90 Days

To kids, it's a summer vacation. To a new employee, it's when your benefits kick in. To a criminal, it's usually the lowest sentence. To many, it's just 3 months.

To me, it's a milestone towards success.

For years I fought tooth and nail for this success. I would nail a week down here or there. Sometimes longer, a lot of times shorter. But, always wanted it.

In rehab, I would attend my early morning meetings, and always here them ask "Any people that this is their first meeting? Anyone with 1 month? 2 months? 3 months? 6 months? 1 year?...." and, I always admired the people at 3 months. It was a corner they had turned a corner. The first couple of months seemed like something anyone could do. If it was for a job, or a spouse, or if you were doing it for someone else. But, the people at 3 months seemed to be the ones that wanted for themselves.

90 days isn't long to most people. It's 3 months rent. It's 1/3rd of a pregnancy. It's just not a large number to many. To me, it's a world of opportunity, wrapped in an achievement, and smothered in smiles. It's a desire to be a better human. It's a drive that fuels my forward momentum. It means that I can do this.

We all desire success in some facet. Whether it be in love, money, career, or whatever your heart desires. But, that's just it isn't it? What your heart desires. YOUR heart. Not those around you. Not the many droves of people that give opinions, judgments or blank stares. It's what feels right to you.

A bumpy road is what kept me scared. Kept me weak. I have always been a strong person. Charismatic, calm, open minded, passionate, articulate with my thoughts and feelings. Yet, the chaos that surrounded  me, made me want to hide. Those bumps in my road were a variation of deep potholes, or large rocks. So, I tried to hide from them. I lacked the tools to remove the chaos from within, so that I could approach the chaos from without head on.

But, some how, some way, I made it to this 90th Day. I won't win an award. I will be given a chip to remind me of my journey, but the only recognition I truly need, is that of my own. I am proud of myself. I am driven in the right direction and the wind is once again in my sails. No, things aren't easy, but the lulls in the storm come more frequently now. I surround myself with loving people that support me. They know I have demons, but they see my struggles, and they give me the care and attention I need. I take care of myself more. I look inward for help, before I search for it in the world. And, more often than not, I find the answers that dwell inside this coconut of mine to be solid.

This is just the beginning, but it's one helluva start for a man that sat in those early morning meetings, and wondered if I had it inside me to make it that far. To be that strong. To be the man I knew I wanted to be, but questioned his resolve. It turns out, I am all of that and more. It's motivation to move forward. It's encouragement to be even more than I originally thought I could be.

90 days...

Feels pretty fucking good everyone.

- Johnny

A Fistful of Future

Welcome Knuckleheads, to the always endearing, and sometimes insightful, view into the life of Knuckles. Today we take a journey into the mind, body, and soul that makes up the man behind the words. With all the vulgarity, abrasiveness, and crass behavior, it's hard to imagine that a man such as I is weak and vulnerable, but in the proceeding words, you will witness just that. The soft underbelly of the beast is about to be exposed.

I try and not pass judgment on friends and family, or just generally speaking, the ones I love. I accept them for their flaws, their ideals, their way of life, without so much as blinking at their demons...so long as they love me back in the same manner. I have an eclectic group of friends. From the potheads, to coke heads, to the booze hounds, and even the teetotalers. I love them all equally, as long as that love is returned. But, rarely did I ever look in the mirror to see if I was loving myself. Yes, I am cocky and confident, but it was a long hard look in the mirror that led me to realize that the love I possessed was only moving outward, and I had long forgotten how to love inward.

It's always good to start at the beginning, so let us begin there. In college, I was a machine. I was kickboxing, studying all my martial arts, had 2% body fat, and was eating upwards of 6 to 7,000 calories a day, and burning it off as soon as it hit my stomach. I didn't drink, smoke, or do any drugs. This was the first couple of years. Josh (my suite mate) would always tell me to "Let loose every now and then. Live life. You're always so uptight about your workouts and kickboxing.". I never listened in the beginning. Finally I broke down once at the Juke Joint, and had a Tom Collins (his drink of choice), and so began my social life. Ultimately, I believe it was me trying to make Josh happy. He was my best friend, and we were so alike, but when it came to our social lives, we were quite different. So, I feel it was me trying to please him, and be on common ground in all aspects of our lives. In the beginning I was doing double duty, and because I was in such good shape, I could still party at night, and still get up early and get my workouts in. 

Then, at some point, Josh and I had an argument before summer vacation. To this day, I can't remember what it was even about. But, he went home for the summer, and I stayed behind to attend summer school. Then, on June 27th, 1998, my phone rang. On the other end was Meredith, a mutual friend of Josh and I. She asked if I had read the paper, or anyone else had called me. My stomach dropped from my body, and I said "No. Why?". "Josh died in a car accident yesterday.". And, all I could do was say "Thank you." and hang up. 

I was distraught to say the least. Coupled with the guilt of not reaching out to say I was sorry for whatever we had argued about. No. I couldn't do that. I couldn't even tell him how much he meant to me, and how much I loved him. And, that's when I pounded a bottle of scotch to numb myself. Every sip in his honor. 

Fast forward to L.A. Where the drinks flow freely, and the lifestyle is Party All The Time (if you don't have your head screwed on right at least). Alcohol was available everywhere. And, I found it everywhere. By this point I had become a steady social butterfly. The curse of choosing the career of Actor had it's ups and downs. Without going into detail there, I will just say, it was Phase 2.

The following years were a rollercoaster. But, I found myself taking a drink when each hard time or trial came my way. It's how I dealt with all the rejection, and chaos. The pain of life was dealt more lightly when my brain was slightly numbed. Then after a heartbreaking breakup (albeit it amicable, and justified), I began swimming to the bottom of the bottle. 

So began the spiral. 

I never dealt with Josh's death the way I should have. I never dealt with my breakup the way I should have. I never dealt with stress....you guessed it...

So, I hid. 

The years to come were riddled with masks and mist. False confidence, and emotional turmoil. I no longer had the ability to cope with issues of life the way I should. I still fought for my dreams, and for love, but it took a backseat at times to my need to have a drink.

I had convinced myself that I was a classy drinker. Only scotch or martinis. But, it was still in abundance. 

Then I met a girl that didn't drink, and I began attempting to stop. When I would try, my body would literally shut down. Which, in turn brought on frustration and anger at myself, which in turn caused me to want to drown that feeling of inadequacy, and self hate, in the form of fire water.

I tried everything. Only drinking wine or beer. Nope. Only drinking when I was not at home. Nope. I tried stopping cold turkey so many times I lost count. But, nothing ever worked. Then, last year it started directly affecting my health. I would look in the mirror and see a shadow of my former self, and it disgusted me. What had happened to the powerful, determined, passionate, driven man that I had once been? I still knew how to "be" him...but, I no longer "was" him. 

