"Diary of an Angry, Misunderstood Fifteen-Year-Old"

"Diary of an Angry, Misunderstood Fifteen-Year-Old"

No one gets me—not even my girlfriend. I hate my parents: Their idea of a curfew is eleven o’clock?! I went to the mall today and felt nothing.

The Story of Doug Douglassin

Doug Douglassin ran away from home when he was 35 and joined the Visa Rewards Program. The end.

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, Let Down Your Long Hair!"

For a few years now, it's been a goal of mine (sooner, rather than later) to make a Grammy award-winning sitar album called "Marc Farful's Wild Sitar." However, of late, I've been flip-flopping between thinking that the idea is either too eccentric or awesome.

Anyway, if I ever make it, this will be the tracklisting:

1. Firewalk
2. Medicine Man
3. Fever Dream
4. The Labyrinth
5. Dream Warrior
6. Windmaker
7. Manchild
8. Get off My Land, White Man!
9. The Sufferer
10. Alien Underneath My Bed
11. Indian Giver (Don't Give To Get)
12. Indigenous

Dear Dan,

How sad it is: You’ve become a caricature of your old “new” self. I can recall a time when you rode your motorcycle around town. Do you even still have your jean jacket? Forget it. I don’t even wanna know. What happened? How did we get here? I’ve been gassing-up my car and going for long drives back on the empty streets of Glendyn, lost. I . . . I just don’t know anymore.

At the end of my rope with it all,

Kelly

Dear World,

If I ever had a step, I’ve lost it—matter of fact, I’ve lost more than a step, putting me somewhere in negative-step land.

This is how I see it going down: Tops, I’ve got two- to-three good years left in me. Then my slow but sure decline commences. Thirty-two to thirty-eight, I’m punch-drunk from the mental and emotional beating I’ve taken from life over the years and then I don’t even know who or where I am anymore.

"Looking Out for a Friend"

Today, at four in the morning, I called Charles because I know he's been looking for a typing teacher and I heard about this woman, Mavis Beacon, who teaches typing.

Dear Chris

Subject: Postcard from Hell

Dear Chris,

This past Saturday I played my first gig with KMX Musica. It was a lot of fun. The leader of the band, (I think he and I are the only two members, at least at this moment, although there might have been other members before) is Kevin McKeon, a.k.a Rainbow, a.k.a The Ghost of Christmas Past. Since it's just he and I, what he does is record backing tracks -- bass, drums, keyboard, and samples -- on his iPod and plays guitar and sings the lyrics along with it all. Actually, the iPod is considered a member of the band. I believe his name is Vanilla Jones, or something like that. There's a story behind the name, but I can't remember it. But how he does it all, it's very impressive, and his songs are really good. I think he's a musical genius.

Anyway, I can't remember who came up with the idea, but we decided that I would pretend to play keyboard, even though my Casio Concermate 670 would not be plugged in -- Oh, and he decided to dress metal and so I, since I don't have any of my old metal T-shirts, decided to go for the opposite and wear khaki pants, a button-down polo shirt, a tie, and a navy-blue blazer. I wanted to look like a kid (a late-twenties kid) who just got out of prep school for the day, or like I was about to go, or just came back from, a semi-formal high school dance. I was successful.

Now, my stage name was Marc Farfal and I did my darndest to appear as though I was playing the keyboard as if it was plugged in. Some people commented during the show that they couldn't hear Farfal, so we turned up the iPod and made the amp on my side louder. One guy, who's cool, was pretty sure that I was faking it, but he waited to tell me this after the show. To my credit, I did scream along with Kevin on one of his songs and then switched to a falsetto opera attempt at a harmony. And, during his guitar solos, I took out a calculator -- I believe it’s scientific, although I forget what constitutes a scientific calculator -- and pushed buttons, the idea being that I was calculating the awesomeness of his solo.

Getting back to the gig, it was planned that about three quarters of the way through the show, Mckeon would catch me and expose me and then we would have a war of words over it. He kicked me out of the band for a few songs then let me back in. Man, oh man, it was a hoot and some people dug it.

Enough about me, how's Europe? Are you still listening to all that sitar music? I hope so.

Sincerely,

Kentucky Fried Chicken

P.S. I hate to put people down, but I saw this terrible silent film on TV last night. Just terrible.

The Perfect Crime

A telephone conversation:
“Hey, did you drink the last of my soda?”
Jerry laughs. “What?”
“Did you drink the last of my soda? Yes or no?”
“Dude, I live in another state.”
“I know. That’s what makes it the perfect crime, Jerry.”

