot less preparing for the worst.

Posted in Dark Humor, humor, Life, motorcycles, musings, pets, society, true stories, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , | 37 Comments

When To Hug Someone: Life’s Greatest Mystery

Posted on December 26, 2012 by You Monsters Are People

Knowing when to hug someone is a question that has plagued humanity since its very inception. Confounded cave-people deduced how to trap and eat their monkey brethren right away but would have to wait thousands of years before even the most basic hugging etiquette could be established. Misplaced hugs have torn apart families, ruined lives and even caused wars (probably World War I). Despite thousands of years of struggling with hug protocol, scientists have yet to unlock its deepest most powerful mysteries.

There was a period in my life where I had friends and then hugged them until we were all so tired from embracing that we had to take lengthy naps. They were like platonic orgies. It was a perfect world where everything made sense and nobody felt bad about themselves or each other. We drank, talked and warmly embraced each other deep into the morning hours. Through perseverance and community spirit, we had become masters.

Amateur huggers, who aren’t confident in themselves or their abilities, always have the same three questions:

1. “What if it feels like we are about to kiss?”
2. “How aware should I be of how close our genitals are to each other?”
3. “Is smelling them okay?”

My answer to these queries is always the same: Hugging is an art. While society has guidelines set in place to define it, some of the best huggers/artists are all about breaking through barriers and thinking outside of the box. It’s not always evident when the best time for a hug is and, occasionally, you have to make a leap of blind faith. Understanding these aspects of it helped to make me the Picasso of hugs.

Things have changed a lot since then, though, and hugging, like any skill, diminishes without practice. It is important to surround yourself with top tier huggers to keep you sharp. I once knew a man that hugged down a near homicidal maniac. But the best I could hope for today is an awkward embrace from a distant family member at the next funeral. As we get older, more awkward and bitter, many of us simply stop hugging. Luckily, the fundamental knowledge has yet to abandon me and that information came into play rather dramatically one fateful day.

I knew a guy who had just been told that he was being laid off and understood that, at some point during the day, I was probably going to have to hug him. It was a terrifying prospect. I spent the majority of my afternoon trying to come up with a plan that would get me out of it and, when I couldn’t do it, I frantically began trying to mentally prepare myself for what was to come. While pretending to work, I went over every potential outcome and how to deal with it. I had never hugged him before so I had no idea what to expect. He could have wanted everything from a short pat on the back to a full on extended consolation hug. There was even a chance he might not even want a hug at all. Holy shit, I thought to myself. How the hell was I going to plan for that contingency?

Then, right at five-thirty, he stood up and said “Well, I guess this is it.”

It sure was. 

Despite rehearsing it in my mind repeatedly, I wasn’t even close to ready. I stood up and searched his body language frantically to get a sense of what was coming. But it wasn’t until I saw his eyes that I knew it had to be a hug. I offered my hand anyway and, looking a little hurt, he took it. As I brought him in with my other arm for the half-grab, his other arm got away from me and the safety barrier I had carefully orchestrated through the shake was lost. We were in full-on hug territory now and he was preparing for the squeeze. But, before he could, there was an explosion of tears. I was getting dangerously uncomfortable now. I was so out of hug practice that I really didn’t know what to do with this. I contemplated screaming in the hopes that someone would come to my aid and pull him off of me. Yet, somehow, I managed to find that part deep inside of me that still knew how to hug like a total champion. He was enveloped by my power and I felt his soul relax a little in my arms as if the pain inside him had died. I had done it. I was a king.

I hugged him so well that he knew he didn’t need that job or anything it had to offer. Suicide was off the table now and even being worried wasn’t in the cards for him after an embrace like that. In fact, the hug was so good that he probably carried its radiance all the way home to use on his wife after he told her that they were probably going to give up their newborn for adoption due to the crippling financial burden. With that single moment, I might have saved dozens of lives. Do I expect a parade in my honor? As appropriate as that would definitely be, I do not. I just think it’s a good idea for adults to hug each other once in a while.