Admitting there is something wrong, when you have been such a force to be reckoned with for so long, is disheartening to say the least. I believe the final straw was losing the love of my life, and my ideal apartment. I headed to California, where after a bit of a soul rattling, a great friend sat down with me and we discussed my future, my wants and needs, and what I wanted from life.

What happened next was the greatest thing that's ever happened to me. 

Rehab.

Not just ANY rehab. There were no perks, or bells and whistles at this facility. No. This was a Detox and Residential Treatment facility. 

I walked in, and almost like a prison they take away your phone, your shoestrings (along with anything else that has a string...including sweatshirts, and shorts), and process you. I looked around and saw plenty of broken souls. And, although 2 years before I would have said "I don't belong here!", I knew I was where I needed to be. 

Here I was entered into Detox. I was monitored every two hours (24 hours a day...so, I never got much sleep), and was given a strict regimen of pills. We were awake at 5:30am and were in meetings, therapy, discussion, and doctors until 8pm. I had my first seizure on the second day. My body was clearing out the poisons from my body, but the demon had it's claws in me so deeply, it didn't want to let go, and was willing to take me with it, if it had to die. So, I was now on heart medication, and had to wear a seizure risk bracelet. I was now wearing three bracelets. My intake bracelet, my Fall Risk bracelet, and my Seizure Risk bracelet. It was humbling to say the least.

My roommate was an amazing kid. Mario Vega. Kind, and understanding. He talked me through the process (he had been twice before), and kept me from panicking. The more I was there, the more I found out. It turns out that my triggers were based on anxiety, stress, and more so, clinical depression. 

I had never dealt with things the way I should have.

Leap to a couple of  minor heart attacks (luckily, not coupled with seizures), and my health started perking back up. I was becoming more insightful, and clear minded by the end of Detox. Yet, could tell no one of my success, due to the fact we had no phone access, nor internet, and no one knew where I was. 

Then, I was transferred to RTC. (Residential Treatment) A large house, with our own bedroom (albeit a hospital bed), and onsight nurses and counselors. We were due up at 6am to begin our chores. Then at 7am was our first A.A. meeting, followed by discussion and various other Intensive Treatment to help us get a handle on what needed to be done to correct what was broken in our lives. The meetings were intense. Usually with lots of tears, remorse, and humbling stories. We varied from the modest housewife that drank to escape the turmoil of a violent husband, to the meth addict that began to lose weight. All the while, looking deep inside ourselves to find where we had went wrong.

I likened my rebuilding to a pyramid: You can't build a pyramid without first building the foundation. Your first layer can't be built on matchsticks. No. It has to be the most solid layer, or else everything else comes crumbling down later. So, I began. Although we were supposed to be up at 6am, I was up at 5:30am, just to get my chores done early, and have a chance to read my Big Book. I attended every meeting. I never shirked duties, and I always picked up the slack of those that did. Usually the ones that weren't there of their own free will, and were forced there by a spouse, or a job. I went above and beyond in all facets, because I wanted it to stick. I took my pills, and followed all the guidelines. I felt my confidence coming back, and my mind becoming clear. Others started coming to me for assistance, or opinions on life. 

My swagger was slowly returning.

I had never felt so good since my early 20's. I was healthy, happy, and more level headed than I had been in years. Yet, still, no one knew where I was...so, I wasn't able to share my success.

Finally, I graduated...with honors nonetheless. I coined out and was given a diploma. Where, I then proceeded to reevaluate my life, and make adjustments. Made some inventory of my life's priorities, and stepped out the front doors into my Phoenix Rising life. (ironically, there was a liquor store across from the exit of the rehab facility)

So, here I sit, a reinvented man. Today is day 49 of being a teetotaler. I don't miss alcohol in the least. I don't miss the time, money, or love I have lost due to it. I have accounted for my wrong doings, and I have made adjustments to what is important to me. I fight for that peace of mind I mentioned, and I will continue down the right path. Career, love, self confidence, and drive are all the things I need to remain happy. 

Which, brings me to the revelation that the perception of me, isn't whom I always was. I have weakness the same as all others. I am breakable, and I am vulnerable. But, with a long look in the mirror, and good friends and loving people surrounding me/you...all things are possible. I am on the right path. The next chapter is going to be filled full of memorable moments. Whether they be struggles to keep negative things and people out of my life to prevent the stress, anxiety, and depression that could cause a relapse, or the struggles to dig myself out of the mindset I had dug for myself. 

Ultimately, this is how I feel now:

Life is, the sunlight that shines through your window in the morning. Be thankful there is a pane of glass separating you from the elements. Be thankful for the vision you have to be able to see the light as it dances from the window to every corner of the room you occupy. Be thankful for the feeling of warmth, and the soft kiss it gives your skin. Be thankful for for the walls that protect you. Be thankful for waking up.

I am thankful for so much in life now. Most of all, I am thankful for the love of friends and family. I am thankful for people that don't pass judgment and embrace me for choosing to better myself. I am thankful for my health, happiness, and my ability to have a future.

So, in finishing, I am starting anew. I now have to take medication to prevent heart, blood pressure, depression, and anxiety issues. I now read my Big Book when I feel weak. I now have made adjustments to my life to keep me on the right track. And, with the love and support of those around me, I will conquer all obstacles that appear, and embody me. 

I will bruise the world's ego with Knuckles. It will not keep me down.

Thank you all for your love and support. It was disheartening writing this...but, admitting one's flaws is not an unreasonable way to begin with my right foot forward, and giving myself a clear path to where I want to be. It's difficult to be as brutally honest as such, and exposing myself to the world, but to grow, I felt I needed to. Because, growing, is what I plan on doing. And, never hindering myself from doing so again.

Which, means this is the end, and beginning...

With all my love,

Knuckles

Shove Your Arrow In My Blood Pumper

Happy Valentine's Day Eve Knuckleheads!! (if any of you say V-Day, you deserve to have a cheese grater dipped in Rooster Sauce shoved up your tightest orifice)
Today Knuckles takes a look into your heart. Not with a knife and rib spreader as you may imagine I would, but metaphorically. You know, that place where you keep your feelings and shit. Your love trunk.
I would normally rant and rage on how love can hurt, and just rail on that, but today we're going to touch you in a soft spot. [*No, Gutter, not there...now pull up your pants] I am going to give you some insight into how love can heal, love can embody, and love can give your life a whole new meaning.

Okay, I may touch lightly on the dark side, but not much...it is a happy subject after all.

Let us begin.

