The Aught Years: A Momentous Decade In Review

Since the 2000's were such a pivotal time in my life, I deem it necessary to look back and relive a decade of rollercoaster ups and downs. You may not like it. I may not like it. Does that really matter? The decade gave every person a different adventure, and this just happens to be the one I went on. Not to mention I hit more than one milestone birthday in these years. Since so much happened to me, I will try to highlight two major points from each year. 2006 might be a bit longer. So, lets begin.

2000: In the year 2000, I was finishing up 8th grade, and starting high school. At the time, all the people surrounding me were already talking about dropping out, starting to do drugs, and other teenage mistakes. I began separating myself from many of my middle school friends when I heard that a kid we hung out with slept with his brother's 400 pound, bedridden wife. Not sure if this is true, but I will carry that story with me.

At the start of my freshman year of high school, one of my best friends from middle school died. He saved a little girl from drowning, and gave his life to do so. Rashaad Worship is still missed.

2001: This is the end of my freshman year. I have been going to shows for the entire year now, and no matter the bands, I was there. So spring music fest comes around, and I meet a girl. This is my first real girlfriend, and I get excited. We date for 8 short months, and my heart is broken. First love. Blegh. This same year, this ex takes my virginity behind an abandoned movie theatre turned music venue after a show my first band (Dead End Dreams) plays with countless other bands, in my good friends 84 mustang. It was a good night.

This year was the year that I got my first bass guitar. A dark blue Ibanez GSR200. I still have this bass. I learned too many Linkin Park songs on it.

I also met Mike Andrews and Mikey Hawkins this year. Mikey hated me because he thought I called his girlfriend fat. What he missed was that I actually said "Mikey has fat eyebrows. Tweeze that shit." In high school, things get misconstrued. Now we're good friends. I wish Mike Andrews still had teal hair.

2002: This year, I meet my second serious girlfriend. This is where I later find out that she cheats on me with my first girlfriend. And my bad luck with women truly begins.

At this point, Dead End Dreams has disbanded, ridding the world of shitty Misfits ripoffs and songs about fucking dead pets. The world rejoices in peace. I then join a band that sounded like what I imagined Underoath to sound like at it's first practice sessions, sans keyboards. Virginia is for Lovers is born, and spreads "I Close My Eyes" and the XOXO EP throughout Central Florida.

At the later end of the year, I join A Game Of You, which began with strange car rides with a man I barely knew to a town I'd never been in to practice. This band was fun and loud. This band broke up in 2006.

2003: This is the beginning of my senior year. I meet my third serious girlfriend (who I am still good friends with). A car is stolen. My friends skate in Planet Smoothie. I believe that Brand New's Deja Entendu came out this year as well. This summer is the first of endless shitty b-movies rented from blockbuster. With titles like Nail Gun Massacre, Texas Chainsaw Hookers, Demonwarp, and Unmasked 25, the summer was certainly well spent.

This was also the first year of This Is For You Fest in Daytona Beach. There was no better way to end a year with acts like Good Clean Fun (covering Bohemian Rhapsody in a room full of mongoloids), Darkest Hour, Black Cross, Sex Positions, and countless other bands. This became a yearly trend until the last few years, but no amount of fun could be compared to the ridiculousness those three days would always bring.

2004: I graduate and start college. Of course, my list of friends is cut in half as people move away, stop talking, communicate through myspace, etc. It's kind of a bummer? But I always looked at it as trimming the fat.

This is another summer of stealing, poolhopping, random vandalism, amazing horror films, and genuine fun with friends. Party pizzas were had. I believe Austin almost killed himself jumping off the highest point of the Capri into a pool. This may have also been the year that we laid waste to Daytona Beach, screaming "BLOW JOBS" at random people walking on the beach, all while running as if following Sir William Wallace into battle.

Whats most important for me this year is that my brother and I actually stop fighting about stupid shit and start hanging out. He ended up surpassing me in coolness, as I take myself too seriously.

2005: For a long time, I marked this year as the peak and decline of the decade. Here is the series of events that explain this. Tara and I break up. I seek rebound. I get rebound pregnant, and spend the next year and a half wanting to smash my skull with another, much more solid and heavier skull. I spent hours figuring out how much better it would be pouring acid into open wounds than it would be to continue on the path I was on. It got "better."

This same year, A Game of You breaks up. Bummer, because we actually started writing good music and shared a storage unit with A Flock of Seagulls. At the same time, Years From Now starts, and it is fair to say that I have not had that much fun in a band. At one point, my dad found our CD in a Virgin Mega Store in New York. Pretty awesome if you ask me.

2006: This year is easily defined as the best and worst year for me, as it involves an intricate series of events that put me in the position I am in today. Here it is; I turn 21. Riley is born. I get married against my better judgement. Fight fight fight. Smash apartment. Hate life. Don't sleep. Quit job. Find a new job. Riley's mom leaves. There is some spillover into 2007 which includes the Department of Children and Families, Divorce Court, and custody battle, which is to say that 2007 actually began looking up.

Most of this year was a blur, caused by intense rage and depression. The only thing I can really remember from that year is Riley. I remember the day I saw her. I remember waking up with her every night. I remember being Mom and Dad, and loving every minute of it. And hating everything else.

2007: Despite shitty circumstances, things started to turn around for me this year. I met a girl who was pretty cool (who eventually cheated on me. My luck with women kicked in). I actually got a promotion that October, which helped my life balance out significantly. There was still some baby mama drama, but I began to see that I had the power to let that go, which made my life that much better.

I have also started back to school. I decided that after all the drama that I was going to better myself and my life, and understand where all that nonsense comes from. So be prepared for Dr. Spiker.

Keypoints for 2007: I meet a nice girl who I eventually marry. I was told she was gay, so I stopped pursuing her until she proposed to me. She is the yin to my yang. The peas to my carrots. The black to my white. (Thank you, Callista Berrios).I also begin to reconnect with my friends, who I had lost during 2006 due to control freak issues. I also meet new friends (John Park, Jessica Workinginger, Milissa Taube). What is most important is that I am able to smile at life, not just at Riley.

2008: I spend this year in a new place, with a new life. There is less drama. There is less worry. I have everything I need but more money, but I can care less because I am happy. There are some frustrations, but that is all part of life, and I have stopped sweating the small stuff. And I got married to a spicy latina/AZN lady.

Riley has gotten to a point where her personality is really starting to show. She dances, enjoys music, and has an odd sense of humor, but it is really great to see someone you've been taking care of their whole life begin to develop into a completely different person.

This same year, Years From Now comes to a close. We had a good run, but for the most part, there wasn't much more we could do. We had a final show where everyone wore white t-shirts. It was one of those years where someone either tears up from being so happy or from knowing that things aren't always so bad. That is how I felt that year.

2009: This last year has been normal. I have now begun a number of musical projects (Futures, Hero City, Rumors, and Limiter), and have finally been able to start collecting comic books. I'm reading every day, and I am less than a year away from completing my Bachelors degree. I will begin my Master's program in (10 in) 2010. And our wedding is going to be spectacular. Prepare yourselves, because I have a feeling that this is just the beginning.

There you have it. Sorry it wasn't shorter, but it could have been much longer. I can't even think of anything else I could get into after all that, other than details details details. I will say this; this next decade is gonna be a doozy. I have a feeling the future is ours.

