The Daily Hassle

Laughs on the go.

​the writing bug

The need to write is something that's always been in my blood.

Literally.

My vitamin D and thyroid levels were so f*cked up that I couldn’t get out of bed days at a time. This also made me fat. Back then, there was no Netflix or Youtube. So to keep oneself entertained just meant constant masturbation. (Just to add, there was not much internet either, so I had an overactive imagination).

However, you can only do so much and not chaff.

I can just look back and think about the time my mum nearly walked in on me once. My eyes in a catatonic state. The sheets above me furiously pumping away like I am trying to discover oil. My spare hand regulating the AC temperature and feeding myself cheezels. Porn is probably the only time a man can successfully multitask. And get a cheezel-dust covered member.

“I can just look back and think about the time my mum nearly walked in on me once. My eyes in a catatonic state. The sheets above me furiously pumping away like I am trying to discover oil. My spare hand regulating the AC temperature and feeding myself cheezels. Porn is probably the only time a man can successfully multitask. And get a cheezel-dust covered member.”

Anyway, I was in the final stages of high school and I was banned playing trumpet in my own house. The back story is I had two years to pass 7th grade theory and practical music before my final year of high school. As soon as I passed the final test, I wasn’t to play one trumpet note ever again. I actually did this, which come to think of it, was quite a feat. By the end of high school,  my parents had enough of audio trauma. I, on the other hand thought I had great potential as a musician. If I should had left home and became the next Miles Davis, there was only a 2% chance I would become a crackhead. I don’t see the down side, some of the best musicians were crack heads.

Where was I? Oh yeah, writing. In terms of writing, I write for the joy of constructing words. The method of ad-lib and grammar came somewhat easy to me. Sure I’m not everyone’s cup of tea, but I write for myself. I write because that’s my mental yoga. In all honesty I’d rather be a comedian, but the thought of standing in front of a crowd at night making wisecracks is just nerve wrecking and tiring - I’d just rather be in bed at 2am. True comedians aren’t homebodies.

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My first attempt at comedy wasn’t that funny but in terms of response was a huge success. It was less comedy and more comeback, but well…check it.

 I was at a birthday party and I had a clash with of my ‘then’ friends, Aileen. Aileen was a skinny cute Asian chick who I had a crush on for a little while. However, after she dated my good friend Brad, she started forming a high opinion of herself. Her Singaporean accent started turning into an English one which no one could explain. Her behavior also starting becoming something that I could only describe as “controlling”.

Anyway at the party - I think it was Brad’s - we started talking in a group after the loud music died down a little. It was around this time where my overactive imagination took over and I started drifting off in my catatonic state. I wasn’t thinking of porn this time, but rather how to come back with, well, a good comeback. It’s just one of those things I day dream about. I was young and fat. A target. I was going to get called names on a daily basis and since I had no idea how to fight, I needed good comebacks.

So while not paying attention, someone called out my name. It was Adam, the class genius. Adam was the only person I really liked in high school. He was high all the time on acid, but a genuinely great human being and a damn genius. He once memorised the entire periodic table for fun. Adam asked me if I wanted to have some birthday cake. I already had some, but who isn’t down for more cake? I said sure, why not. It was then that Aileen began the dialogue to what I thought was going to be remembered as the best comeback in high school.

“You already had a piece.” Aileen said.

“Nothing wrong with more cake.” I replied.

“You’re gonna get fatter.”

And then I said it.

The line that can be used for any skinny boobless woman giving you hassle.

“Better fat, than flat”.

The room went quiet. I felt the tonearm from the LP player jump off the record - which was unusual because LP players were more or less extinct in the 1990’s. We were in the CD age. There were a few gasps. I was shocked at the thought that I actually said what I was thinking about while thinking about comebacks. This was like a mental paradox.

Adam then said “Ooooooohhhhh”. No doubt a high school reaction when someone insults your mom. But I didn’t insult her mom. I insulted her. No wait. It was self defense. She called me fat and implied I’d get fatter. It was fat shaming self-defense.

Everyone looked at Aileen who looked like she was struggling at the thought that someone just called out her flaw. Size A Boobs. She wasn’t used to being insulted by anyone. She looked at Brad to defend her, but Brad was so impressed that I made an insult that good with such great timing that he had a weird dumb half smile that looked more to me like a thumbs up than a look of anger.

And because Brad smiled, I smiled. For a second I was thinking about apologizing and then it happened. The slow clap. Adam the instigator - started it. Then before I knew it the room full of misshaped high school misfits were cheering the comeback. It was new. It was original. It fit in with the 90’s. To a point, it was my full-stop to the 80’s and started a new era for me. Jon will not be f*cked with. Insult wise, anyway.

*                             *                       *                       *                       *

Time went on. That second piece of cake didn’t make me fat, but the job I got in McDonalds that year did. Not overly fat, because I still played a lot of basketball (3 hours a day for the next 10 years), but if I was a woman, men wouldn’t comment on my bulging tummy unless they knew for sure I wasn’t pregnant.

I still write and love the days when insulting someone with wit is just the cherry on the cake.

I write for the love of writing. It's my legacy. I know there's very little chance of me having kids now that I'm about to turn 44 and don't trust women, so these stories, most of them  true, some embellished, are my babies.

I will attempt to write a novel in the future somewhere between working, trying to teach my mother about technology a.k.a. what the buttons on a mobile phone does, and watching an excess amount of adult videos (for academic purposes). Although, till date I haven't decided on the subject matter. Maybe a book on short stories?

I can focus on comedy, as I have a knack for making people laugh. Or maybe erotica as I believe I have done enough 'research' on this topic. Like I said, for the love of it. Which is why I'll most likely die poor.

I have thought about writing children's books as Hollywood seems to be investing heavily in this genre of fiction.

I figured out the recipe for the plot and it seems to be simple:

I can’t believe the audience keeps falling for the same story though:

Simple poor ordinary kid, discovers he/she is the descendant of/or falls in loves with magical/mythical/beasts/royalty, and then after travelling to another world/suburb/dimension realises that he/she is in the middle of a war between good and evil/warlocks/witches/bullies and nerds which has been going on for decades/hundreds/years and somehow manages to have a love life somewhere in that saga.

Please. There’s no point writing any book if you can’t write the word Bukkake.