*cracks knuckles...gently lays fingers on keys*

At the age of 38, I thought I would be a successful actor. Living in a house in Malibu, California. Have two dogs. A 1969 Dodge Charger as my means of transportation, and more smiles than I have ever imagined. I just never had a solid idea of whom it would be with. I remember after high school, I would dream about this girl that I would walk on the beach telling stories of my life, and she made me feel so content. I never looked over, and never knew what she looked like, but I knew I had to have her when I woke up. When I was with her, I was calm, and peaceful. I could conquer the world in her name, and she would never worship me, but stand beside me as we stood atop the world we had slain.
What I realized about halfway through college is, I wasn't searching for a girl with no face. (how fucking weird would that be?) I was searching for love. I craved it. I needed it. I desired it. I ached for it. "Why?" you may ask? Because, when you're a beast, you need someone to tame you. That's why. I started boxing at 15. I was in martial arts by 18. Fought Muay Thai after high school, and into college. I have always been a fighter, but I never had an Adrian to my Rocky. Those years are long gone, and the beast still rages within me.
But, one thing remains certain, I love the feeling of love. I found my first adult love in college. She was the best. She was smart, conversational, full of life, and just as new to Love as I was. We grew into adults together. Which, now I understand that was also part of the demise of the relationship. We hadn't fully flourished into the adults we were to ultimately become, and grew apart eventually, but WOW! what a ride it was getting there. You see, love is one of those things, that if it truly exists/existed in the relationship, and you look back on it after it's gone, you aren't angry, but you relish in the memories, and realize that the Love was what was important. I'm sure that there were bills to be paid, or that arguments had flared, but I don't remember those. I remember laughing, making snow angels in college, road trips to Chicago, trips around the world, and feeling complete when she was in the room.
That's the thing about love right? When they are away, you feel that something is missing. You feel incomplete. That's why you badger them with texts asking when they will be home, or you plan something sweet for them when you see them. Because, you (on a subconscious level or not) want them to be right beside you. They don't even need to talk. Their presence is what is important.
Backtracking a bit...back in college, I was so desperate to find love, and to keep it in my life, that I began reading women's magazines, self help articles, and taking classes that were Female Majority, just so I could pick the brain of friends and peers. I began dressing (to what i thought, later to be refitted by my ex) better. I began to read recipe books, rather than fictional literature or comics. I became a meticulous cleaner. (a trait i was not taught growing up) But, ultimately, I wanted to be the best catch a woman ever had, when she finally met me, and I met her.
*In the end, I felt like I had become quite the Gentleman. I had classic taste in music. I cooked, I cleaned, I put her needs and desires first. I (as you may have guessed) was an excellent writer, so I wrote poetry, and short stories to include our future, and dreams. I am a giver by nature, and put other's needs above my own at all times.
[*There is no such thing as the perfect person. I was delusional, and needed someone to tell me so]
With that disclaimer, comes the negative bit.
You see, we can't all be perfect. We are all broken, or bent in some way. We have baggage, demons, monkeys on our back, and dark clouds. But, this is not a recipe for disaster. This is character. This is a challenge. This is your hurdle you have to overcome. The thing is; To find someone that will accept you for these things, and either A) Help you overcome them. or B) Accept it's part of a beautiful package.

Since leaving Los Angeles, I have dated little to none, but ultimately was set up with a beautiful and wonderful lady. She's geeky like me. She loves techy shit like me. She is a dog lover, a dreamer, a fireball, and best of all...genuine. In L.A. all I ever heard was "What have you been in?" and "What's your next project?". She never fell for that shit. She liked that her dog loved me, when she loved no one else. She liked that I could talk to her grandparents for HOURS without missing a beat. She liked that I cooked for her, when she felt lazy. She liked that I supported her dreams, when others thought they were nonsense. She liked the effort, the energy, and the commitment that I gave to her smile.
She was never anyone's priority, and I think it matters to make them know that they are. Yes, as all people that date/married/fuck we argue. But, it's nothing that can't be worked through with a little patience, and a whole lot of weed. *kidding?
But, to summarize:
Love isn't wrapped in a neat little package. It isn't how many times  you have cooked for someone. It isn't how much money you spend on someone. It isn't what bills you pay, or where you take them for Valentine's Day. Love is rare. Let me tell you. I'm an actor, Muay Thai fighter, Chef, Cleaning Lady, Dog Walker, Laundry Attendant, and full time Escort. But, that does not entitle me to love. That is a perk. Love is understanding, and compassion. Love is listening, and not talking. Love is a hug when she wants to push the world away. Love is understanding that the love isn't always there, but it can be worked through. Love is giving them space when they truly need it.

There are many things that Love is. There are far more things that love ISN'T!! (sex isn't love you idiots...men, stop saying "I love you." to get laid. Women, stop thinking because he said "I love you." that it's okay to give up that love tunnel) Each time I have been in love, I fight for it. I treat it like a beautiful flower, and I feed and water it, care for it gently, and make sure it has plenty of light. I give it the attention I know it deserves, because if I don't, it may die, and I may never find another flower as pretty as that one.

So, fuckers, did you learn something? No? Well, neither did I. I still fuck up relationships left and right apparently.

But, I do know a few things:

1. Love is worth it. - Whether it be a week or 80 years...find love, and hang on to that shit. It's like a drug.

2. Love is complex. - You won't always get what you want, but when you do, it's THE BOMB!!! *do people still say "THE BOMB!!"?

3. Love is messy. - Along with love, comes broken hearts. Analyze yourself as much as you do the other person. You may be the fucked up part of the equation. But, it's not always pretty, so train yourself to see only the beautiful things in love.

4. Love is rare. - This is for all those people that find Love, but don't give it the respect that it deserves. The cheaters, the lazy cunts, the non-givers...Love is fucking rare. Yes, you will find something that is a FAX'ed version of love again, but you will never find the genuine article more than a couple of times in your life. The FAX'ed version will have a man/woman that says they love you, but still texts old booty calls (do people still say......nevermind), or still keep an open window. If you find it, you stop fucking around, and you work on it. You keep that shit close to your heart, and protect it with all your might, because you're not a fucking vampire, and you don't have hundreds of years to live. You get a couple of shots at this, and if you fuck it up, you're going to be spending a lot of time on Facebook on Valentine's Day, as a Gold Medal Winner at the Masturbation Olympics, and run the chance of telling your niece to delete your porn stash on your computer on your death bed, because you couldn't find a way to commit to a relationship.

5. Love is fucking hard!!! - It's an ever-evolving beast. One month may be all happy-go-lucky, the next is stressed and full of chaos. ADAPT!!! Don't be that person that takes your anger of LIFE out on LOVE! This person is your companion, not your enemy. They chose YOU to go into battle, so treat it as such. Direct your anger to the proper direction. If you can't....join a gym....it helps.


So, there's Knuckles rules for keeping love in your life. I have more, but at this point, I'd have to write a fucking book.