Here's to everything that lies ahead.

Star Wars Has Made Your Life Infinitely Boring

Ok, so I'm a bit of a nerd. But as far as I am concerned, so is a good three quarters of the population of the world. You find me a person who is not a Star Wars fan, and I will be glad to show you my Roy Orbison tattoo. Whether you are a casual fan, or a mega fan, the difference doesn't matter. And for those of you who say "I don't like Star Wars," or "I've never seen it," I've got some news for you; whether you like it or not, you cannot deny that the Star Wars saga is the greatest story ever told. So fuck you, James Cameron.

But with all great things, there are complications. For a large number of the population, Star Wars has all but ruined every life it has touched. Ruined. A New Hope? Forget real hopes. I can explain why in a little list I've compiled to explain why your life will NEVER be as awesome as Star Wars;

1. There is not a single person in your life as smooth, charming, or ruggedly cool as Han Solo.

2. There is not a person in the world who hasn't gotten off to Carrie Fisher in a golden bikini.

3. The force is some crazy psychic entity that can be manipulated by an entire group of people called knights. You do not have the force.

4. Luke Skywalker has set an unbeatable record for "Zero to Hero" speed, proving it can be done, but you can't do it until your 20th high school reunion.

5. Obi Wan Kinobi is an awesome name, but anyone who calls themselves that in real life ends up with an insane wedgie.

6. Light Sabers do not exist.

7. You will never hear the words "That's no moon," during a full moon and it be true.

8. Wookies will never rip your arms off if they lose.

9. A gay droid will never call you master.

10. Your car, motorcycle, or any other vehicle will never be able to navigate the Kessel run in less than 12 parsecs.

11. A tall, dark, and sinister man will not be chasing you in a large star destroyer in order to coerce you into joining him on the dark side, where the two of you can rule the galaxy as an empire of evil action and of such immense proportion that only the Hutts will be out of reach, although empire credits will be flowing into their pockets. Planets will not be destroyed. People will not be choked with invisible magic. And if you're kissing your sister, you live in Virginia, and are not on vacation on the forest moon of Endor.

So, I may apologize for destroying your life, but I'm pretty sure if you've ever seen a Star Wars movie, you've left with a dissappointed and empty feeling of unfulfillment and a lifetime of mediocre events that will never be as grandiose as Luke, Leia, or even C3P0, for that matter.

Slow Down, Honey (You're Killing Him)

"Be well-versed in everything,
and be free."
An old man said this to me once.
It followed a story of a woman he loved.
About how they'd met at a carnival.
And it ended with sin dripping from her claws.
I thought about that man later.
The detail in my memory became more exaggerated than I had remembered.
His wrinkles deeper.
His eyes more faded.
His heart heavy with years spent dying.
The bench we warmed tattered and rusted.
And I could see the hurt.
And I thought about the woman he pained for.
And I hated her.
I hated the way she made me feel for him.
And hated the way he thought about her after all these years.
And that more than anything, that man wanted to be free.
So he told anyone who would listen without giving away his story.
"Be well-versed in everything.
And be free."

Dreams Are Said To Be The Pathway To Thy True Self; I Am A Male Charlie's Angel

So, I've decided to start recording my dreams, because I have realized one thing. I am out of my mind. It is apparent in my dreams, and you will soon find out exactly why. There is a reason why I don't do drugs. There is a reason why I stay sober, because I'm pretty sure if there was ever a time I was high, I'd end up in some ward shaking in a corner, wondering how I got there and when I will be thrust into the world of outlandish dreams. So, here is the first dream I remember waking up to and going "what the fuck just happened?"

It starts off sitting in an office, much like Charlie's Angels, but instead of fine ladies, its me and two dudes. We're listening to some guy talk through a speakerbox (which, I am assuming is our boss). He hands down the assignment and we are out the door.

We then encounter the supervillian we are all trying to stop. I'm not sure what his plan is, but all I can tell is that he is Hans Gruber, and he has a devilish plan. It is then that he pulls his trap, which is a large cargo net like one would see in a cartoon, or Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II: Secret of the Ooze. This is where he unveils his plan;

"HAHA! I have in my possession the corpse of Axl Rose. Using this machine behind me, I will turn his corpse into the world's largest shark! And he will terrorize the seas with his renditions of Paradise City!"

At this point, I wake up. This is pretty much a common occurrence, so expect to hear many more sordid tales from my subconscious.

The Bangpiece

The relationship is a fluid, unpredictable, and completely ambiguous entity that plagues the entirety of the human race. What's worse is that men and women are completely different animals. The man in the relationship is oblivious, either forgetting or completely missing the needs of the female. The woman in the relationship expects the man to think like the woman, and this is just simply not possible.

So, in a world where relationships are as complicated as the Osmond family tree, there is a shining light for those who haven't found a person that compliments them entirely. There is a dessert that some may skip the main course for. For those lacking in love, there is an outlet that is like a junkie's fix, or the quencher of thirst.

This would be The Bangpiece.

Now, everyone has had a bangpiece, and if you haven't, then you're lying. Or you're a prude, and that is ok. Either way, the bangpiece is an integral part of a person's life. This is much more than the one night stand or the friend-with-benefits. The bangpiece is a continued, no-strings-attached sexual relationship where it is understood by both parties that under no circumstances will a normal relationship ever spawn. At the point of emotion, the bangpiece becomes null and void, and the relationship is thus disbanded.

Are there any real benefits to the bangpiece? Probably not. Does it replace the affection and emotion of a real relationship? Definitely not. But is it a good way to have completely robotic and emotionless sex? You betcha. There is no real moral benefit. There is no real spiritual benefit. The Bangpiece merely represents the animal nature of the human. It is the bro in all of us. It is something of mystery that is fresh and exciting to everyone.

So, if you've found your bangpiece, great. If you're still looking, you're one of three things; ugly, moral, or you suffer from a horrbile, societal disorder that keeps you from spotting and approaching a bangpiece. But much like the lochness monster, bigfoot, and other creatures of legend, the bangpiece is an elusive being, and once one is discovered, it doesn't manage to stay around for long. That, or you're hideously deformed. Yuck.

Growing Older In A Place Where Everything Is Supposed To Stay The Same

Here's the thing; whether you like it or not, the older you get, the more dead punk rock gets. And it isn't the scene itself. It's all you. You're the jaded asshole standing on the side of the stage, telling your friends "they were better when we were 16." And they were. And even though you're not old, these things aren't supposed to change.

And it isn't the band, either.

Theres a certain amount of jadedness that comes along with age in punk rock. Stage dives aren't nearly as awesome if you aren't doing them with your friends (although they are still great). Sing alongs are forever a staple in my youth, and I feel that they will continue well into my future. But no matter what, nothing will amount to seeing shows 7-8 years ago, where everyone would sing along.

Shows in Daytona used to be better than any city you could imagine. Whether there were 15 or 150 kids at a show, it wouldn't matter. Bands would make it a point to stop in Daytona, just because they would leave with some sordid tale of Daytona kid antics. In a later piece, I'll discuss the ridiculousness that was Springbreakdown (any year), Gay Biker Dude Crew, and the Night of Terror in Ponce Inlet.

