I ain't scared of nothing, man.....

Except for ghost. Eyeballs. Cancer. Porcelain dolls. Clowns. Jack Nicholson. Snakes. And lots of other shit.

(I've said this before and anyone that reads my stuff has heard this before, but remember when people would argue about who they were more afraid of, Jason or Freddy? I'd be like "Neither, I'm afraid of Jack Nicholson, bitch.)

Halloween is coming up, so it's a good time to reflect on my fears. Any of my facebook friends, Google Plus friends or Twitter followers and real life friends that are too ignorant to learn how to use a computer but say it's because "I just hate computers, it's for nerds." ...are probably aware of the added pressure I've acquired over the past few weeks. I found out a while back that Kenny Powers is following me on twitter. "Vutever, No big deal!"

and then I recently received a flattering e-mail that appears to be pretty legit, letting me know that people in circles that I want to be in, are reading my shit. It's almost the same feeling of knowing there are college scouts in the stands before a major high school football game and instead of just going out there and doing what you do, you spend the hour before the game telling yourself how unworthy you are, how you're either too short or too slow to matter. Well G-Dammit, this time I'm not gonna buy into the fear. I'm 32 years old. I've switched careers about 74 times. I've gone back to school and already decided 3 times in less than 2 semesters on changing my degree plan. I'm more indecisive than a retarded rottweiler not knowing if I should attack a cat, or sit here and lick my nuts until someone decides I deserve attention and starts rubbing me on my head while I contemplate either killing them, or just going with the massage they are giving me and let them live to pet me another day. 

TRUE STORY: When I was a kid, there was this yard full of straight up killers. They had a Doberman Pincher (and they used to be the most feared killing machines of all dogs, but now you never see them because the Pitt Bulls and Rottweilers have taken all the good security jobs.) 

They had a Rottweiler puppy who was born evil, you could just tell he wanted to bite my throat off every time I looked at him. 

And then they had this big Golden Retriever looking dog (and normally I'm a huge fan of any Labs or Retrievers), but this one wasn't full blooded. He was mixed with something. Probably Satan, but I'd have to do a DNA test to be sure. 

Anyway, if I had to pick a dog in that yard that was gonna kill me, I probably would have went with the Doberman. I'd rank the Rottweiler number 2 and the Golden Retriever a close 3rd. This was the summer before I was going into 7th grade. My cousin Shawn who is about 3 years younger than me was being a dick and taunting the dogs for several minutes by kicking the fence and barking at them etc. I had no idea he was doing this though. Anyway, we were all playing Hide and Go Seek or Manhunt, and we used the entire neighborhood, there were no boundaries. Sometimes I would just go back to my house and watch "Wild and Crazy Kids" on Nickelodeon starring Cuba Gooding Jr's younger, fatter, less talented brother Omar Gooding,

while the person was counting at the tree about 4 houses up from mine. Oh, but since I'm on the topic, the funniest shit ever was when "Baby Boy" came out with Tyrese and Omar Gooding played his gangster best fiend "Sweetpea." How in the eff are you gonna go from hosting a kids show on Nick to being a straight head buster that's gigoloing your girlfriend for her moms house and they are buying you X-boxes and shit. Then you decide to clip Snoop Dogg, who was also pretty hilarious in that movie. For the record, Baby Boy was probably the funniest, unintentional comedy ever written (besides maybe "Piranha" that I did a spoilers blog on a few weeks ago), and I watch it every time it's on BET because it's even more hilarious when it's edited. 

So anyway, I'd go back to my house, fix myself some of the generic Kool Aid that I think was just called "Coolade", watch either "Wild n Crazy Kids" or "Hey Dude", whichever happened to be on at the time, finish it and figure I'd been hidden long enough. Then I'd hit the back alley, jump a few fences and sprint to the tree that we called "Base." Well this particular time, Shawn was fucking with these evil beasts in the yard next to the one I used to jump the fences to make it home free. As I put my arm on one of the fence posts, to leverage myself so I could jump over the gate, I felt my arm being tugged HARD in the opposite direction. I've never been attacked by a shark, but I'd imagine this is what it would feel like. Once I got a handle on the situation and realized what was happening, I started fucking petting the dog and scratching him behind his ears saying "aww, nice puppy, nice puppy," while he is chewing the fuck out of my arm like a caveman eating a caribou. By now the blood is splattering everywhere and I think I'm seeing my bone a little bit in between his biting and regaining leverage so that he can rip my arm off. I then decide being nice to him isn't gonna work so I start banging my arm and the bottom part of his mouth on the fence spikes thinking he'll let go from the pain of having sharp objects stabbing him through his mouth. 