Bottom line...Find love, Nurture Love, Keep Love.

Life is short,
Love hard,

Your Bloody Valentine,
Knuckles

Passion Froot Loops

How goes it Knuckleheads? Today's nugget of wisdom comes to you by the letter P. For once, it's not Punk, Pussy, or Pumpernickel. No, today it's all about Passion.

"Passion for what?" you ask?

Passion for EVERYTHING!! You see, I have been walking through this world for quite some time now. I see the actions, ideas, and functions of people, and it intrigues me. My biggest issue with the direction of how humanity is going is passion.

I believe people have lost their passion for most things. As a society, as a race (human, for you fucking idiots that thing ethnicity is a race), and as a culture...we have lost passion for all things beautiful. For example; I love to cook. I love to cook to the point that I will be working, and see a spice, and plan a meal around it, just to taste a hint of the spice I see. I know someone I care about is sick, it makes me crave cooking a chicken noodle soup that only I can create, just for them. That, my friends, is passion.

Long gone are the days where you hear of a band, group, or musical artist living out of a van just to make it from venue to venue to play his or her music for a small group of people that appreciate the words they convey, or the chords that they pluck. Long gone are the days where an painter doesn't try to make a million dollars off of one painting. (sidenote: Long gone are the days of the painter, sculptor, or what have you, because things are so mass produced, there is no market for them)

People "Like" things now. "Love" things. "Oh, I'm an actor, and I love it.". But, would you be willing to do it if you lived out of your car, and had to travel the world for peanuts? People love the prestige. The idea. People romanticize about the fame, glory, and name that comes with being an athlete, or an actor. But, no one eats, breathes, and bleeds what they love any longer.

Passion. A name synonymous with sex. A name that literally means: intense emotion: intense or overpowering emotion such as love, joy, hatred, or anger.

Yet, we cannot encompass it any longer. I have never dated a woman, that the word Passion did not enter my head. I have never chased a dream, that I didn't have a passion for. I will die in the street, before I find something I just "like" to do, and pretend it's a passion. In the bedroom, in the street, in our lives, we need more passion. If it's a particular care. Be passionate about it. Don't just like it. Learn why it's awesome. Learn the horsepower. Learn the manufacturer specs. Learn as much as you can, and then learn more. If you're passionate about an artist, find out as much as you can. If you're in love, figure out new ways to impress your loved one to the point they have no idea why you love them so much. Be passionate. Be more than "like".

I'm tired of a society of Like. I'm sick of a society of talentless, generic, simple process people. I'm over the idea of mass production of artistic talent. (i.e. posters of Van Gough, Michaelangelo, or so on...) I love strong. I create strong. I live strong. (not like those pussy ass yellow arm bands, but as a literal fact) I will never make love to a woman I do not feel passionate about. I will never accept a movie role that I do not feel passionate about the script. I will never listen to music that doesn't touch my soul on some kind of passionate level.

Even something as simple as you guys, makes my heart flutter, blood boil, and mind expand. That isn't generic. That is a passion of writing, with a bi-product of readers.

Few things in life remind us of life. But, creating, loving, and embodying, are a few things that make you appreciate being human. Appreciate the value of things we can accomplish in our lifetime. To witness things you aren't capable of, makes me see passion in other people. Whether it's artistic or not.

The world needs less money, and more passion. Less hate, and more love. Less propaganda and more truth. But, we as humans need to get back to what we know best...passion.

Fuck harder. Love stronger. Writer deeper. Draw cleaner. Act happier.

Be passionate.

- With sincerity,
Knuckles

The Power of the Positive Mindfuck

Hello my Fistful of Readers. And, welcome to yet another rant by yours truly. Today I will be talking about a couple of different things, that tie together like a pearl necklace. No, not THAT pearl necklace! The type that Marge Simpson wears. A big nugget of wisdom, strung together to another nugget of wisdom. Let's just dive right in, shall we?

For years growing up I found myself looking forward to the Holidays. As soon as that nip hit the air, it was obvious that the holiday landslide was about to come barreling through. First, it would be Halloween. That time of year where you can hide behind a mask, and pretend to be someone else for a day or two. Then (my favorite) was Thanksgiving. A day devoted to eating and spending time with people that supposedly loved you unconditionally. Then, came Christmas. Now, mentally, I've never been on board with any religious belief or connotation. But, Christmas was fucking magical. Not Harry Potter or Elton John type magical. But, it had the power to turn the grumpiest of fucks into people that would hurry to open a door for someone carrying a large package, or help someone up that had busted their ass on a sheet of black ice. It was the time of year that you knew Rudolph would be on TV, and jingly bells and sparkling lights would be on every lamp post and every window. Generally, I loved that whole 3 month stretch. The warmth of the house, the feeling of impending meals with family, and the love that seemed to infect the air everywhere you went.

Then....

Something fucking happened along the way to the New Year. These three months that I speak of have done something quite different to everyone. People no longer think about the meals, the family, the TV shows...they want to slit their own wrists because they can't afford to buy gifts for everyone in their family. They rush through Thanksgiving dinner so they can get the tent out and head to Best Buy because they have a chance at getting a 60" tv for $1.00. People humbug, more than they hug. (which pisses me off, because i'm a hugger) 

Look, I get that the financial crunch puts people in stressful situations, and moods, but it's not about money people. It's deeper than that. 

I'm an Atheist, and even though I didn't know there was a word for what I was until I got older, as far as I know, I've always been one. I put on the tap shoes and did the old song and dance every now and then so that people wouldn't shun me, or so I could have friends, but in my heart of hearts, I knew what my feelings were. Yet, I still supported and encouraged the "Feeling of Christmas". Because, at it's root, it's benefiting and not harming. But, it's no longer benefiting. People are more hung up on what they can "give or get" than the human experience that once existed. If you took away the value of what's in the box, and replaced said gift with...let's say...a rock, in everyone's hand, what would people think? What would their reaction be? Mine would be "Awww, thank you! Now I have something to throw at the heads of all the materialistic fuckwits that have lost the true meaning of the Holidays.", and then give them a hug. But, we know that wouldn't be the reaction of the majority of society. No. People are more depressed, angry, bitter, annoyed, anxious, and every other Eeyore emotion that I can think of at this time of year. People get annoyed at hearing Christmas Carols. They scoff at how many Christmas cartoons are on television. They seem to roll and revel in the darkness that embodies the holidays, and the momentum just seems to be growing.

Which, brings me to my next bit of fuckery: Cheer the fuck UP people!! 

Okay, I know that the way I rant, grind, bitch, and complain that you think that I'm bitter and angry at the world. Which, you couldn't possibly be more wrong. I actually piss people off with my positive spin on the majority of situations. "I'm starving! I have no food!" "Well, at least you'll lose a few pounds. And, look at it this way, when you DO get some food, it will taste better than you could have ever imagined." "Fuck you Johnny." "Come here and give me a hug." "No. Fuck you." 