So, am I too old to enjoy a good punk rock show? I'll say this; just the other night, I went and saw some of my favorite bands, and was not as moved as I used to be. Every band was great, and I got to hear every song I wanted to, but it wasn't the same. A week later, I one of the same bands, and I got goosebumps watching them. The fire is still there, that is for certain. But I have a feeling that I'll be one of those old men who tells tales of fantastical shows where boogie boards were used to crowd surf, and everyone wore painted handlebar mustaches.

"Let me tell you this story about a man who got naked and scared a bunch of young kids while playing music..."

Comrade Profile Part 5; A Life Across The Hall From Mr. Spiker

There are few people who can say that they have decent relationships with their siblings. And for a long time I didn't. Spending three years as an only child, I never really grew out of that selfish phase, but I always had to deal with the fact that because I was older, I had to be a role model and be responsible. In other words, I had to be a big brother. So, then began the life of sharing and hanging out with someone who I had to be nice to. Weird concept, I know.

So, for the first few years, we shared a room. We had bunkbeds, which was always pretty cool. Our room was always trashed, and our parents always wanted us to clean up, but we didn't. I'm pretty sure we didn't see the carpet of that room for a good 6 years due to Ninja Turtle, Ghostbuster, and random McD's toys scattered in an uncomfortable version of broken glass. I'd say it was a pretty good setup.

But I got older, and that selfish older brother who suddenly became embarassed by everything kicked in. I wanted my own room. I opted to take the room across the hall, which was half the size of the shared room. But it was mine, and I stopped being roommates with the younger sibling who at the same time I started to quarrel with daily.

There were almost always fights about things kids fight about, which I realize now were entirely my fault. Jesse smashed my legos. That was because I had all the cool legos and left him with the pirates and cops, while the spacemen and underwater dudes ruled my army. I had the cool ninja turtles and their villains, while he got X-man who was missing one arm and Baxter Stockman, sans wings (although he almost always picked Mondo Gecko, who was a pretty sick character).

But even through these stupid fights about childish things, there was always a sense of pride I took in being a big brother. I believe if you asked a one David Valderama about his bloody nose, he can account for that. Whenever we would fight with the neighbor boys (who lived next door for a year, maybe), my brother was left out of the neighborhood fun. So, in standing up for him, I take a punch to the head, which leads to a one David Valderama getting his nose flattened, leaving the Spiker boys to rule the neighborhood.

Now we're adults, and in the last few years, through all the shit, Jesse has been a huge support. When I take myself too seriously, Jesse is there to knock me down a few pegs. And I would say that his newly discovered wit and charm would rival that of a Ryan Reynolds Van Wilder interpretation. I haven't been the best brother over the years, but no matter what, I'd say that Jesse has always been the kind of brother someone would want in their life.

So, I'm sorry for the shit, and I'm glad we're related, most of the time. I can be a dick, but you keep me in check. I'd tell you I'd love you, but after living a life across the hall from Mr. Spiker, I'd say that might be a bit "Mikeysexual."

Letters To My Daughter; Year 3

Dear Riley,

I'm sorry. I know your life is hectic, and there are too many people in your life telling you what to do. I just want you to know it isn't your fault. I know it doesn't make sense, but it will later, I promise. I wish I could explain better, but one day you'll be old enough to understand that your situation isn't exactly normal. But I think that will give you a bit of spice in your personality. Almost everyone has a mommy and daddy, but not everyone gets a Callista, you're right. I didn't get a Callista until I was 22. You're a very lucky girl.

I'm also sorry that I yell. It breaks my heart seeing you sad, and I'm not trying to be mean. I know you're a good kid, but it is something I have to do right now. I hate being the parent, but someone needs to be, and I think you'll appreciate it later. You're the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I don't ever want to waste a day putting you in time out. I want to spend everyday making you laugh and seeing you smile. And I'm sorry I can't be with you every day. It won't always be like this.

One day you're going to meet someone that is going to take your heart away from me. And I will hate them. And when they break it, I'll be that person that puts it back together. Boys like Wade are stupid. I don't care if he's three years old. There are always going to be people who love you, but I always want you to remember that I love you more than all of them. I will always love you more than all of them.

I don't want you to be like your mother. I don't want you to be like me, either. I want to see who you are. Just remember things like the Golden Rule, music is the constant that brings people together, and that you did it yourself (god didn't help you). You're already so headstrong and confident, and so intelligent. Stay that way. It's more important than being good looking.

And of everything I just told you, I just hope you live the life you want to live, whatever it may be. You're more important than you will ever know.

Love,

Dad

A Brief And Eye-Opening Lesson On The Art Of The Compliment Burn

There is no other burn like the compliment burn, plain and simple. I could spend days, months, and years coming up with ways to destroy an ego, or to minimize self esteem in any number of people. Negativity is almost always a give in. There is no real art to it, however. Normal "burns" tend to be instinctual, and almost automatic, rather than thoughtful and clever. Sure, telling someone they smell worse than John Candy's socks after filming Planes, Trains, and Automobiles isn't bad, but it took me longer to type that than to think of it, which is saying alot.

This is why the compliment burn is such an important and lost art in the happiness crushing daily conversation.

Of course, this cannot come as a constant tool in use. Compliment burns only work if they are sparse, much like the sprinkling of chocolate chips on the best negative-asshole cake you've ever had. The cake is so sweet, and it really hits the confidence crushing spot, but that little bit of cake is nothing compared to the bit of chocolate you find every now and then.

So, what is a compliment burn? Well, rather than the John Candy remark, one would follow through with "you smell better than a house full of roses." But, it isn't this simple. Following the path of the Boomarang burn, the Compliment burn has to be preceded by any sort of negative burn. So, if someone tells you "I hope you die," your follow up would be "I hope you life a long and prosperous life." This is just a simple example.

Then next time a negative nancy comes your way, and tells you to fuck off, a "have a nice day" will work much better, because it will not only confuse his primate brain, but will also trigger a great deal of anger that he will not understand. It will create a black hole of depression in the man's soul, and eventually will cripple him emotionally. And if you believe in Kharma and the Golden Rule, this will fit right into your arsenal of tools that will get you into that next life as a bird, or whatever.

So, I hope you all have a nice day. You all deserve it.

Alternative Crimefighting Personality, Part 1; Shawn Striker

I never really believed in keeping secrets. I always felt that it was a bit taxing to hold something inside, keeping it to yourself to rot your guts and manifest itself into something far worse, whether it be anger and rage or horrible depression. So, just for the fine people out there surfing the interweb, I would like to let you guys in on a bit of a secret I have been keeping for years. I am a superhero.

I am Shawn Striker.

Following in the footsteps of Clark Kent, I always believed that hiding in plain sight. I mean, it isn't like my costume was anything fancy and cryptic. Jeans and white t-shirts are actually more comfortable and much more conducive to fighting crime than a sweaty pair of tights and a cape. We have all seen the Incredibles. We have seen how well capes work out. And as for masks? Biiiiiiiitch pleeeeeeeeease. I would like a to take a page from Ray Charles and say "I can't see shit." Why would I blur my vision to keep some home burgler from seeing the rage in my eyes? I. Hate. Crime. And they should know it.

But just like any superhero, I do have a slew of supervillains I battle at every turn. Just like the Green Goblin to Spiderman, my archnemisis is none other than the Maniacal Meatball. With the powerful stench of rotten garlic and a meatball mace, there is not another more potent and aggitating villain I face. I have yet to figure you out, Meatball, but I do know this; you can only poop at your own home.

