The Heller Scriptures

I just landed at Ronald Reagan Airport in Washington, D.C.  It’s finally here.  For the next two months I will be working as the Finances Intern for Project UNIFY and Special Olympics International.  I’ll get to fly across the country for different conferences, and work at the international headquarters for the organization that has been such a huge force in my life for as long as I can remember.  I’m going to get my own double-apartment (own bathroom, kitchen, and air conditioning!) since I’m the only male intern, with the girls right next door in their quadruple. I’ve yet to see the place, but I can’t wait.  It saddens me that I’ll be missing all of my friends over the summer: the grad parties, the hang outs, the beach, and all that.  But I know this will be an amazing opportunity and experience.  I know it will be so fun and rewarding, and will give me such a head start in future internships and jobs.  At least I’ll be home for the final three weeks of summer from July 28th when I come back home to August 19th, where I go back to UMass to start job training for my Peer Mentor position.  I’m so excited and I’m sure many great stories will come from this, which I will, of course, share with you all.

I just saw someone’s Facebook status “GETTING PIERCED BITCHES.” Now, I suspect what she meant to say, and what she really said are different. “GETTING PIERCED BITCHES” would be to acquire bitches who are already pierced. I believe she meant “GETTING PIERCED, BITCHES,” which would informing the bitches that you are getting a piercing.

I would like to say to all the seniors who are graduating and moving on from high school, good luck. Make the best of wherever you are going next, and live your life to the fullest. Every single person is capable of great things, so go out there and prove it. Many of you are good friends of mine, and though it’s sad for me to see you leave, I know you are ready to make your mark on this world. We youth are not the leaders of tomorrow, but of today. Get ready for your journey into the real world, and know that I’ll always be there for any of you if ever you need a helping hand, an open ear, or simply a friend to help you on your way.

It’s a good thing impoverished kids in Africa don’t have computers, because you can only imagine that the number of whiny “FML” statuses from them would nearly match the number of those from my privileged white middle-class friends! How annoying would it be to hear “Wahh, I haven’t had clean water in days!” Suck it up and act your age, hypothetical African child; try having real problems like Suzie being a back-stabbing two-faced bitch.  Just to clarify for a moment, this is not satire, nor am I joking.  I just really fuckin’ hate Suzie. I mean, who does she think she is? But I also would like to question why Africans would probably abuse “FML” statuses, were they hypothetically given the technology to make them: What do they really have to complain about? You don’t have to pay mortgage if you don’t own a house, your car can’t break down if you don’t have one, and you don’t have to deal with bad-tasting food if there’s none around! They’ve found a way to make their lives completely devoid of real problems. Here I am thinking I need to get an anniversary present for my parents, and these lucky bastards’ parents already died of AIDS so they don’t need to get them anything anymore! Africa, you lot of serendipitous fucks need to quit complaining since you already got it so good.

Sesame Street’s The Count, can you please count how many days of class I have left in my first year at college?

“Sure! Vun! Two! There are two days left of school!”

Thanks! And how ‘bout days ‘til Summer starts?

“Okay! Vun! Two! Three! Four! Five! Six! Seven! Eight! Nine! Ten! There are ten days left of school!”

Perfect! Now fuck off. Summer’s almost here, bitches!

I have come to the conclusion that Stephanie Meyer is not a bad writer, she just hasn’t found her niche yet.  The reason many people think she is a bad writer is because she tries writing books.  I feel that as soon as she realizes that her talents would be put to better use in the capacity of fleshing out plots for fetish pornography—where human, vampire, and werewolf love triangles belong—she will finally be able to produce work that, comparatively, surpasses her signature standard of mediocrity!

                                                    Bored to Death

                I looked around and was overwhelmed by how plain everything was.  In fact, the only thing that was close to extraordinary was the sheer ordinariness that was surely unmatched anywhere else in the world.  I thought I would die of boredom, so I sat down and waited for it all to end, but it never did.  How peculiar I thought, but then it hit me; my eyes were still open.  How dense must I be to think I can actually die, sitting up with my eyes wide open?  I chuckled softly at my own thoughtlessness as I positioned myself on the ground with my arms hanging ceremoniously stiff by my side.  Musing on how clever I was to choose to die of boredom rather than some other, more tedious measure, I shut my eyes.

                A sharp pain shot through my leg.  Consciousness slowly returned as I let out a bitter groan.  I had hoped I wouldn’t be able to feel pain after I died—death was quickly proving to be filled with just as many disappointments as life.

                “Ya got three spurts?”

                Although I could dimly hear the voice, I thought it best not to answer.  I didn’t know what spurts were, but I was almost certain I didn’t have three of them.  Trying to think logically, I reasoned that since I was dead, this churlish voice must belong to an angel.  Aren’t angels’ voices supposed to be more refined?  This particular angel seemed to be charged with collecting the celestial down payment to get into what I’ve heard is arguably the best gated community ever conceived.  Why hadn’t I thought to bring some cash with me before I went ahead and died?  I never think ahead, that’s the problem with me.  That’s what my Grandpappy used to say anyway, before he passed away.  Well, he probably said it after he passed away too, I just couldn’t hear it.  Actually, I was almost sure that if I did dare to open my eyes and face the Angel of Dues, I would see Grandpappy behind him, trying to reach his hands through the pearly gates to give me a good spanking while lecturing me on how I never did anything right.

                “C’mon, I only need three damn spurts!”

                I felt another painful jab.  This time I was able to identify it as a kick.  I may not be that good at reading or math, but I fancy myself to be somewhat of an expert on being kicked.  My eyes jolted open to reveal a fat gnomish creature standing where the winged spirit was supposed to be.  I closed my eyes, rubbed them, and opened them again, but the man was still there.  I quickly scanned him from head to toe, which didn’t take long considering his height, or lack of I should say.  He was bald, with harshly cut facial features and a grizzly beard that spilled out across the ground; well, I assume he was a he, judging by the beard.  I suppose he could be a she, or she an it, or something in between, or something different all together.  The more I thought about it, the more I realized there were actually millions of possibilities, so I really had no business in making such assumptions.  I assume too much, that’s the problem with me.  At the very least, I assume that’s what my problem is.  I continued to stare curiously at the little creature, trying to figure out who, or indeed what it was.

“What are you looking at?”

“N-n-nothing.”

“Damn right, now get up.  You’re no use on the ground… though by the look of ya, you’re probably not much use anywhere.”  The creature extended a stubby arm to help me up, and then realizing the futility of the gesture, quickly withdrew as if to excuse itself from this lack of foresight.  As I lifted myself up, I looked around and realized in disbelief that I was standing exactly where I had been when I died.

“What the hell were you doing lying around in the middle of nowhere?”

If you ask me, this wasn’t the most polite way to greet someone who had just gone through the fairly traumatic process of dying, but no one ever asks me, so I said quite simply “Dying.”  After saying it out loud, it finally clicked.  I’m dead.  I tried to die, and I did it!  Finally, something I can do right.  Grandpappy must be so proud.