*Mr. Bevins now has his own twitter account @mr_bevins.
Posted in Dark Humor, friendship, humor, society, stories, true stories, web comics | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 47 Comments

A Brief Reminder That Christmas Is Indeed Still Coming

Posted on December 19, 2012 by You Monsters Are People

Christmas is one of those holidays that singles out the lonely and dejected. There’s a lot of pressure there and, without a little help, you’re bound to get crushed beneath it. It’s all a complicated mix of modern day tradition, religious symbolism and ancient habits. When you’re a child, the lead up to Christmas seems to last forever and you have all of this time to enjoy the holiday when it finally comes. But, as adulthood approaches, you’ll find things creeping up on you in unsavory ways. You never feel quite as ready for it as you did when you were a kid. Just take solace in the fact that everyone else feels as pressured as you do and try to enjoy yourself as much as possible. At this point, Christmas is the antithesis of Thanksgiving. It exists under the guise of togetherness and family but we all know better. Don’t worry though, we’ll make it through this together. Just like we do every year.

 

*The woman pictured was found on a box of holiday themed crayons that I ate.
Posted in Current Events, Life, musings, society | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 11 Comments

Modern Fetishism: Weird is the New Normal

Posted on December 12, 2012 by You Monsters Are People

When it comes to romance, there aren’t a whole lot of rules. Most people are completely satisfied with the old standard of hugs, kisses and occasional pats on the rump. But, sometimes, you need to spice up the stew if you’re going to be having it every night. It’s healthy to explore but, once in a while, a body can get hung up on a single element. When an act, item or body part becomes abnormally sexually powerful to someone, it’s called a fetish. With fetishes it’s a pretty slippery slope. It’s perfectly fine to have one but, as with any obsession, it can become unhealthy pretty quickly if left unchecked. I would argue that it’s somewhat akin to a mental illness, but marginally more erotic.

The bottom line is that not everyone is going to appreciate or even agree on what is considered sexual by others. So, by advertising their obsessive interests, a person risks coming across as a bit of a monster. Quentin Tarantino’s foot fetish has been well documented in both his life and his films. Literally every movie he has ever made includes, at least, one scene where feet are featured or discussed at length. In a way it’s sort of interesting how much of himself goes into his work. But in another more important way, it’s genuinely upsetting.

This is a man who wrote a scene into a script just so he could put Salma Hayek’s foot directly into his own mouth. Again, would I want to have her foot in my mouth? Yes. Would I go out of my way to abuse my power to ensure that happened? No. That would make me the absolute saddest sort of pervert. That is the sort of shady dealings best reserved for a villain just pathetic enough to pity. A real gentleman asks for the foot and then accepts whatever the lady’s decision is.

Sometimes people like feet and I can, more or less, get on board with that. Like most parts of the human anatomy, feet vary in attractiveness. It probably isn’t terribly abnormal to find some people’s feet sexy. However it’s when you find all people’s feet extra sexy that things change forever. That’s when you have to ask yourself who is in control. Is it you, or is it the feet? But it’s not just feet we have to worry about; it’s everything everywhere all of the time. Apparently you can have a fetish for just about anything. Some fetishes come way out of left field and are ridiculously popular. There are enough people who have a sexual fetish for balloons that they have nicknamed themselves the “loners.” The mere fact that the concept of adult-babies can even be considered sexual by anyone shows how limitless fetishes are.

Physiologists claim that there is a direct link between phobia and fetishism. While this would finally explain my light clown fetish, it doesn’t explain things like the people who like to have sex with birds (avisodomy). I was unaware that this was even an option until recently. Then again, perhaps I’m not giving birds enough credit on just how scary or sexy they can be. I suppose this fear based arousal makes its debut in bondage, choking and the unbelievably nightmarish nosolagnia— but it kind of makes our entire species seem sort of awful. We are even fetishizing normal things at this point. I’m pretty sure the concept of MILFs didn’t even exist until the 1990s. Up until that point they were just known as attractive women above the age of 35, but now the internet has made them a specialty item for no apparent reason. We’ve abstracted sex to this weird level where nothing is normal anymore. It’s no wonder that we need to see shoeless adults dressed up as babies getting tied up to get off anymore. The internet is like a sex buffet trying to fatten us up. Eventually, you’ve tried everything and the once delicious mac n’ cheese is suddenly bland. You know that the buffet oysters are probably going to make you really sick, but they are free and moist.

I know it’s not all about embracing shame and disgusting acts in drastically intimate ways. But it’s almost as strange to think about people having parties where one person pops a balloon by sitting on it while four other people’s eyes roll back into their heads as they drift off into ecstasy. The whole thing is just a sliding scale of weirdness that we all fall somewhere within. That doesn’t mean we’re going to reach some sort of greater acceptance of each other, but it’s nice to know that we are all playing on the same slime-covered field.

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