Of course, there are others, but they are of no threat any longer. There was the Sneaky Slit, using her powers of dastardly undercover shadiness to eliminate those in her way. There is the Perpetual High, whose skills destroying child psyche is unmached. There is VanMan, who lures middleschool girls into his Fortress of Mustache. And there is the most devious of them all, The Deity Embodied. Somehow, this foe, though imaginary, has been able to "move" millions of people, thus creating an ignorant but insanely loud army that now controls one of the most powerful nations in the world.

As for weaknesses, there are none. Simple as that. Other than stovetop stuffing, mountain dew, and chocolate. But honestly, how many of these villains would even carry these on hand? None. And that is why I am the most effective superhero. Ever.

So, move over Superman. Batman, you're not even really a superhero. Spiderman, Fantastic Four, Captain Marvel, FUCK YOU. There is only room for one superhero. Crowds will gather and have grand celebrations, throw parades and cook feasts for the greatest superhero of all time; Shawn Striker.

That's me.

Gainesville: The City of Dreams, Pizza In The Morning, and A Man Who Eats Sandwiches Like A Duck.

Being in bands for a good period of my life, there are a few cities that have actually given me stories. Gainesville, Fl is certainly one of them. There have been trips to this city that come to mind, specifically, which include a good number of our friends, a shitty hotel, music that does not match atmosphere, quotes from a retarded person, a man who swallows sandwiches whole, eventually the discovery of a Dairy Queen attached to a Mobil gas station, freezing cold toilets, a mysterious fog, and a few shitty demos. Welcome to Gainesville.

Let me start by saying that I hate the Gators. And the University of Phoenix.

And, here are some tidbits that may or may not give essence and life to the city that never drinks anything but Pabst;

-My first trip to Gainesville involved a band that had gone through a number of name changes. Earnhardt and Alliance where the two that I could remember, but finally, we settled on Total Recall. We had a few songs, and we needed to go record them somewhere, and Goldentone Studios was the place, so off we went. This included a trip in a minivan owned and driven by Matt Moment, with Mikey Hawkins, Tyler Trular, Tom Fuquay, and myself in tow. A motley crew, one might say. A band of misfits, maybe? A legion of dudes, yes?

So, we get to Gainesville with a pack of shitty equipment and 2 songs to record, burn, and distribute as an enterprise to punk rock. The guy recording us is apparently half serpent, because he is able to eat sandwiches like a snake. This man was somehow able to make a sandwich, unhinge his jaw, and swallow an entire lettuce-or-something-like-it sandwich. And while devouring this masterpiece, was able to record and mix for punk rock bands in his den.

We finish recording, all of us seem satisfied, and we pack up and leave. On our way out of this Gainesville Rock City, a mystical, and magical fog surrounds the entire outer limits. The fog is so thick that we have to resort to driving at 5 miles an hour in order not to run over any inebriated college party people. This continues for countless hours until we realize we are lost in the center of Florida, on a forest trail, surrounded by the mist. Once the mist clears, we realize that we are in the middle of what would be imagined in the Hills Have Eyes or Deliverance. On this dusty, off road highway, we stumbled into a community of rundown trailers, half of which had red, third reich flags flying in the windows. It reminded me of how the area between every major city in Florida usually involved a Klan rally.

-My second and third trips to Gainesville were marred by a she-devil trying to ruin my life with yelling and bad hair. The second trip started with finding out that I was going to be a dad, while the third trip involved much screaming and hatred. Either way, both trips began to run into each other, so I'll be giving tidbits from both combined.

There was a night in a hotel that smelled strongly of bleachy, chloriney sterilization. Unfortunately, it seemed that the entire room was coated in an oil that made everything horribly uncomfortable. All I can remember from that night was sleeping on the floor, Mike Andrews sleeping near the AC, Alexx being angry and someone snoring (I'm assuming Mike Andrews), Mikey crying about being afraid of the dark, and Justin having a tremendous beard.

After a horrible night's sleep, we woke up and decided that to cap off such a momentous event, we would have a feast fit for kings at the local Waffle House (which I will now never eat at any of these establishments due to a human feces event friends of mine encountered). Miserable and ready to drive home, we sat for breakfast at this dinky joint. Mike Andrews disappears for a bit, and when he finally sits back down, a song fills the room. Will Smith - Gettin' Jiggy Wit It. In a Waffle House. At 7A.M.

I believe there was another trip that involved Mikey getting mad (every trip with Mikey. Ever.). The question "What's for breakfast?" was answered by five 20 year olds agreeing on pizza at Leonardo's. This was followed by "Pizza!? In the morning?!" An accidental, angry commercial in the living room of Chad Smith's apartment.

-There was also the trip with A Game of You during December of 2005. Imagine being in the center of Florida during the winter. It's like standing in an icecube. And being in Gainesville is like being in a drunken college icecube. Either way, being in G-town with Andrew, Brad, Steve, Josh, Arthur, and again, Mike Andrews could be interesting. Apparently, the guy recording us does not believe in central heating during 25 dgree weather, so hoodies were passed around by all. At some point, I had to poop. Gross, yes. I wasn't able to sit down, because it was like trying to poop on an igloo toilet.

During recording, there were not lyrics, as far as I remember. There were parts with lyrics, but for the most part, there were rah rah raaaaaaahs here and there. If my memory serves me correctly, there were points where everyone in the room even said "just go rah rah rah here, and that should work." So, if you ever get a chance to listen to the A Game of You - Demo 2005, the lyric sheet is a series of raaaahs, grrrrrrrrs, and other gutteral, animal noises.

It's certainly an interesting place. Shows don't start until midnight. Leonardo's Pizza has awesome garlic knots. Watching a man eat like a duck and have crumbs hanging from his face while your singer's voice cracks like a boy hitting puberty can bring you much joy. But more importantly, there is a jukebox in a waffle house in the middle of a state that looks like a penis that will play Gettin' Jiggy Wit It at too early an hour, and make five or six 20 year old men giggle like babies.

God damn what a city.

Comrade Profile Part 4; A Day With Mr. Jecko Is Like Skipping Chapters, Only To Start Where You Left Off

Sitting in Mrs. Carpenter's sixth reading class, it hit me that I had never had a teacher so old and covered in moles (later, I ended up sitting in Mr. Dean's class, and he got the trophy for "Teacher who most looks like Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot"). This is where I discovered a common bond in a fellow classmate. Since both of us had middle part bowl cuts, we became friends immediately. This eventually lead to me trying to skateboard, horrible hardcore wrestling matches, a british queen hand puppet, and a good number of years laughing until neither of us could breathe. Introducing Mr. Austin Scott Jecko.

There are a few moments I hold dear when I think of this man. First, I will always remember sleepovers where we would spend the entire night beating the shit out of Patrick Gabriel with anything we could find. The famous "2 on 1" quote always sparked pillows covering the floor to model a wrestling ring, and Austin usually finishing the night with some high flying Luche Libre move, or some horrible submission that ended with Pat tapping out. It was always the same. Giant Manboy and Tan kid vs. The One Legged Wonder. We still hold the title.

Once all of my friends began skateboarding and getting into punk rock, I had no choice but to follow. I always remember thinking the girls on the hookups boards being cute, then Austin actually getting one for a bit. I remember sitting in technology class, and filming the skater kids in the class for 6 weeks, with no video to show for it (there is also the wreckage from what Austin and I built, the worlds fastes Balsa Wood C02 car).