"To All Kind Enough To Read"

I was recently thrown from my horse (we're not friends anymore) and suffered a minor concussion. Not to worry, the doctor assured me I'd be as dumb as before. Phew! What a relief! Now, I can't remember the chronological order of the following events, but not too long ago, I was at a bar with Charles, and, sober and wholeheartedly believing it to be nothing more than good clean fun, ran into the wall. I was promptly placed in a full-nelson--finally!--by one of the bouncers and escorted out of the bar. I felt bad and apologized to the bouncer that checks ID's, but I don't think he cared one way or the other. Whatever. Upon reflection, I realized that it was improper behavior and that my expulsion from the bar was well-warranted. This other weekend night, again not too long ago, I hit the streets of Manayunk with my guitar, harmonica, and the determination to raise 50 bucks for this guy I met, like, two nights before who needs money to finish a film that shows the horrible situation in Uganda right now. I got dissed some--actually, kind of a lot--but persevered and raised the money.

Once more, on a weekend night, not too long ago, I thought it be cool to go to a local bar alone, have a drink or two, then play blues harmonica. Although, very sober, one of the bartenders cut me off right then and there. I can see how he saw this behavior to be that of a drunk person, but at the same time, I was completely lucid, showing no signs--no signs in my book--of drunkeness. If it had been my call, I would of thought it was awesome, but I think he really should of just asked me to take my business elsewhere.

It's weird that I hardly ever play guitar anymore, because, for several years, it was a dominating force in my life.

When I got rejected from Yale, I wrote them a rejection letter rejecting their rejection letter. People thought (some still do) that it was clever and rad, and that I was going to get accepted because, I guess, it demonstrated out-of-the-box thinking. I knew nothing would come of it, as was the case. Anyway, yesterday, my mom (she wears scarves a lot) asked me to make a copy of it because there's a kid she knows (she really knows the mother, I think) from church who really, really wants to get into Yale and is on the waiting list and she thought it would give him a chuckle. Even though I've never met him and know very little of him, I think he'll get in; I've got a good feeling about the kid, ya know? Then I suggested to my mom (she wears scarves a lot) that if he gets denied, he should mail himself to the Dean's office and then pop out and see if the Dean will reconsider.

Sincerely,

The Guy Who Wrote This

"My Last Will and Testament"

I wanna be buried ancient Egyptian-style—sans the whole mummification part, though. So straight up, nobody gets any of my good stuff. You can fight over the rest if you want.

Peace,

Marc Farful

"Subject: Marc Farful"

Subject: Marc Farful

Hey Laurie,

Just seeing what's up and how things are. I was gonna try and call ya. When's the best time and can I call your cell or only that number you put in that past e-mail?

Seasons Greetings,

Marc

Subject: Re: Marc Farful

MARC!!! So nice to hear from you, your email made me laugh, I needed it! Have I ever told you that I really appreciate your humor :) Our internet has been down all week so please do not think that I have been ignoring you. I do not have a cell phone here, it is just that 215 # that I gave out. I would love to chat with you. I am hoping to get another mass email out soon. This week has been tough and crazy for me. How is life in New Jersey? I miss you! Take care, and always STAY STREET!

Love Always,

Laurie

P.S Did you think I wouldn’t know who you are from your subject?

* I wish you enough *

Subject: Re: Re: Marc Farful

Laurie,

Glad the e-mail made you laugh. And as far as whether or not you've ever told me that you appreciate my sense of humor, I really feel like that's something you should remember yourself. I know that you have, but if you can't remember perhaps you've had a recent head trauma that has, and still is, affecting your memory. I would recommend seeing a doctor, because if you're memory has been compromised there's a good chance you don't even the recall the accident -- actually you might not even remember this e-mail, thusly not remembering my advice to seek the aid of physician, in which case you're like the guy from "Memento" and you're screwed. Now I know you might not remember any of the rest of this as well, but don't worry that your e-mail has been down or that I might have thought that you were ignoring me, because I did not think that at all. Also, I can appreciate the fact that you've had a tough and crazy week -- actually again, did you really have a tough and crazy week, or are you seriously like the guy from "Memento" and that's just how you remember it?

Moving on, I have noted that you can, at the present time, only be reached at the 215 number. If you still remember me when I try to call you, I would also love to have a chat where you remember me and our relationship. And to answer your question about how things are in New Jersey, they are pretty much all right slash semi-haggard. Kind of an up and down thing -- but, ha!, is that not life, dear Laurie!

Marc Farful

P.S. I will stay street if I can -- however, most likely not always in all capitals like the way you typed it --because that's where I'm comin' from. What, what?

P.P.S In response to your own P.P.S, I'm once again not sure if you forgot who I was from my heading. Plus, you put a question mark after your question, which I don't feel is a good sign at all. And now, yes, it was also followed by an exclamation point, which could be encouraging but could at the same time mean a number of things. Lastly, while you wish me enough, I wish you enough with what could be a serious memory problem.

