Me: Chapter One – Who Am I?



I mean…

I’ve been writing stuffs and things down, that crawl up into the ole’ skull up there for 12 years now. I’m still the same me. If you didn’t know. I’m also the same ole’ piece of shit that… you know… most people would, objectively, consider me to be. I’m also your Batman expert. Your humble drunkard from afar.

I guess… that’s who I am.

But umm… I’m also, Ryan! Hi. Hello. It;s the me. The problem. Hi. The me. It’s the problem. Me. Hello.

See? That right there? That’s am example of my dumbass humor. Like… If/when someone purposely misspeaks a song lyric ironically (I thinkg that’s whn you say ironically anyways), I think that’s funny as hell. If you don’t undersatan what I’m saying right now. Just. Click that big ole’ BOLD, golden link up there. It’s just going to take you to a Youtube vidoe of Taylor Swift’s song. I promise. And. As much as I’d like it to, I, unfortunatley, will not revieves any sort of beniftirs from you clicking it. Promise. Just… think it’s funny.

I brought that ruler down upon her buttucks. Like. For absolutely no reason. I just did. I guess.

We were there. The four of us. Disecting a far too impregnated frog. Like. This frog, right? She died because she was too impregated. Obviously. Her eggs engulfed everything. By the time we had removed those millemeter sized black marbles, the thousands and thousands of them… There weren’t many, if any organs to be found in our sophomore biology class.

Dissected frog. From PBS. But that’s NO WHERE NEAR what I saw, if you know what I mean…

Immediately after the the e=mc2 (or whatever) of the sound of the ruler colliding with her derriere, she cocked her head back to look to her right to look at me. She was still bent over the table and everythign. But…

“Did you just smack my ass?” Helena asked me whilst giggling.

Helena was no where near, “my type” at the time. She was all punk rock and stuffs. Meanwhile I’m, obviously, going through my Emionem phase and everything. But, I mean. I wasn’t anywhere near anyone’s “type” either. Obviously.

Honestly? Hand on the Bible (as if that matters), I don’t know what happened next. Merhaps I shrugged. Merhaps I nodded. I damn near never said a word back then. So. Who knows what could have happened. I’ve got no idea/

Thre moral of the story is, I got away with some sort of random ass sexual harassment. As a 15-year old. My bad.

I’m me, dudes.

I don’t know what more there is to say here.

Ya’ll have, or at the least could have, seen my favorite TV showsand movies.

Ya’ll should know by now that I’m very infatuated with like WWE-type wrestling. Video games.

FFS// I hold on to hope there;s a miniscule chance that Red Dead Online may still be “saved” by Rockstar. God. Modern capitalism is so stupid.

Merhaps some more words.

To be honest, there wasn’t an immediate slap-type audible sound (the sound effect is just about to be descrived). But in the moment, it sure felt like it.

“You’re a 13-year-old piece of shit!” Phillip yelled as he pinned me against the linnen closet. His hand was near my throat. I can’t say for sure that he was choking me. He was just aboput twice my senior at that point in time. Phillip’s son started clapping in… Anger? Confusioin…? All that I know is that I watched Phillip’s son to my right. His theeth were gritted against each other in angst as he clapped his hands.

Phillip’s pregnant wife stood up from the couch in which she sat (and FFS, this… this part brought tears to my eyes as I write this). She was trying to defend me.

All of these things happened in less than a second. Three seconds. MAX, anyways. I turned my head towards Phillip once again. His eyes were burning into mine. He had the fury of all of the ancient gods wrapped into one through his glasses.

Merhaps it was because of the actions of his son and/or pragnent wife, I don’t know. I don’t know if their actions caused him to relent.

I don’t know.

All that I know for sure, is that I was able to overpower his arm off of me.

And I threw it aside.

“FUCK THIS!” I know that’s what I shouted in immediate retaliation. I’m positive I shouted other words. Phillip shouted other words back at me, I’m sure.

This all started because we broke his computer’s mouse, essentially.

Not this. But a more 90’s-2000’s verion of it anayways.

Quickest of all backstories… Phillip and his wife, child, soon to be child, etc. were family members and living with us. My parents were out of town. It was the weekened. So my best friend, Robert (whom I’m sure will be referenced a lot this year), was staying over. I don’t recall the initial argument. Merhaps Phillip et al wanted us to do the dishes or something? Robert and I had an e-fed to run though, bruh.. Phillip et al left the house sometime after dinner or something. But they took my computer’s power cord away from us. Robert and I had no intention of doing the dishes (or whatever it was) under these circumstances. Thus, we decided to take Phillips mouse away from him. Eventually, we decided to do the dishes (or whatever it was), return the mouse, etc. Unfortunately, the mouse’s connection plug things broke.

One. Two. Skip a few. Ninety-Nine. Hand’s near my throat.

All said and done? Robert and I walked around a mile to go to a convenience store. I dunno if we had change in our pockets or if the store person just allowed us to use the phone. I don’t know. But Robert’s family picked us up.

By the time my parent’s came back a few days ;ater, Phillip et al still lived with us.

A week or so or however time works goes by.

And we’re all having Thanksgiving dinner with each other.


At least. I assume that’s what… eventually happened when I was born.

You know. The stereotypica;, “slapping the baby’s butt by the doctor” sort of thing.

This was, you know, after my mom pushed me out of her. Umbilical cord was wrapped twice around my neck. Apparently, this cord was so huge that the nurses, like, dangled it around… showing it off to one another (the story about its langth and stuffs is something I just learned within the last 24 hours of me writing this).

I’d assume it’s like a “slap” anyways. I mean. If the ACTUAL God spoke to one of us mortals, I doubt we’d survive it. But. Who the hell knows. Let’s go with that “*SLAP*“.

A fiveish years before I’m born, “god” tells my dad that he’s going to have a son named Ryan David.


It’s all downhill from here.

Hi! I’m me!

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