Sorry...went a little far on that one...

But, it just annoys me at the negativity in everyone. Here, look at it this way; I don't care whether you're Christian, Atheist, Muslim, or Buddhist, you can admit to one thing...from the moment you're born, your physical body is a ticking time bomb that is going to explode out of existence one day. Gone. Kablooey. Yet, people fill their days with such negative words, and thoughts that they just piss away perfectly good seconds, of perfectly good minutes, of perfectly good....well, you get my drift. 

Your clock is ticking you stupid fuck. You could get a stiddy tomorrow and die in a year. You could step off the curb while texting the person you love and get eaten by a dragon....or....is it hit by a bus....some fucking thing. Needless to say, you are dying with each minute that passes. So, when you use words like: can't, won't, shouldn't, never, and even hashtags like #fml (fuck my life for those non-nerds) or other negative shit, you are implanting negative thoughts, energy and feelings into yourself that grown, and expand, and eat away at your psyche. 

I catch a lot of shit for my borderline narcissism. It annoys people when you say you're smart, or handsome, or the life of the party. They want you to be modest, and humble, and (in my mind) weak. But, why? I know my time bomb is ticking, and it will pop when it damn well wants to, and I want to feel like I lived like a motherfucking rockstar when I go out. I want to feel like I was as good looking as I could be. Successful as I could have possibly been, and that this world was MINE!!! If I'm good at something, I want to feel like I'm the best at it. Not, "I'm okay at it I guess.". Fuck that! That's loser talk. Is that how you want to sound on your deathbed? "I was okay at a few things. Generally kind of average." That's not modesty, that's a sad sack of shit is what that is. Own your life. People want you to be modest and humble, because they have insecurities and they don't want anyone feeling (or being) better at things than they are. Be confident. Be assertive. Be charismatic. Be proud. 

Now, don't take that and say "I'm ONLY going to think of myself.", because that's not what I'm saying. Give, love, donate, embrace...but, never feel inferior. Negative words, negative thoughts, and negative reactions only create more of said things. Feelings and thoughts are like a virus, and they spread quickly and without fear. If you have a Happy High, chances are you're going to ride that high and things will shine brighter, feel warmer and be more uplifting. But, if you bottom out on your feelings and thoughts, they snowball, and that's an even harder pattern to break.

Short of being just blatant and telling you that you're a fucking moron for not being happy (no matter what your situation is, because believe me, i've been on rock bottom, and there's always some glimmer of light to concentrate your soul on following), I'm going to tell you to try and change your mindset. It's hard, believe me. I didn't get to this mentality in one day. It takes practice. It takes stepping out of situations mentally and evaluating them as quickly as you can, trying to find a positive spin, and then stepping back in, on a routine basis before you start to see it more often, and respond more quickly when you feel negativity encroaching on your situation and thoughts.

So, with all of that said, I'll leave you with this; Let's as a whole, put the "Happy" back in Happy Holidays. Let's put our fingers on the pulse of those we love around us, and if it feels dark and bitter, try and help them find that flicker of light in the darkness. But, ultimately, as the Human Race, let's remember that love, brotherhood, and family is what makes this world tolerable. If you strip away the clothes, tv's, ipods, and money, we're left with a fleshy shell that embodies feelings, emotions, thoughts, and heart. Concentrate on that, and fix what's broke, and highlight what's well, and ultimately...just maybe...we can figure out how to love one another a little easier.

That's enough for now, remember...think positive, be happy...and most of all...know that I'm better than you.

Sincerely your Secret Santa,

Tony Stark.....I mean....Knuckles

Fucking Ugly Hot Broads....

Here is the flaw in Beautiful Women: If you tell them that they are beautiful, they don't believe you. If you use the word "Gorgeous", then you want to fuck them (and let's face it, sometimes it's true...because, honestly, who doesn't want to fuck a gorgeous human?). And, anytime you use the word "Stunning!", they wonder why you're using such a big word to describe them.

Look women, take note: You are ALL beautiful to someone. Every-Single-Fucking-One-Of-YOU!!! So, when someone, one day, starts up an awkward conversation with you...and says you caught his eye, don't fire back with "Why?". It took that man WEEKS of courage to build up the gumption to say that! He 1) Assumed you were already taken, because he thinks you're so amazing. 2) So hot, that he perfected the best way to say what he wanted to say without sounding like a sleazeball, or a pervert...and 3) He is paying you a compliment. Whether he wants to bone you or not...it's a compliment. Take it initially! Then, feel the guy out. Nooooo....idiot...not feel his trouser snake....the personality, the intention...the reason he's so into you. Believe it or not, most of the time we have good intentions. It's your response that determines where it goes from there. Say, for instance, I approach a woman in a mall that I find MADLY attractive, and say "Hello. There's really not many ways to do this properly, but I find you quite attractive, and I was wondering if you would want to have a drink with me sometime?", and you reply back with "Why would I want to have a drink with some random guy that approached me in the mall?"...*BANG!* here you go....you flipped your Bitch Switch for no reason. He was being kind, and appropriate, and articulate, and you got all Sheniqua on his ass. Well, here's where it goes from here: If he has the charisma to actually talk to women, he will finally convince you to have the drink, continue to woo you, and then pay you back for being a bitch to him, by dropping your ass like Snooki's ass in a techno club. Option 2 is, if you're not feeling the chemistry, but you're a nice human, you say "Thank you. That is so kind, but I'm currently not dating, and prefer to just stay with my girlfriends for awhile."....and then, you have the final...and wonderful...outcome: "That is so sweet. And, I know, it's not easy to approach someone in public, but...yes, you look sincere...let me get your number and we'll see if we can't meet up at a party or something with me and my friends?"

There you have it. We men, look for mates for life also. We have NO idea how to approach you without offending you, causing chaos, or just generally pissing you off. We DO know that if we speak properly, stand up straight (like mama said), and are honest, then we SHOULD receive the same respect.

Here's the sitch...the reason you are attracted to us, and we're attracted to you is for mating purposes. That's just science. So, yes, ultimately, your phrase "You just wanna fuck me!" is invalid, because it is true, in a primal sense. I want to be with you, marry you, reproduce with you (or at least practice doing so), and die with you. But, the attitude that goes along with it...whether questioning, judgmental, disrespectful, or what-have-you...that, well, determines how much turmoil you endure in your future.

Even yours truly has had his heart broke a few times. Yup! I've been the DUMPEE, as often as I've been the DUMPER!! (when i pull a curb job, it's usually for valid reasons that are not aligning for the future of the relationship....which usually include: you're a psycho bitch, and i didn't know this until we started dating)

So, I know...