List of Possible Avenues You Could Explore After You Graduate From College

• You could start your own hired-assassin business and put the “V” back in violence.
  
• Or, if you’re not into the whole killing-people-for-money scene, you could start a door-to-door lemonade stand, or open a restaurant with no chairs, just hammocks and tables.
  
• You could also start a medieval scribe messenger service, where all the messengers would be dressed up as medieval scribes and skip along while carrying messages written on rolled-up pieces of papyrus as they play the flute. The messages would of course be written in calligraphy with quill pens and read aloud in mock old English. And if you don’t want the flute, you can request a piccolo, but that costs extra.
  
• Then there’s always the option of creating a prison-themed restaurant called “The Pen.” Modeled after a composite of famous prison cafeterias from all over the country, “The Pen” would replicate in every detail what it’s like to chew down slop in the big house, right down to the leering eyes of the guards who are just waiting to blast you with their twelve gauge shotguns. Now when you first arrive at “The Pen,” you will be stripped of your street clothes, issued a uniform and number, shackled, and forced to shuffle through line being careful not to make eye contact with the dangerous men in hairnets serving you borderline inedible food. And instead of a maitre d’ there will be a soulless warden; a piece of advice: unless you’re looking to get thrown into solitary, don’t dare ask for a menu: just like in the state or county pen, there are no menus at “The Pen.” Oh, and every so often, a random diner would get “shanked,” because it’s all part of the experience.
  
• You could hit the road with a covered wagon and do the Oregon Trail. Your biggest decisions will be deciding whether or not to pay for the ferry or ford the river—clearly risking your oxen, fellow party members, and supplies—and whether or not to stop when someone inevitably gets a snake bite.
  
• Or if you don’t wanna travel, if you just wanna stay at home, you could write a biography on Ralph Macchio entitled: Paint the Fence: The Ralph Macchio Story, or your very own book on public speaking entitled: Just Picture Them In Their Underwear: Insert Your Name Here’s Guide To Public Speaking.
  
• You could become both the originator and central pioneer of “pirate rock” by forming a pirate rock band called Occupation: Pirate. All the members of your band will have the names of different positions on a ship: they’ll be the captain, the first mate, the cabin boy, et cetera, and your first album will be titled Land ho! and your first single, “Walking the Plank.” Other song titles will include: “Swabbin’ the Deck,” A Plundering We Will Go,” “Sea Legs,” and “Shiver Me Timbers.” Oh—and this is the clincher—every album will come with a free collectible eye patch. Arrrr! With this idea you’ll surely be setting sail for success.
  You could decide to run for president.—You can’t actually even run until you’re thirty-five, so that gives you about thirteen years to just hang out and get your platform, and vice-president and cabinet, and financial backing together.
  
• You could work the fields and till the soil of our earth with the quiet dignity of a peasant.
  
• There’s also the possibility of traveling the country performing impromptu hit sticks drum solos. Remember those things?
  
• Or you could be a warrior poet, or the guy back in medieval times who tasted the king’s food to make sure it hadn’t been poisoned, or a carpetbagger, or a mercantilist, or a muckraker—yellow journalism.
  
• Or if none of these possibilities I’ve listed work for you, you could, in a very controversial move, decide to retire before you even start working. It’s brilliant! You could move into a retirement home in Florida. Switch from Centrum to Centrum silver. Begin to have your “good” days and your “bad” days. Take to walking around with a walker and gab with the other old-timers about the “good old days” and how you don’t understand these kids today with their rock and roll and their MTV. The younger staff members would ask you to regale them with tales from your youth; to tell them of simpler times since past. You could begin to liken your daily experience to an old senile man or woman in a supermarket, who, every time he or she picks something new from the shelf mischievous kids steal all the items from your cart. And like a modern-day Sisyphus, you never get the boulder up the mountain; you never get out of the supermarket.

"Crucial Scene from 'Handsome Magazine'"

“I don’t care, all right! I don’t care about my looks anymore.”
“God, I never thought I’d hear those words come outa your mouth.”
“Yeah, well, times have changed.”
“They sure have: I can remember a time when being handsome meant something to you.”

Questions and Answers on the Subject of Being a Thugged-out Gangsta

Q: Is Inglewood really always up to no good?
A: No.

Q: How can you avoid getting caught up in the rap game?
A: Keep it real.

Q: Is it ever good form to be “straight trippin’”?
A: Rarely, and you have to be extremely charming to pull it off.

Q: I’m thinking about getting hydraulics on my mom’s mini-van. Good idea? Bad idea?
A: Bad idea.

Q: Is the line “you better chiggity check yourself before you wriggity wreck yourself” still a good line to use, or is it played out?
A: Some will hate on this line nowadays, while others won’t. It’s a crapshoot, Mary Poppins.