High school was more of the same antics. Austin was sarcastic, assholish, and still one of my best friends. I always knew that a good time was had when we hung out. But after high school, we kind of went our seperate ways. Once Riley was born, I hadn't seen Austin in years. I ran into him randomly, and even spent his 21st birthday with him in a Tijuana Flats. But that was about it.

Then, I get a call from him one day, almost two years later. His girlfriend is pregnant, and he needs advice. It was like nothing had changed, we laughed about things that we would have before, and for some reason I am still the wise one in the group (although this may be up for debate by anyone, anywhere). And after I got off the phone with him, I lost contact again.

But finally, Asa was born, and I needed to meet this kid. He even had Austin's eyebrow. Since Jesse hadn't had a baby yet, I needed someone to start calling me Uncle Shane. So, I got persistent and finally got a chance to see Austin and his family. And nothing changed. Not a bit. His dad came from Tallahassee, and it was like high school, but with little kids. Even the incorrigible Mr. Tharp made an appearance, and that is when it hit me.

Nothing. Changed.

We were all different, and we had lost each other for a bit, but it was like waking up and realizing that your best friends, after all the shit, were still your best friends. And I hope it stays that way.

I know that this didn't really profile Austin so much as it gave an oral history of our friendship, but I felt it important to get this out. There is nothing like finding someone after losing them for so long. And to be right back where you left off.

A day with Mr. Jecko is like skipping chapters, only to start where you left off.

An Arguement Supporting Sterilization and Parental Screening

It is my belief that not all people should be parents. There are those who are physically abusive. There are those who are verbally abusive. There are those that believe that once a three year old finishes their pop tart dinner, they can have a brownie and a bag of skittles. But here are a few examples of why sterilization should be enacted for those who shouldn't have kids. Or at least a screening for parental ability;

- Two days ago, a woman came up to me and said this, word for word. "Did you know that Nostradamus predicted the swine flu? He also predicted that there wouldn't be enough medication to protect us from it and that it would destroy most of the world's population."

-Today, I saw a news report about a woman that tried to sell her son for gas money. The amount? $10.

-Years ago, there was a story about parents in a trailer who had a meth lab gone wrong. The entire trailer burned to the ground. The parents saved everything they could, mostly the meth that they had already cooked. They left their children.

- Children with mullets. Really?

- Brittany Spears. Y'all.

- There are countless stories about day care workers leaving kids in cars during the summer, forgetting all about them.

-A little boy shot and mutilated a robber recently. All his dad could say was "that is his hero shirt. He's allowed to wear it anytime." The boy found the gun in a drawer in the kitchen. The boy said he would take it out all the time to play with it.

- A local woman is raising her child with her husband. Her husband was recently arrested for molestation of a neighbor's child. She isn't keeping her child away from him.

-www.peopleofwalmart.com

-If you cannot cook a decent meal for yourself, then there is no reason you should be taking care of a child.

-Child leashes.

-Mikey Hawkins.

-ICP should never have existed. Neither should the juggalo mother, who is trying to sue the doctor she claims is "responsible" for her baby's death. She also failed to mention that she thought it was ok to take xanex and excessive amounts of alcohol during her pregnancy. It's too bad she hadn't been stillborn.

These are just a few examples, but I believe that I've made my point clear. If you fit any of these profiles, please proceed to remove any reproductive organs, because you will only do someone else a disservice by reproducing.

Comrade Profile Part 3; She's A Lady, That Mrs. Spiker.

I've never been the romantic type. I've never even really been the cutsey boyfriend type. There is rarely a person I deal with that deals with me. I'm a sarcastic asshole that rarely takes a thing seriously (please see future sections on Ann Coulter, religion, and my divorce). But behold, there is one person that not only does not take me seriously under any circumstance, but actually has me rushing to get home just to give her shit. This would be a Mrs. Callista Rosa Maria Berrios Spiker. Vamanos.

Whether it is a text message arguement about how I'm more in love with her, or me sending her cartoons drawn over my junk, there is not a moment that I cannot ruin for her. AND SHE LOVES IT. She stepped into a part of my life when I needed someone to keep me in check. and she does. And it is unfortunate for her that I am a manchild. It certainly takes a strong woman to take on two children, not just one.

But despite the bullshit I put her through, she is always willing to give me a hug that breaks my ribs, make breakfast, and find any way to call me stupid, retarded, dumb, or any other listing in the thesaurus under "idiot."

I have never met someone with as much character and personality as I have with Callista. There isn't a person in the world that can find humor in everything like she does. I have never been so enthralled by her creativity and her maternal personality. I appreciate the way she dusts places she can't even reach (generally anything over 4 feet). I love her cooking. I love cooking for her. I hate working out with her. I cannot wait to have a tiny brown baby with her. I love that her favorite music consists of ska and baby makin music. I love that she hates being tickled, and I hate when she tickles me. I hate that we are undeniably the cutest married couple you've ever met, but it is awesome to be number 1. She doesn't fart or burp. She was kind of gay for a bit. And I'm pretty sure she's got some sort of super strength that always ends up throwing me out of bed.

She's a lady, that Mrs. Spiker.

Seance Suddenly

You're lying in bed next to him.
His warmth is unmistakable.
You would do anything for him.
And he knows you love him.
And you know he loves you.
And it doesn't make sense, but it works.
You're rolling over to sleep.
A shortness of breath.
A clutch of the chest.
A flash of light.
Suddenly, there are sirens.
The view from the ceiling is unreal.
The neighbors are watching, wondering, mouths covered.
The night is quiet, aside from the crimson light cutting through it.
Emergencies can be so noisy.
There are hands trying desperately to bring life.
All hands on dead.
And it hits.
As you watch from the ceiling, mouth covered.
And there's a flash.
And there's a crowd.
And there's relief.
And he's crying, and he won't let go.
This is the first time you've seen him like this.
And you're sure he loves you.
And he'll never let you go.

Comrade Profile Part 2; A Tip Of The Hat To The Incorrigible Mr. Tharp

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Comrade Profile Part 1; God Bless You, Mr. Hawkins

There are few things in this life that give me such well rounded joy. Riley and Callista are one. Music is another. So is Mountain Dew and Stove Top Stuffing in the same dinner. But there is not a single person in the world that fills me with such murderous rage and unattainable euphoria like one Michael Hawkins does.

At work, I often get the "new voicemail" alert on my phone, and when I do, I can only hope that it is Mr. Hawkins. "Hellooooo, umm, queer baby. It's Mikey. I, uhhh, hate your guts, and mostly wish that you wooooouuuuuld, um, get caught in an espresso machine explosion where the shards lacerate your skull, hahaha, and ummm, I hate you. Fuck you." There is nothing like a Michael Hawkins voicemail that can spark an imagination full of torture and pain for one person. A return call may sound like "Hey idiot. I hope someone comes knocking on your door, and when you open it, an Orc crushes your feet with a warhammer. While you are in agony, I hope he then laughs, tells you your penis is small, then crushes your skull. Shut up." It's a good back and forth.