I was quite shy in my youth. I say "Quite.", but mean, VERY....

I kind of accepted girls that thought I was cute, no matter what their personality was, because I felt inadequate. Then, I finally found out, that we are human...and all humans will EVENTUALLY (by the rule of ratio) find another human that is equally attracted to them, as vice versa. So, I began my life of experiments (a.k.a "dating"), and have enjoyed myself ever since.

At heart, I am a romantic. I speak the truth, and I pull no punches. "Do I look fat in these jeans?" "Nope, you look like you have Jean Colored Skin!"

But, I am also quite sympathetic with the hurdles that women have created for themselves over the years. Which, now, turns out to be more of a competition with one another, than for the attention of a man of value. Because, you know as well as I do, no man gives a shit about your name brand shoes, belt, purse, or nail polish...We want value. Well, men of value, want value.

Another thing that irks me is the "Oh, you only talked to me because...", idea. If you're overweight, you think we're a Chubby Chaser. If you're Black, we have a thing for the Chocolate...Little....Tall...Skinny...you're all fucking so paranoid to the point of loneliness that you finish scaring the good ones off, and leaving nothing but room for the scum. Which, if that's what you want, fine...but if not, listen to my words:

It's a RULE OF RATIO!!! For every attractive female that I tell (honestly) is attractive....1 out of 50 will think I'm sincere. (i dare you to prove me wrong...ask any man) I, myself, am an honest flirt. Not a flirt in the sake of "Let's fuck!", but a flirt in the sake of; Your husband is present, and I'll still say "If only you weren't married.....Oops! Paul, didn't see you there!" HA! Laugh. Giggle. But, you know what, it's an honest compliment, mixed with a worthwhile quip. But, if you have a broad that thinks "Did you hear how Johnny was acting tonight?"...then, things go screwy. Because, here's the thing, I learned a looooooooong time ago, that life is short. If you weren't told you were pretty today, and I can do so, then I will fucking say it. No holds barred. If you look good, I will say so. If you don't, then I will pass on the comment altogether. But, there are those unique few...those...guiding stars...that I go after, and I'll admit, you have to throw a few darts before you hit the Bullseye, but sometimes...there's that ONE!!! And, you say what you mean, and mean what you say and you get....."But, why me?"..............

Fucking really? "Why me?" Now, I feel so deflated that my words mean nothing to you that I want to say, "Because, you have tits?"...because, I feel so emasculated after telling you something honest, that you questioned the validity of, that now I feel the need to hide it with a joke, lie, or a jab.

You see? Your insecurity, is what fuels our response, and vice-versa.

Anyhow, that's enough, you get the point.

Stop being stuck up, shy, and precautionary...

For fuck's sake, if some guy says "YOU'VE GOT NICE TITS!!!", prove him right....

- Forever -

Knuckles

A Fistful of Monsters in my Closet...

"Concentrate long enough on a focal point of negativity, and it will consume you wholly." ~ Knuckles

I submit to you, my version of self help for the weak minded fuckwit.

Well, I guess you can be one or the other, or both, and still need this advice, but it will definitely shine some light on all the above.

Negativity is a monster. I mean a real bad, PMS'ing, fire spewing, cunt of a monster. It causes hate. It causes depression. It causes anger, and resentment, and fear, and a whole slew of other shit. Negativity also causes us to see shit with a slanted view. Now, I for one admit to submitting to this demon from time to time. It's a constant uphill battle to fight off this raging whoremonster, but I do a damn good job. But, what I've also learned is that it's harder to UNDO the effects of Negativity than it is to prevent it.

Imagine this:

You're a child. Maybe, 5 or 6 years old. You've got loving parents that buy you nice clothes, fun toys, and have given you a comfortable life. In your bedroom you have your walls painted to your idea of fun specifications, your toys are where you like to keep them, and your clothes are hung neatly in your closet.

One night, you go to bed, and you leave your closet door slightly open, and (unbeknownst to you, there's a sweater sleeve hanging out on the doorknob, a la Monster's Inc) you are in your bed, with the lights out before you notice this. Something goes *bump* in your closet and #POOF!# your sanctuary has all of a sudden become your tomb. You stare into this void...you stare...and stare...and try to make out what it was that made that noise, and you eventually see the sleeve slide off the handle and "HOLY FUCKING SHIT!! IT'S A GOT-DAMNED MONSTER!!!" *BANG!* under your sheets you go to hide, where you are nearly pissing your pants, and you do your best to stay awake until the sun comes up.

Now, as a child, you'll eventually fall asleep, and awaken and wearily open your closet door to find nothing there. But, now the bug has been planted. "There's something in there!" Now your room doesn't feel so bright and happy. You don't see it as Disneyland anymore. More like a torture chamber of doom that some horrible beast is going to jump out and chew off your little cocktail shrimp sized weenie. (I'm a boy, we think of weird shit like that)

=

Now, this is where I like to relay my 90%-10% view on life. You see, that closet consumed that kid...one little fucking thing...consumed his thoughts, his day, his life...and, after checking to see if there was something there, and finding nothing, all he had to do was reassure himself nothing was there, and move on. But, something that was 10% of his day, became 100% thereafter.

Here's where we do this with adults. Say for instance you hear at Church that it's wrong to be gay. You'd never heard that, but you hear it from your Pastor/Preacher/Priest. You go home, and type into Google: Being Gay is Wrong...and KABOOM!!...a million things pop up and you start reading it. You read it into the night, and go to bed thinking about it. Now, you've piqued your interest, and you go back to some of those pages you visited the previous night, at work the next day. The more you read things from "People that know this for a fact" (self proclaimed), the more you feel like YOU know it as fact as well. Now, you start asking around, and find similar minded people to talk about it with. The next thing you know...you're at ant-homosexual rallies spouting bigoted verbality at anyone that will listen.

You had a perfectly happy life. Full of love, happiness, and kindness...and the Negativity consumed you to the point that you forgot about the 90%, and started focusing on the monster in the closet.

=

I see the same thing happen with my friends that are unemployed, or just out of a loving relationship that suddenly failed, or their life just isn't going the way they want. But, they have a friend like me to turn to...a good friend...that's 10% on it's own. They normally have family, that's 10%. A roof over your head -> 10%....and the numbers keep adding up. But, it's that Negative 10% that keeps their attention. I've written blogs before about how these fucked up partners in relationships find a man or woman that is 90% of what they wanted, but they fart in their sleep, or watch Jersey Shore, or some other knuckle dragging nonsense...and, that 10% encompasses them to the point that they start looking for someone that has the 10% that the person that they're with is missing, and eventually leave 90% for the 10% person, and finish unhappy and realize they fucked up when it's too late.

