Chapter Eine, unfinished

      F**k man.

 

            There should just be forms. Not for any specific delegated rationale or intention. Just for s***s and giggles. And for everything. There should definitely be forms for procreation, absolutely. And for garments. And Mac Donalds. Hell yeah. That would disentangle the f*****g obesity epidemic( THE BUBONIC PLAGUE WAS A F*****G EPEDIMIC, YOU FAT B******S!). But, I digress, sorry Holden Caulfield.

 

            Sorry....Hello, my name is Johnny. I know. A very tasteless name. My legal name is Xanduuu Alfonszo Christabon. But, I am not too warmhearted of this. My parents, of assorted African/Armenian/Germanic descents wanted to find a name that would be cohesive with all of the rudiments of my diverse heritage into my forename. But, I had a separate view in mind. I grew up with Andy Warhol. And Led Zeppelin. When I was a youngling, I wanted to be just like Mr. Bohnam, except for animated. I would get all the s**t in my house and just take sticks and hit the f**k out of everything. I wanted to be a drummer so bad. Until my dad showed me what it was like to be a drum, then I changed my mind. I did take Mr. Bonham's first name though, and condensed my last name. Today, I go by Johnny Christ. Tomorrow? Who knows.

 

            I know that I've never been normal, but, customary to me is weird. So, everyone who says they’re ordinary is utterly f*****g nuts to me. But, hey, I'm not normal, so what do I know? Ever since I was little I've liked to believe, and quite frequently believe without a hesitation, that I am an alien from an outside galaxy, brought here in this strange planet, to examine, study, and eventually report back when I "die" in this human form. How f*****g sweet would that be? I mean, rather than be apprehensive about heaven/hell, I would KNOW I am going somewhere, and s**t, who wouldn't want to holiday at an alien planet? I sure as f**k would. I would be a hero. I would get all the alien p***y (or whatsoever they have down there). See, I'm not that weird, am I?

 

            So, why am I important? Would the f**k do I have to say about anything? What have I seen? What have I breathed? These questions are null and void, without you asking yourself the same questions. So, what are your answers? Exactly. Now, shut the f**k up, and let me tell you about some s**t. Some real s**t, man.

 

            I guess it all started in the fourth grade, back in Mississippi. I went to a Lutheran Day School. I guess this is where I’m supposed to elaborate on how the teachers were still allowed to hit kids, and how I set the school record for most paddles ever. And I guess this is when you want to know how this affected me and molded me into who I am today. But, that would just give everything away, there would be no suspense. So, remind me later, and I will get back to this, mmmk?

 

            Anyway, fourth grade. This is the first time I decided to steal. I mean steal something of real value. I had been a kleptomaniac since the age of three, when I realized that I didn’t have to pay for s**t I didn’t want to. I mean, f**k, I’m Johnny Christ, I deserve s**t. However, this one was different. The school I went to had giant f*****g fields that would go on for days. I’m pleasantly surprised that no one has died there, at least to my knowledge, of dehydration. But, I don’t believe dehydration exists. Before I was born, it was called being thirsty. Now it’s dehydration. Bullshit. I like to drink out of my f*****g hose. Now, these fields required large, over-sized lawn mowers. By some deer named John, which always perplexed me. I thought, hey, I need one of those. So I came up with an elaborate plan with my best friend at the time, Hunter. He was going to knock out the mower driver with chloroform, take the keys, and we would ride away into the Promised Land that was ours, New Orleans. My job was to get the chloroform and drive the mower, as I had been driving my dad’s golf kart for years.