As a song writer, the man bleeds music. Though it isn't very good, or thoughtful, or even audible, it is fun to play. Songs like "I love Derrick" or "I love Shane" or "Kiss Me On The Mouth, David Hasselhoff" are all hits, but have an underlying tone I can't quite put my finger on. If you haven't heard this modern Mozarts masterpieces, imagine a baby crying over Kid Dynamite riffs. Then, make your ears bleed.

What's worse is that this man is the quintisential stereotype of Italian. Obsessed with mob movies, always having his face buried in a bowl of some pasta, and weilding some sort of weapon in his trunk, there is nothing like watching Mikey Meatballs get upset. Just to witness the breadsick-bone, marinara-blood, spaghetti and meatball smelling wise guy go off on some latte drinking yuppie or everyday "leave me alone, I didn't do anything wrong and you have a bad temper" person is better than watching a determined Chihuaua try to make it with one of Michael Vicks prize fighters.

This is not to mention the man is obviously mentally disabled (please reference the above picture where he believes he can speak to animals). This man-child has somehow managed to operate in a society where everyone loathes him specifically, thus keeping his temper short and his face constantly red (as well as his eyebrows nicely trimmed and his cleanliness next to godliness [reference; wears socks around the house. all the time.]).

But, despite the horrible person that he is, he's been a good friend. Through one of the most difficult times of my life, he was a staple which kept my head up and my feet moving. As much shit as I give to this man, he is one of my best friends. As much as I loathe him to the core, I love him just as much. If it wasn't for this man, I can't say that I would be the same person I am today. Thank you, Mikey.

So for that, God Bless You, Mr. Hawkins.

Hybrid Creatures Stalk Through The Night, Commanding Air, Land, And Sea

There are few animals that are masters of their domain. It is safe to say that wolves, bears, and certain deadly felines easily control the land. Birds of prey control the skies, finding its food from thousands of feet high. The whale and the shark are streamlined to strike fear in certain aquatic inhabitants. But there are an elite few that are in complete control of more than one element, creating a deadly cocktail, to be sure. These hybrid creatures exist around the world. We have all seen flying Great White Sharks. It isn't fair. But there is one hybrid creature that lives in the great city of Ponce Inlet, an outskirt of Daytona Beach, for those of you who don't know. The Aquacat calls this city home.

In Ponce Inlet, there is a famous lighthouse tourists often frequent during blazing summer months. This area includes a nice beach where the inlet is separated by a man-made construction of concrete rocks that juts out into the water. It is this construction that houses these aquatic felines.

Having heard rumors of these monsters, we trekked out to the inlet one night to find them ourselves. My expectations were that we wouldn't find anything, let alone an ocean walking mammal. As we began onto the walkway, there was a sudden streak across our path. Stopping, we all kind of looked at each other with a nervous laughter, and continued on. As we got near the end of the walkway, we noticed a small, feline figure sitting along the edge. Once we got to the spot where the figure had stood, we looked over the railing, and found what we were looking for.

Between the rocks, there were dozens of cats feeding, sleeping, and generally living. We had found the aquacats. Once can only speculate the vast underground caverns constructed by these hybrid monsters, but I would imagine they stretched for miles. These cats had found a way to adapt to life on both land and sea, living in a beach town on the coast of Florida. Though I've never seen Aquacats during the day, I would imagine one to look like the picture at the top of the page.

This discovery has lead me to begin research on other hybrid animals. Expect pieces on Great White Sharks, Flying Squirrels, and Joan Rivers.

Death Carries You Away in His Golden Chariot

Coming close to my quarter life milemarker, a strange turn of events (though not totally unexpected) has gotten my mind in a frenzy about an issue that has never really been more than a flicker in my consiousness. Mortality is a vital element that many of us tend to put in the far reaches of our minds, only to spark when specific events bring it about. The most fascinating part about all of it, though, is how those around the sufferer copes. It would seem that the witnesses of this most defining and permanent event in ones life tend to have the hardest time finding the words or the meaning.

In my case, my main thoughts go to how the person in the situation must be feeling. This is a point where they have been given a timeline. At 23, I expect to be on my way out around average life expectancy. The end really isn't a concern of mine at the moment. But staring it in the face, at least to me, would seem like such an impossible task. Those who you love would be coming around, making it all the more real, since they hadn't spent the time they needed in the months or years before. Guilt would be an underlying tone to each visit. Lonliness would be an everpresent shadow, stalking in the corners of the apartment once everyone leaves, its weight crushing your lungs and stopping your heart.

What's worse is that there is such a detatchment from the entire situation. Numb might be the word? How can one be a support for someone who hasn't faced the situation themselves? It is impossible to develop a new or stronger relationship with a person through these times, especially since there wasn't one initially. Explaining why someone isn't around anymore is considerably one of the most difficult tasks a person could undertake.

May your journey be painless and swift. I'm sorry.

A Story to Corroborate the Existence of Zombies, Thus Justifying My Fear

Driving down a dark road one night, I had not a care in the world. It was a clear night, and as I followed a curve in the road, a woman stumbled into the road. At first, one would just think the woman was irresponsible, walking in the road in the middle of the night. Scared, I kept driving, not knowing why the woman was walking in the middle of the road at night. But something didn't seem right, so I turned the car around.

As I follow the curve back, the woman is still stumbling in the middle of the road. This is when I noticed a few suspisous things. First, the woman was shoeless. Now, as a Floridian, this is to be expected. Especially since we were driving near a trailer park. Then, I notice the bottom of her sundress is in shreds. Ok, she fell in the road...really hard.

At this point, I lose my breath. The woman looks like Carrie at prom. It's as if she crawled out of the woods after catching and tearing apart a large buck. She is literally covered in so much blood that I remember heaving a few times. Her hair looked like Bret Michaels in Poison's debut in the 80's, but worse. And I'm pretty sure she bared her teeth at the sight of a car headed in her direction.

This is what eventually lead to my studying Zombie Combat and the entry prior to this. Show me Zombies don't exist, and I will show you a deadman.

My Life With A Crippling and Justifiable Fear of the Walking Dead

As children, we all fear something. Some kids are afraid of dogs. Other's are afraid of the ocean (I'm still not too fond of this). Even more are afraid of adults. Usually, children tend to grow out of these fears, as they realize dogs aren't always barking, you don't have to go past your knees in the ocean, and that adults are just big kids (most of the time). As I've grown in the last few years, I have begun to understand that all the energy that was spread out into a number of different fears has joined forces to create a fear in me that weighs on my mind on a daily basis. Zombies.

It is silly. It is completely unreal (as far as I know), but after waking from a nightmare that shook me into walking around the house for an hour, I realized that I have a phobia of the undead. Last night, I had to turn every light on in the house before I could comfortably go to sleep. This is not the worst it has gotten.

There is not a place I can travel that keeps my mind away from some zombie scenario. When I take Riley grocery shopping, I only think of food that I can store in case of a zombie apocolypse. The baseball bat in my trunk is a precaution. I even told Callista that she needed to read the "Zombie Survival Guide" because in case of a war, I wasn't about to save someone who wasn't prepared (it scares me because I think that I was semi-serious with this statement).

The worst part is that I haven't even begun to train Riley in the forms of Zombie Combat. She understands that zombies say "braaaaaaains," but does not understand that they would not hesitate to eat her. How do you explain to a toddler that you have to remove the head or destroy the brain? When we play hide and seek, she always says, "Here I am!" Bad move, Riley. And I'm pretty sure she isn't strong enough to wield some sort of deadly medival weapon that could rip through undead flesh.