Look cock-knot, we all have a miserable beast in our closet. The best thing to do, is to nut up, and get your weak minded ass out of bed and kick the fucking door shut with authority, and choose happiness/positivity. Because if you walk through life looking into the closet, you're never going to play with your toys, paint your room, hug your parents, or crank on your noodle the same way again. You're constantly going to be looking over your shoulder at that crack in the door and peering inside to see that lack of a job, or that broken heart, or that exploded fuck doll. (or whatever else saddens you)

I know, I know...it's harder than it sounds...but, Tomorrow's big brother is Today, and what Today says...Tomorrow will listen to.

So, do me a favor, and stop hating others. Stop dragging yourself through the mud. Stop focusing on shit that really has nothing that directly effects your day-to-day reality. Other people have their own demons to fight, without you being another one. Because, when you hate, or your down, or when you are just a fuckhole altogether...you sprout horns, grow a tail, and become one of those raging hatemongers, and who wants that to be their legacy?

Kick that door shut. Live in the light. Embrace love. Duct tape that hole in your fuck doll and get back to plowing it, because Tomorrow just told me that Today said "I may not be at the party tomorrow, so toss one back for me!"

I love you all. You inspire me to write. You give my mind a constant workout. And, some of you give me a reason to rub one out. So, to all of you, thank you...you make my heart love more, my brain more intelligent and my....well....we'll leave it at that.


Monsterously yours,

Knuckles

RELEASE THE KRAKHEAD!!!!

....see what I did there?....<~~ It's a "Release the Kraken!!" joke....ahhhhh..fuck you, it's funny....

Here's something I haven't touched on in awhile, but really pulls my ball hair.

Self Proclaimed Geniuses/Bitches/Trendsetters/Party Animals....also known as...complete fucking idiots.

Let me start with the one that annoys me beyond all measure. The "Bitch".
"I can go from Zero to Bitch in 1 second flat!" "If being a bitch is what it takes for me to make my point clear, then I guess that's what I'll have to be." and, so on...you all know the person I'm talking about. The female (and sometimes queeny gay guy) that thinks she's being assertive, and aggressive, and Alpha, when all she is proving is her inability to articulate herself well enough to get her pro-idiot point across. "I get called a bitch a lot, but that just shows I stand up for myself." No, it fucking doesn't, it shows you are of inferior intellect and you think that yelling and being condescending will make you feel superior to the person you're locking horns with. When in all actuality, you feel threatened by said person, or else you wouldn't have to act in such a disgusting manner.
Look, no one likes to be made to look a fool. No one, but being a raging cunt only separates you further from the intellectual point you're trying to make to begin with. If you feel that you're a "bad ass", then you're not only mistaken, but also immature in your thought process. Because, life isn't about who can "out-bitch" the person next to you. It's about right and wrong. It's about moral and immoral. It's about being a fucking idiot, and being fucking smart.
Which, brings me to Fucktard Classification #2:
The Self Proclaimed Genius (also known as, someone being "Google Smart")
I will start with a quote from Neil deGrasse Tyson: "With automatic spell checkers running unleashed over what we compose, our era is that of correctly spelled typos."
Yet, you get this onslaught of people that constantly post something to their facebook or twitter accounts that is witty or whimsical that someone else thought up. Whether it's text on an image that says "Fuck This Monday! I'm Ready For Friday!" or a quote by some author or philosopher that they'd never heard of until they'd seen it on someone that they deem "Their Smart Friend"'s wall, and stole it for their own, these people run amok among us. Now, here's where these basement dwellers become scary; They are also the kind of fool that gives out medical advice to people that they drummed up from multitudes of sites they've perused over the internet.
Say, for shits-n-tickles that you have a headache. But, this is no NORMAL headache, it's the headache that puckered your asshole into your lungs. So, you text Fucktardio and ask "You ever had a headache that puckered your asshole into your lungs?" Well, Fucktardio, being the person that he is wants to impress with his superior intellect and begins zipping from site to site with his keywords. "Headache" "Extreme" "Fucking Awful" "Pucker"....what-the-fuck-ever..."Yeah bro, you've got a tumor. You see, my great uncle's aunt was a doctor on my Mom's side, and I was bestowed with all her wisdom. So, trust me, I'm not wrong on this." and then Fucktardio has planted the seed of stupidity into your inferior brain. The problem with the internet is this: There's a difference between fact, information, and news. Any cock-knot can post on a message board, and say he's a Board Certified Physician. (spell check helped him spell all those words, otherwise it would have come out Bored Country Fried Fission) So, you, being Fucktardio, go to this message board and see that this cunt bubble has posted some information for another person that has a similar problem to what you're searching for. You take this as gospel, and go forth with your newfound information, and pollute the world with it. When, all the while, if you would have just said "No fucking clue dude. Go see a doctor like a big boy should." everything would have been fine. After all, your 2 minute Google search is OBVIOUSLY just as reassuring as 12 years of Medical Training.
But, the assholery doesn't stop there. Oh no!! These are the people that ramble adamantly in your face about the most ignorant of shit. Or, if you bring up a topic of discussion, of something...let's say...that they just watched a special on Discovery about, then you have to listen to them correct you, and or "school you" on whatever it is that makes them feel superior. But, as soon as their 1 hours worth of knowledge (including their 15 seconds of knowledge on the new Tide with Bleach...because, let's face it, their knowledge came with commercials) is over, then you get the "guessing" of what it is, and they will fight and argue their point, whether it be true, or not, because they refuse to lose face in such a topic that they just OWNED in their mind. They will bark, embellish, talk over, make fun of your new shirt, or whatever they need to do, just to detract from their lack of information.
Speaking of new shirts...I want to give a massive FUCK YOU!!!! to Ed Hardy and his disgusting and atrocious clothing, and a big THANK YOU!!! to time for slowly making it uncool to wear it.
Trendy-Ass-Posers!!!
By definition, a Poser is: "One who attempts to appear to others as something they are not, especially by their manner of dress; a charlatan". We have in L.A. a time of year we call "Poser Season"....okay, I say "We.", but I mean "Me." It's basically that time of year that Pilot's are being shot. There's a massive influx of 17 to 25 year olds that are looking to be famous, fit in, and be the coolest kid in Hollywood. When, in all actuality, they're just in a pissing contest with one another. Crocs, Ed Hardy, Von Dutch, Juicy Couture, and whatever name brand you can throw at them. They spend more money on trying to be cool, than they do trying to succeed. "I'm wearing sarongs now. Yeah, it's the new thing." Is it reallllllly asshole? Why is it the new thing? Because we're so dumbed down as a society now that we need to look to other cultures to bite off their traditional dress to make a statement?
But, it doesn't stop with clothes. It's their coffee. Their hair products. Their music. It's always so obscure that you just want to punch them. Look, I admit that some things are "better" if they're purchased off the map. But, I don't shove it down everyone's throat I see so that they know I am a "trendsetter".
Here's a laugher. So, I was in Denver a few years back, and my best friend took me to a bar that his wife was dancing at (not that kind of dancing, it was a belly dancing thing, for fuck's sake people, i do have friends with some class after all), and everyone in this joint had those nasty white people dreadlocks and it smelled of patchouli. This broad (waitress) comes over to the table and hands me a one page paper menu and it PROUDLY proclaims at the top that this is an ORGANIC bar. Cool....no problem...
I order a vodka martini when the most annoying and troubling thing comes out of this chicks mouth: "Well, just so you know, our vodka is organic. And, we don't accept credit cards, only checks."
Okay, stooge, you're telling me, rather than me having a piece of plastic that I hold onto for AT LEAST 4 years at a time, cut up at the end, and put in the recycle bin...is somehow WORSE than cutting down thousands, and millions of trees, to make into little pieces of paper that will just get thrown away? Am I missing something here? The lengths that people will go to, just to seem "More organic"...or, in my eyes "cooler and more passionate about life" than the next person, simply amazes me.
And, after all that, I bring myself to my final fuckhole:
The Self Proclaimed Party Animal
This is the person that (male or female) will fit into one of two categories: 1) They know all the cool bars. They know every trendy hotspot for clubs (of which makes them bleed over into the previous category), where the neatest after hours places are, and where everyone is meeting for breakfast. Usually this person has a RotoDial of Skanks and Posers that they can call at any moment and will be at their side. They pretend (or possibly do) know every doorman and bartender, and will consistently let you know so. They throw money around "Even though I don't have to. They know me so well here, I could get comped all night if I wanted.", and do their best to be 'seen'. Or: 2) The person that once had a fairly social life, that hasn't for years, but still proclaims shit like "LET'S TEAR THIS CITY DOWN!!!" when you go out to happy hour. Or "BRO!! I'm going to drink you under the table!!", when you haven't been out with this person in months. Look, dick hole, I'm sorry you had 5 kids, and have a mortgage now, but that doesn't mean you need to try and recapture your youth by excreting pure idiocy from your pores every time we walk through the doors of a bar. You screaming at me and saying "YOU READY FOR SHOTS?!?!?!" does not make a space/time wormhole magically appear around us and scoot us back to a dorm room in college. It looks sad, and desperate and you need to just learn to be secure with your position. And, for the record....No......you fucking can't......[in reference to drinking me under the table: I am a professional drinker, and I should never be challenged, or I shall be forced to expose my true super power]

