My cousin (actually double first cousin, so almost a brother biologically. His mom is my mom’s sister and his dad is my dad’s brother) had a fuuuucked up childhood.

His father was a severe alcoholic and abandoned him. I wasn’t allowed around his dad as a kid. I have two memories of him from when I was a kid. One time he bounced the muscles in his arms and legs and told my brother and I he had live frogs under his skin. In the other memory, he chased my father with a chainsaw and jumped through a window in an attempt to kill him. My father doesn’t associate with most of his family. My father abandoned me too, but I had a mom and a step dad who did their best.

His mother had him until he started school. She dropped him and is 1 year old sister off with my grandparents and disappeared. She popped back in when he was a teenager. I mean, she was around before that, but she tried to be a mom when he was around 15.

He thought his father didn’t even think about him. When I was in the 7th grade and he was in 5th grade, we snuck into the attic of my grandparents’ house to sneak a cigarette. We were snooping and found a box full of unopened letters from his father. Neither of us were even allowed to have pictures of our dads.

His dad had written him a letter at least once a month all of his life despite never getting a reply. That broke something in him. He went from thinking that he had a father who didn’t care at all to the harsh realization that our grandparents hid letters from him. The only people who loved him, in his world, had betrayed him in the worst way.

We sat there bawling our eyes out reading those letters. He found out he had two half siblings, Michael and Rebecca. His father had sent him pictures of every stage of their lives. Turns out that despite his problems, the woman he had his next two kids with had it worse and abandoned him to raise them as a single father.

I’m crying typing this. Lord.

Next day at school, he had a binder with their pictures glued on the front. He wrote underneath the photos. “Michael and Becca, I love them both.” He had never met them, but had read about their first words, their first steps, favorite foods, the ways in which they reminded their father of him. Goddamn.

I didn’t know anyone from my father’s family but him, and we were close all of our lives. We learned to play music together, wrote songs together, we did everything together.

I didn’t understand his interest in the whole juggalo thing when that came up and I thought it was cringe as fuck. I don’t feel that way now. As bad as I had it, he had it worse. When I was a kid I could only focus on my problems. My grandparents had it together. They had a nice house, money, and nice lives. I was dirt poor. I had nothing. I thought he got lucky and I envied him for having a real home to grow up in.

Only as an adult did I see that he had it worse than me. My mom had problems, but she was there. No one lied to me about my father. My father legit didn’t care, and even though he was doing better than my uncle, he didn’t write me any letters. Shit, I contact him today and he might reply three months from now. My cousin was lied to. He was told that his father a worthless drunk who didn’t care and didn’t even try. I’d rather learn that was true than learn they’d hid my father’s love from me.

My grandma died two days ago. I should message my cousin. Goddamn I’m mad at myself that I haven’t yet. Didn’t even cross my mind. Fuck.

But yeah, I can’t relate to the juggalos, but I get it. I get where they’re coming from.

My cousin is a full fledged juggalo. I don’t personally get it. I’m antisocial anyway, but the lifestyle is just bizarre to me. It isn’t for me I guess, but I’m for people being happy and doing what they love no matter what it. I don’t need to get it.

He loves the lifestyle. That man has travelled all across the country couch surfing with complete strangers. It seems to me that almost any juggalo will invite another juggalo into his home like they are a huge extended family.

He’s had some wild life experiences that I could only dream of.

You make me feel uneasy…

:p

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iNRRQI6NtoQ

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Haha. You’re my people. For real.

Me too. God bless the Appalachian mountains.

I’ve probably met more mouth breathing, lead paint eating morons (myself included. As a matter of fact, at one time I was a t-1000 Liquid Metal mercury from 50 thermometers in my hand moron) than most people will ever encounter in 10 lifetimes. I can count on one hand just how many of those people were truly bad people.

If I have a visibly heavy load at work, it can be annoying how many people wander up and say, “hey ‘ere buddy. Yew gawn need inny hep wittat? I’ze just checkin’.”

Open the hood of your car and you can summon an entire neighborhood. For real, need directions in the Appalachians, just stop somewhere with houses, open your hood and spend a few minutes staring at your engine.

I struggled with my back being numb and tingly for 3 years over a pair of shoes wearing like this. Nearly drove me insane and a decade later I still have issues from time to time.

It’s called the Mandeller effect. You’re trying to stir shit up, aren’t you?

Nah, they robbing me bruh.

It surprised me the last time I heard about it, then I forgot and got surprised again. :p

I’m so glad he did.

I knew two openly gay men when I was growing up. Only two. The world was so unkind to them for so long. They were the butt of every joke. I knew their names before I knew them.

The one man had the double whammy of being black and gay in a rural coal mining town. He was a teacher, and he had to deal with parents fighting to have their kids taken out of his class every year, afraid the “spirit” would get in their kids.

About 10 years ago I was at my lowest point. A drug addict without a dime to my name. My car broke down, so I borrowed my mom’s car. It broke down the first day. This man heard me crying to my mom on the phone at her job and asked to speak to me. He said, “You get you a ride down here and I’ll let you use my van. You keep it as long as you need it.”

I drove his giant Ford van around for more than 4 months. It was so badass, had the old CRT and N64 ports in the back. I put a console in there for him and gave him a pile of games. He was always hauling the local poor folks around to the grocery store and appointments and things. Every time I seen him after that he had folks playing Mario Kart in the van haha.

Everyone had comments too. “Ooooh. What did you do to get that van?” I’d always fire back, “let me drive your car and I’ll show you.” Haha

This is the part I try so hard to communicate to bigots when they go on about how gayness is just in fashion these days.

I’ll pass them this article. That straight world they remember so fondly existed because they pushed men like this into the closet with their bigotry.

They’ll probably say something like, “Well they flaunt it and shove it in my face now.”

I wish the world would just be cool.

That is brilliant.

And of course folks argue that we’d have more toilets if people could charge again.

I run a place with a public restroom. There are times when I get so angry that I’d like to charge 20 bucks a shit just to make it worth my while cleaning that mess up.

Ultimately though, folks can’t help that they gotta shit. Most people don’t want to use a public restroom, so if they’re running a in there they are desperate and the conditions are set up for a disaster.

It is what it is. I have gloves, bleach, disinfectant, and a strong stomach.

I’m still gonna curse you under my breath for half a day. :p

My older kids went through a phase where they were just randomly saying “butt” for like a year. By the end of it I couldn’t stand my own ass.

“Hey dad, dad, DAD!”

“What is it kiddo?”

“Butts! Ahahahahaha. Just picture it, crack down the middle, poopin’, just hanging out being a butt.”

When I realized I hadn’t heard the word “butt” for a few months, my sigh of relief could have changed the orbit of the planet.

Nuh uh. I swored on the bi-bull three times. That ain’t in there. I never heard my preacher say that and all he ever talked about was the bi-bull.

Jesus, I am propelled everywhere I go by farts. Makes the kids laugh so I guess I’ll be alright.

No, no, no! You got it all wrong. It’s the kiiiiiiiids.

Well, ehhhh, that’s true for some I suppose.