Poppin’ candy corn and bustin’ heads

Happy Halloweenie

You all know I’d be popping candy corn if I could get my hands on it and it didn’t cost me $14 for a 6oz bag. Oddly, I don’t exactly like the stuff, but I sure as hell love what it represents: The day where you can dress up and make an ass of yourself and no one cares ‘cuz they’re all busy being idiots too!

Lax. I’ve been very lax. Well, to tell the truth, I’ve been busy. I got me a mentor. Mentors are good. Mentors are honest. Mentors are inspiring.  In fact my mentor has challenged me so much and I’ve been so busy writing, I was oblivious to something. I figured since I didn’t hear anyone complain or say they were hurt, then things were just jim dandy. Now I know that’s not the case. 

There has been an injustice going on for months. Darkness has been afoot.
Toes have been stepped on. 
Spirits have been crushed.
Dreams have been scattered like candy corn dust on the wind.
And none of them were mine.

Let’s be honest. Even if I wasn’t the headless chicken I am now, I wouldn’t have noticed. I don’t pay attention sometimes. I get enveloped in my own little world, in my work, in a 90,000 word chunk of fiction, and sort of forget there’s a whole planet of stuff happening beyond my keyboard. 

So here it is, a few months after the injustice began and I’m just learning about it. So who the hell does that so and so think they are? 

There’s a difference between being blunt and being nasty. I’ll be the first to admit nasty is more interesting than nice; bad can be soooo guuuud (Hello Hannibal and Heathcliffe). But let’s face it, words can hurt. Words can wound some people to the marrow. I’ve been under the tumble of the negative barrage. I’ve been dumped on, told what I had was shit, told  it was all wrong and no one would ever want to read what I’ve written.

Fortunately, I seem to be made of kevlar or rubber. The others, I know, are not.

So what happens now? Well, I live up to my name. I must protect and defend my mates. Screw me, sure I can take it. Screw someone I care about, or someone weaker and suddenly I’m all over your ass with a spear, my teeth, and claws. And I’m ready to do some maulin’.

You know I’d love to name names, but that ain’t oldbitey style. Just know I want to. I really want to. 

Here, on Oldbitey, I’ll take a chapter from My Name Is Earl and remember what Thumper’s mom told him…
Amen.


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