Q: If two loced out g’s goin’ crazy step to you and try and start some static, what’s the best way to handle that particular situation? And can we game play it from a situation where I’m packing and one where I’m not strapped?
A: More than anything, you have to think about your street cred here. Now if you’re packing heat, pull out your strap and lay them bustas down. However, if you’re not, front like you are and hope for the best. Maybe you can get out of there before the jackers jack.

Q: Do you really never get to lay back because you always haf to worry about the payback from some buck that you roughed up way back?
A: Yes. It’s exhausting, but you do.

Q: Technically speaking, how many people constitute a “posse”? And while we’re on the subject, what’s the difference between a “posse” and a “gang”? And lastly, is rolling eight deep enough? Or should one always roll at least nine deep?
A: There really are no hard-and-fast rules. Although, posse’s, traditionally, are smaller and have been known to ride on horses (like in the old West) at times—which is something I don’t think a gang has ever (or will ever) do. And eight deep is good, depth-wise. Yet the more, the better, usually. HOWEVER, please, don’t make the mistake of letting some really annoying guy in just to get your numbers up because, trust me, he will ruin it for everyone else.

Q: Where can I get some of that New Jack Flavor? New York, right?
A: Right. Also, Ice-T has a ton.

Q: How do I know if a song is “my jam”?
A: Don’t think about it. Just let it happen. (By the way, Craig Morrison’s “Return of the Mack” and Montell Jordan’s “This Is How We Do It” are already taken. Sorry.)

Q: Did the people in the Midwest feel left out of the whole East coast-West coast thing?
A: No. Not really.

Q: Is there a good how-to (like maybe an Idiot’s Guide or something) on how to spit fire when up on the mic?
A: There are a few good titles out right now. Try your local Borders or Barnes & Noble.

Q: If you have the most juice on your block, you should just be rollin’ on people. Right?
A: Yes! Drop the hammer on those fools, my friend.

Q: Yesterday, while driving to work, this guy in a Toyota Camry cut me off. Should I bust a cap in him? Or is that too much? Should I just jack him up?
A: He cut you off! Ice that chump. What, what? Jigga, jigga.

Q: I tried to regulate for the first time a few weeks ago, and it did not go well to say the least. Should I keep this on the down-low and then try again? Or should I pack it in and give up?
A: Keep trying, for Pete’s sake. Practice makes perfect. Do you think Nate Dogg regulated on his first try? I know him. He didn’t.

Q: Flossin. What exactly is that?
A: If you have to ask, you’ll never know.

Q: After I form a posse, how will I know when it’s in full effect?
A: Don’t worry. It’s like meeting the right guy or girl: You’ll just know.

Q: What’s a cool line to use after I drop someone?
A: I usually use Kool Mo Dee’s line: “How ya like me now?”

Q: I wanna start rockin’ some serious Bling-bling. I wanna be wearing so much ice that people next to me catch cold! The only problem is that I don’t have any and don’t have any money. My mom has jewelry. Should I just wear that?
A: If you’re in the market for a serious beat down, then, yes, by all means, do so.

Professional Wrestler's Resume

Jake “The Snake” Roberts
thesnake@hotmail.com
Home address: 34 Carmel Drive, San Berdinas, CA 190045, 310-555-5150

OBJECTIVE: To obtain a position in marketing.

EDUCATION: Burt Misham School of Wrestling, San Berdinas, CA
Bachelor of Arts: Wrestling
Minor: Russian literature
Major GPA: 3.6 Overall GPA: 3.2
Scholarship Recipient
Coursework includes: Creating over-the-top personas, Taunting would-be opponents, Finishing moves, Choosing cool entrance music, Women’s literature, and flexing muscles almost all the time no matter what.
Also cultivated extremely tight and lasting relationship with killer python.

San Berdinas High School, San Berdinas, CA
National Honor Society
Editor-in-chief of Yearbook
Forensics
Band (Oboe)

RELATED
EXPERIENCE:· Successfully marketed self-created persona that fooled males ages 8-12 into thinking I, and everything I was doing, was real.
· Planned and executed elaborate stage show involving an awesome snake that I kept in a bag until I had defeated my opponent, at which point I would lay it on top of him.
· Did extensive data entry and filing work.
· Came up with “the snake” (which rhymes) part of my wrestling name all by myself.

SKILLS:
· Excel, Pile driving, PowerPoint, The Suplex, Coming hard off the ropes, Microsoft Office, The part where I lay the snake on the guy after I’ve beat him.

REFERENCES:· Ravishing Rick Rude, The Bushwackers, Koko B. Ware, The Ultimate Warrior, Bam Bam Bigelow, Jimmy “Superfly” Snuka, Mr. Perfect, Hacksaw Jim Dugan (HOOOOOOOOO!) and “The Million Dollar Man” Ted Dibiase.