Get Crunk to Get Real

“The best ideas come out of you when you’re crunk!”

One of my favorite people right now texted me that once while the world spun around me, a reaction to the alcohol and weed that I had consumed while at a club called Blush. I remember reading it and thinking, “what about when I’m sober?” In fact, the statement above was not a compliment at all. It was an intelligent method of getting me to be truthful to her and to myself I guess. So really, she should have said, “When you are “crunk”, you are more willing to admit things you may not admit when you are sober.” OR “Truth comes when you are unaware of your audiences’ judgment,” which lead me to agree; the less we care about what’s expected of us, the easier it is for us to be true to ourselves. But is it really that easy?

Rewind to my childhood.*rewinding noises*
And as I laid there by the toilet I realized that she would never call me again after what I did to that dog…..
no no. Keep rewinding. That was last month...*more rewinding noises*
Shit…I puked on her shoes upon entering the yellow bus on my first day of school…
Sigh…keep going… *and more rewinding noises*
Ok Stop!

My mother had told me a fable about something I can no longer remember, but the one thing that I took from it is this; Don’t touch yours or anyone else’s belly button or they will get sick and potentially die. And for the record, no, I was not a retarded kid. I was like 4 years old ok! Give me a break. Anyways, I got into a fight with my younger brother days after and I was so mad that I decided to touch his belly button.

“A plague on both your houses! MUUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” I shouted, because at 4 I was big into Shakespeare (not). I ran off after casting my curse, chuckling like an evil wizard, leaving my brother confused as penguins vacationing in Iceland. After staring at a plain white wall for an hour (things regular kids do) I came back to find my mother holding my brother, now sick as a dog; runny nose, pukish, bad breath, even stinky fur and tail between the legs. It took me 3 hours before I approached my mother to confess the crime that I’d committed.

“Oh mother!” I cried, “Forgive me! I have bestowed a curse upon my brother, so youthful and defenseless. In retaliation for stealing my G.I.Joe I have sentenced him to a slow and painful death, not by the tip of my dagger blade nor the knuckles of my iron fist, but by the contact of my finger to his belly button! And now I fear my blood stained hands will forever torment me! Oh the horror!!!”

“Are you retarded?” My mother replied before answering a telephone call, leaving me sitting there at my brother’s deathbed. I contemplated doing myself in; Thomas the Train shirt lifted and index finger, stiff and ready. But I couldn’t. I was a coward. I went into a great 10-minute depression of which my mother now recalls as being the strangest thing she has ever seen, mentioning something about me mooing, but she often exaggerates. She says she thought about putting me up for adoption right then and there but realized no sane person would take me, and you have to be sane to be granted adoption privileges, trust. I’ve been denied myself. Anyways, I woke up the next morning to find my brother healthy as ever so I called the police and told them to destroy the confession tape I made; called crazy Uncle Ralph to tell him I didn’t need to hide out at his crack house anymore; and called little Timmy to tell him I wanted all my toys back. They were good sports about it, except for Timmy, who threw his crutches at me, which in the end was a bad move on his part. Lets just say he couldn’t really chase me to get them back. MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Ok, I take back my previous statement. I was a retarded kid.

You can fast forward to the present now.

Even though that same brother is alive and well to this day I still hesitate every time I go near someone’s belly button (which happens soooooo often). The point is, if we can be affected with something as strange as a fable about belly button how do you think we deal with simple things like “When you grow up you better get a good job and marry a nice girl and start a nice little family.” And “No, don’t be ridiculous. Being the successor for Bram from the Elephant show is a bad career choice.” Thanks mom...Or in this case, “Don’t ever ever ever tell a girl you want to marry her when you only known her for 5 months!”

Oh don’t give me those judgmental eyes! Yeah I did it ok! It’s because I was “crunk”! I don’t even regret it! And I could've been Bram's replacement! With the right encouragement I could've been anything I wanted!
Stop looking at me!
Stop.looking.at.meeeeee!!!! A plague on all your houses!!!