This may seem crazy, but think about any other creature one may battle. Vampires are not only sexy, but retain complete consciousness during their time as the creature. Werewolves blackout, kill some people, then wake up in human form. Crazy nights, normal days. Aliens have technology. And the international sign of the doughnut wouldn't be as entertaining without "ack aaaack" behind it. Zombies are a creature of mindless hunger, consisting of undead tissue and damned to walk the earth devouring the flesh of the living with no consiousness or will. Even the Devil can bargain with your soul.

No matter who you are. No matter what walk of life you come from. No matter how much you prepare, there is only one thing that everyone can agree on; Zombies are FUCKED. UP.

Livejournal; The Time Capsule That Should Remain Buried (Somewhat)

Everyone between the ages of 20 and 30 should remember this little icon. And if you don't, then you were either 1. not "hip and with it" or 2. drama free and happy. Either way, for a small period of time in adolescence, this website ruled the majority of our social lives. So, with the advent of friendster, myspace, and later on facebook, what actually happened to livejournal? Well, it is still around, and I actually spent a few hours one night reliving a number of horrid occasions and personality disorders that I wish I could put back into the vastness that is the internet.

Just like reading a journal that one may have had at a young age, it is embarassing to return to those petty loves and angry entries about bands you hate or whats wrong with the world. But unlike that journal stuffed away under your pillow, this was on the internet for all to see (unless yours was private, which suffocated a bit of the drama). It was a time where we all worried whose lj was going to be hacked next, what we would say that would end up pissing people off, and how best to fish for compliments. And the only thing different from then and now is that we use a different medium.

But, I was glad to look back and read some of the outragously embarassing entries I made. My talk about politics was sprinkled with ignorant soundbites about "fuck that guy" and what have you. My boughts with love and hate were always interesting to follow (the waves of good to bad were clearly marked). There were shows that I still never forget. There were trips that coined phrases like "ooooooooooh myyyyyyyyyyy goooooooood, there's a daaaaaairy queeeeeen," and "pizza? in the morning?!"

Of all of these things, though, one memory came flooding back that was repressed for a reason. Tom Porter, Danny Skelley, Chad Smith, and I were in a band called Virginia is for Lovers. On our quick rise and fall, there was a trip to a city whose name escapes me at the moment. In this city, we stayed in a hotel room with a few friends, where the oddest night of my life took place.

A timeline isn't needed here. Delirious, this is what I can actually recall from the night. Chad was sitting on top of the T.V. in the room, where someone had gone out and rented a video called (insert any sort of anal porn title here). With Chad sitting on top of the T.V., the video played, and Chad began to chuckle in a way no man should when watching anal porn upside down. I'm sure Danny was uncomfortable. Tom was in another room, with our friend Chris. Chad leaves and enters said room, closes the door. Those of us left are wondering what is going on, so we open the door and see possibly the oddest and most uncomfortable moment in our lives. While Tom and Chad are cuddling in bed, Chris is jumping on top of them (in his "maroony-tightys), laughing like he's just murdered a group of tourists traveling through Texas. Then, I'm pretty sure I blackout and cannot recall the rest of the night.

So, to conclude, thank you LiveJournal. Without your archive of useless teen poetry, I would have never recalled such an interesting(?) time in my life. Traveling through three years of anger, heartbreak, music and friends, I found that I am very much the same, just a bit more quiet about it. And a little less angry.

And much more articulate.

The Beard as a Renewable Energy Resource

Now, facial hair has become something of a man thing throughout human history. This is a fact. Styling facial hair has become an even greater phenomena (see World Beard and Mustache Championships). Through all this, the fact remains; beards reign supreme in the face accessories realm. And because this type of facial hair harnesses such great power, I am here to offer an idea to solve the current energy crisis. The beard as a renewable energy resource. This probably will not make sense, but just follow me.

First of all, the greatness of a man can be determined by how great his facial hair can be. The fact that facial hair can automatically separate men into classes can attest to that. Here's a good example; You are in the grocery store. As a woman, you often notice men glancing at you, and its kind of flattering. Once you head to the produce section, you notice a man staring at you. He has a creepy dude mustache (the fact that you can call this bit of facial hair "creepy" says it all). You are automatically uncomfortable, as he reaches for a bunch of bananas while still staring at you.

Now, imagine this happening with a fully bearded man. This man is charming, automatically, because the beard has an aura about it. A sense of mystery that comes with not knowing the prize in a crackerjack box. This man is near godliness his facial hair is so great. So, what makes women so attracted to me in general?

Beards harness a specific energy that produces magnetic levels of awesomeness. These levels of awesomeness spark reactions in people that no other resource can. No matter the situation, one must try to surround themselves with certain levels of awesomeness, doing whatever it takes to acheive these levels. This, in turn, creates a positive influence on behavior, increasing productivity and efficiency in work and life in general. Those with beards are considered to be %150 more productive than those with no facial hair at all (Kowalski, 2005).

What makes the beard so powerful is not just its levels of awesomeness, but the fact that no matter the type of facial hair one may have, the beard always tries to come through. Yes, sir, I see your mustache. But I also see your 5 o'clock shadow. Looks like your face gets how awesome beards are.

It is said that levels of awesomeness in beards are enough to power entire cities. There is really no way to measure the greatness that lies within this man-hair. Scientists are working around the clock, figuring out ways to harvest this power, while also trying to eliminate faux-beards like the pencil thin chinstrap. It is believed that the chinstrap actually weakens the power of beardawesomeness, dulling not only its power, but its beard-farmer as well. As of right now, the technical term is "major bummer."

On a final note, there is no other facial hair that you can make an entire band and influential album after. So, I will leave you with that while I go listen to Hatebeard - Persebeardance.

Why Dragonball Z is the Greatest Show...Ever.

Ass kicking, space travel, the boom animebabes that make you think the wrong thing (thank you, Barenaked Ladies).

As a kid, I remember jumping off the bus, and running home just to catch Toonami on Cartoon Network. At 4 o clock, it was time to watch Freeza get his ass handed to him in 30 separate episodes. No matter how many times it happened, it was always great to watch Goku scream "Kamehameha" at the top of his lungs over and over and over again. Yes, there were throw away characters. It was great. So, lets discuss the major points as to why this show was better than Golden Girls, South Park, Three's Company, and any other show ever.

First of all, fireballs and energy blasts. There is not a person in the world who wouldn't mind blowing up a car by throwing a ball of compressed heat at it. There is also not a person in the world who wouldn't want to give "Final Flash" to that ex girlfriend who cheated on you.

Next point; all of these people could fly. This is a give in. "Hey, I'm headed home, see you guys!" BAM! And away you are. As far as super powers go, this one is quite incredible. No matter the situation, you would always be able to get out of it, and make cheesy jokes at the same time. "I'm flying, and Mikey Hawkins can't. What a loser."

Villains. There were always awesome villains. People were always killed, brought back to life through wishes, then killed again. Vegeta is the most likable heel in television. Only in Dragonball Z does someone stop rooting for the good guy, and is so stoked when he gets his ass kicked by his arch nemisis. It's like watching Superman, hoping the whole time Lex Luthor crushes his skull.