Then I think Shawn might have thrown something at him and he let go for a brief second, just enough time for me to grab my arm back and throw up in my mouth a little bit. This situation was terrible enough, but what made it worse was the fact that my mom was gone for a month to a school for her job, up in Virginia or D.C. or something, I don't really remember because all I can remember about that summer now is thinking I'm gonna look like the Terminator when he cut off the skin of his arm to prove to Miles Dyson that he was in deed a robot sent from the future to protect John Connor and kill the fuck out of everyone else. 

So the next step in this saga is to sprint home. I ran faster than Usain Bolt the full 200 meters or so to my house. I swear to God I wish someone would have timed it because I know for a fact I set some kind of record.

This incident occurred at about 6:25pm. My Grandma was staying with us that month to help with the womanly things around the house like cooking, washing dishes and clothes, nagging, complaining etc. My dad had his own shop at the time and he'd work from like 5am til usually dark, but he happened to just be getting home on this night a little earlier than usual. My Dad's only mission or goal that summer was to not let me die. He wanted my mom to think he could control me and nothing bad would happen because it's no secret I was a little hellion. I used to jump on the back of a train and ride it for miles until my Gran caught me about a week before this dog bite incident and she beat the living piss out of me with a switch all the way home talkin bout "My brother Jimmy lost his leg playing on trains like that back in the 50's. My brother Jimmy lost his leg playing on trains like that back in the 50's. My brother Jimmy lost his leg playing on trains like that back in the 50's." in between spanks of the switch. The only thing I really learned from that experience was that my Grans brother Jimmy lost his leg playing on trains back in the 50's and that I should never get caught doing it again, because it was just way too fun to completely stop doing it.  So as soon as I walk in the house my dad asks me whats wrong and I'm all "Uhh nothing, I just have to use the bathroom." I figured that if I went into the bathroom and put some peroxide on it, it would be fine. 

By then he's banging on the door demanding to know what happened after seeing a trail of blood from the front door leading into the bathroom, so I had to open the door. Once he saw my arm, he almost fainted. There is nothing worse than other peoples reactions to your own injuries. I've learned that through time. I've been hurt pretty seriously about a million times in my life and each time I could take the pain pretty well, until someone looked at me and was like "DAMN, Oh Shit, you're gonna die, we have to get you to the hospital." Then that's when I fall apart and start shaking and going into shock or whatever they call it. So now my dad makes me get in his truck and he's taking me to the hospital. One sentence he's demanding to know what happened, then he's hitting/spanking me on my good arm(Nice Parenting Dick) because he's so worried my mom is gonna kill him when she gets home(like all of this was his fault or something) then he'd be real quiet, then flip out again. I was thinking to myself "Thanks for the comforting words asshole, now I know everything will be ok thanks to your calming demeanor." There is just something special about watching your parents lose their shit when you do something wrong, when they lose their composure, it's the scariest thing in the world. And the more I thought about it, I really didn't even do anything wrong except for getting eaten by a dog. I was thinking "what the fuck is gonna happen when I really mess up in the future and total my car or get caught egging people?" Things that are actually my fault, ya know? So we get to Sparks hospital and at this point I'm not even hurting anymore, I guess I was kind of worried that I was gonna lose a limb, but compared to watching my dad flip his shit, I was perfectly ok with that. The doc was cool, he told me he used to stitch up gangbangers out in Phoenix and LA and that this was nothing. That's all I needed to hear. I ended up getting like 30 stitches on the top part of my arm, and another 20 or so on the bottom. I survived. I should be on one of those fucking shows on Discovery or whatever channel it comes on where women survive being shot in the face by their estranged husbands or whatever.  

So the dog that bit me wasn't the Doberman or the Rottweiler. It was the freaking Golden Retriever mix. If I was laying money on which one of those dogs would kill me first, I would have lost my ass. Oh well, I suck at gambling anyway, but I do still have a left arm and it was good that it was my left arm because I don't use it a lot anyway. I broke my right hand and wrist which required surgery my Senior year of High School and that was a huge bitch. You take for granted all the things you use your dominant hand for, until you can't use it at all. That did allow me to become somewhat ambidextrous, but I still have a lot more fun with my right arm. 

That's all I got for now. If you haven't already subscribed, please do so and leave comments. The more traffic I get, the more of a valuable commodity I'll look like. And that's important. Because I want to do a fun career to put my baby through college and buy my wife a Benzo. I don't want to work for it the hard way like most people do. 

Keeping it realer than your Uncle Steve that buys 200 dollars in scratch offs on the reg and tells people he once hung out with Michael Douglas at a strip club and almost got a part in "Wall Street" because of it.