Speaking of people being brought back to life, the show killed off main characters...more than once! How many times did Goku get blasted into oblivion, only to return when Cell or Buu showed up? And it was always awesome. It's over 9000!? You're damn right it is. Let's see Golden Girls kill off Dorothy, and explain how she's still rooming with the other broads.

Fighting. This show displayed the most ridiculous fight sequences in any show...ever. Faster than the eye could see, punches demolished entire mountains. And it always seemed like the fighters would find the most remote places on earth to cause earthquakes and destroy mountains. No matter the fight, some part of the earth's surface was given a total makeover. And someone died.

There are just some shows you wish you could be a part of. Sure, shooting webbing to keep Doc Oc from killing an old lady would be pretty cool. I wouldn't mind being able to create a solid object with a magic ring to slap around some evil lantern corps with. Hell, I would love to communicate with sea creatures. In the end, though, I want to live my entire life fighting evil, alien villains using special energy powers that permit me to fly and shoot fireballs from my hands.

So, my friends, please reference the top of the page. There is noone in the world who would deny it. And there is no other show in the world that makes someone feel like that.

Lightning Strikes at the Heart of the Earth

But the stubborn surface just laughs.
It would rather catch the bolt and turn it to glass than let it in.
Keep it up, says the Earth. I've got an eternity.
So the storm keeps on, streak after deadly streak.
Finally, a break in the struggle. Fire.
Scorched earth, its credit given to another.
Frustrated, the clouds part, waiting for another chance at the surface.
And all is well. Come on, let's go outside.

Conqueror(s)

After a missed lunch during a rare visit from the infamous Christpher Alan Tharp, memories of adventure can rushing to my immediate attention. So, for this installment of "My Life is Better Than Michael Hawkins" I wanted to bring to light the story that, at the time, was dubbed "3 Ninjas." As an adult, I felt that the title is still appropriate. Now begins a tumultuous tale of "3 Ninjas."

Bored and with an evergrowing manifestation of awesomeness building up in us, we took to the Port Orange YMCA, and followed a dirt path we'd never before seen. This path would be the scene of late bonfires and smores a different night, but obviously this story is greater. Austin, Chris, and myself were too awesome for this day.

So, as the three of us head down this path, one of us sees a beer bottle. At this point, it is no surprise, as this dirt path is seperated from the entirety of civilization. Either way, we see the bottle. We then begin collecting bottles as we stroll down this spiderwebbed forrest path. Before we reached our final walking point, we had obtained 30 glass bottles, with no idea what we were going to do with them.

Suddenly, there is a a small clearing in the trees. Beyond this is a solid, looming wall. Enlightenment. 3 men = 10 bottles a peice. We line up these bottles along the edge of the parking lot, facing this wall. At this point, we had spent the entire summer watching cheesy B-Horror movies, staying up until daylight, and basically making asses of ourselves. This was our shining moment. Without a word, there was an understanding between the three of us. And so it goes.

All at once, bottles begin flying through the air. Green, brown, clear, yellowing, whatever. There was a moment of silence and joy like one experiences when the plane begins falling, or someone is landing a knockout punch. It was in bullettime. It was beautiful. Just as soon as it slowed down, it sped up. Chaos erupted 100 feet away as the bottles began to explode on impact. For what seemed like an hour, glass was shattering and getting louder and louder. Glorious.

"Hey! What are you doing?!" Apparently, we were teenagers throwing bottles at the back alley of the local movie theatre. Once we got the last bottles up and out, we ran back into the path, and out the other side. Since we had disappeared, the voice stopped following us. However, we stumbled upon the largest mountain any of us had ever seen. Surrounded by bulldozers and cranes. Wondrous.

The baby I was at the time, I watched as my friends scaled this mountain. While they climbed and climbed, I couldn't help but wonder about that voice. At that point, the only voice I hear is that of Chris, screaming "Run! Run!!" As they were sliding down the face of this gravel monument, I bolted. They hit the flats running and we were off, back to the path. Apparently, there was a Sheriff and construction manager scaling the other side, sneaking up to ambush us.

So, we dive back into the path blind. 10 feet away, we see the "Hey! What are you doing?!" voice. Hello, Theatre manager. Goodbye, theatre manager. Just as fast as we dove back into the path, we were out and into a random neighborhood. And running. And running. For those of you who know Austin, Chris, and myself, you know we are not runners. And a fat kid running for two hours is not something anyone wants to see.

At this point, we're lost. There are houses, yes. There's a road, yes. Which road? We're still not sure to this day. There was a point where we stopped to breathe at a hopsital entrance, but we have no idea which hospital it was. I vague remember walking a few miles back to the car, passing a police car on the way and trying to keep it cool. I'm pretty sure high fives were exchanged once we reached the car. We drove off, into the sunset, knowing that from that day on, we would grow more awesome exponentially. And we did.

To this day, nobody has ruled La Puerta de Anaranjada like we did that day. And whereever we go, we still rule.

Keep that in mind.

8 Hours of Unfit Dullards.

It's hard to imagine that a company as successful as the one I work for can harbor so much stupidity and lack of common sense. Not just in the company itself, but the people it brings around as well as the people that just hang out in this part of the city. Here's a few examples;

-Imagine being 16 and not appreciating the value of a dollar. Now, take your father's expensive car, drive around a parking lot, and try to park in a spot half the size of your car. At this point, ram the car in the spot next to your goal. Back up, drive around the parking lot some more, and try to park in the same spot. Now, ram the car in the other spot next to the car. Then be mad that you did it.

-Most common phrase in our store; "Do you have coffee?"

-If you are a creepy dude who constantly lurks on underage girls in bikinis, you are allowed to hang out outside the store. It is essential that you explain how you "fucked your girlfriend" all weekend. Please, leave your box of milk duds behind the seats, as well.

-I do not care about your cats.

-Yes, I am tired. Thank you for pointing that out for me. It's good for anyone's self esteem. Do you know where I could get a good cup of coffee? Really? That is a good joke! I'll have to use that, since it's the first time I've ever heard it.

-Sir, that is a fire lane, not a drive thru. Please, if you could move your motorcycle out from under the "do not park your motorcyle here" sign, we would greatly appreciate it.

-Ma'am, it would seem that you are leaking plastic. Oh, you just had plastic surgery? Your huge fake tits didn't point that out. Please, continue feeding off of your doctor husband. Oh, and don't drive your expensive SUV into the light post. Oh, you did that already? Maybe you should give Abbie Normal her mind back.

-Go, Sarah, Go! Your political views interest me! Please, tell me more about how Muslims are terrorists, gun control is bad (everyone should own an automatic), and how the middle east should be nuked into oblivion. I'll not be offended.

-Thank you for my ticket to heaven. I had a feeling that working with developmentally disabled children was not doing any good for my soul. With this fictional character named Jesus Saves and this ticket, I've got an in.

-After watching your kids run around here, I would say that they are not, in fact, terrific.

Now excuse me, I am off to enjoy the rest of my shark week.

Let Me Introduce Myself...

This is simply a chronicle of my crazy stupid life. It won't be well written, and it won't be interesting. More than anything, it will be a look into the life of someone who is constantly running around, doing whatever and never resting.

I'm sure I'll tell stupid stories. I'm sure I'll vent. I'm sure I'll offer advice. The main point here is to provide a window into the life of awesomeness that is not Mikey Hawkins.