All-in-all, there's just a multitude of moron in this world lately. I attribute it to this....and, you're going to need to follow me here, it's going to get tricky:

Say, you have an A level student. Pure genius. Knows the subject matter backwards and forwards and is well versed on the whole topic.
This person teaches a class, and a student that also wants to be a teacher/professor (just assume everyone wants to teach after this point), and passes the class with a C.
Okay, so you have a C level student that graduates, and is now teaching students. This teacher teaches a class, and the next kid makes a C in his class. So, what is a C in this class, would have undoubtedly been an F in the first person's class. Yet, he passes, and HE becomes a teacher. Then, you have an ongoing trickle down effect or morons. When, inevitably, you have a knuckle dragging cave dweller teaching a class that he shouldn't even be allowed to collect the garbage for. And, here lies the conundrum...how do we recapture the intellect we once had? Is it a lack of passion? Or just laziness? Is it a lack of knowledge that we're all becoming inferior humans? Or, is it just that we know, but don't give a fuck?

Regardless of what it is, I think that we need to have more people creating quotable quotes, and less people reposting someone elses intelligent quips. We need less people biting off someone elses flavor, and more innovators. We just need to wise up, and start being better humans again.

When we start having a generation of kids that act like drug addicts, without actually taking the drugs, then we have a problem. I don't want to grow old with some kid that watched Jersey Shore all the way through college as President.

We already elected one retard. Isn't that enough?

Anyhow, go read a book, or take a class, or just open your mind to the fact that you're more than the clothes you wear, the labels that surround you, and the quotes your rip off. You're a unique human. One squiggly spooge that made it to an egg. So, stand up, have some pride, and don't ACT smarter...MAKE yourself smarter.

And, please, put down the fucking phone when I ask you a question you don't know...I know you have google on quick launch. Idiot.

Moronically yours,
Knuckles

A Fistful of Fuckery, a.k.a Valentines Day

It sure does cost a lot to show someone you love them nowadays. "Today, the holiday is big business: According to market research firm IBIS World, Valentine's Day sales reached $17.6 billion last year; this year's sales are expected to total $18.6 billion." [SOURCE] 
Throughout my 36 years on this planet, I have witnessed many a Valentines Day. (36, to be exact) Of all of those, the only time I liked Valentines Day was when I was a kid, and got to make a Valentines Box in grade school, that you hope all kids put in Valentines for you, (especially the cute girl), and then in High School where it was your one opportunity to buy something for the crush you had, in hopes that she would be wooed and you would spend the rest of eternity snuggling and holding hands. {side note: one year, towards the end of the Atari Era, we had a busted Atari, and I gutted it, and used the slot where you put the game in, as the slot for accepting my Valentines cards, and truly felt like fucking Einstein for thinking this up}
What I failed to realize at the time was, I was feeding into the Machine, and the women (vicariously) were learning some bad habits at the same time. You see, when you are told by the television, the radio, parents, friends, magazines, newspapers, and who-the-fuck-ever else that you need to buy something to impress the person you love/crush/wannafuck, you buy into it. So, you buy this girl some flowers, but then Ted the rich kid buys her flowers that are bigger and brighter, candy, a night at the movies, and a yacht....or so it felt. Your flowers are greeted with a "Aww, thank you.", and she turns on her heel to Ted, where he says something like "Aren't you Miss Popular today?! Har, Har, Har...." and they walk off giggling.
Now, don't get me wrong, not all women buy into this bullshit. Some are intelligent, quick witted, and see past the nonsense of it all. And, to you ladies, I salute you. But, with $18.6 billion annually, it's obvious that not all women and men get the hidden agenda behind this day.
Here's my thing, I have been in a few relationships. The ones I have been in, I gave my all to them. Poetry, love notes, random calls to tell them I love them, and most of all...extravagant meals that take blood, sweat, and talent to create. These relationships, obviously, all failed. To no fault of my own of course! *cough* *cough*
But, here's where I'm going with this. Growing up poor taught me something, love isn't about one day. Love isn't about what you can buy for the other person. Love is about what you're willing to give to the one you love. Time. Effort. Passion. Enthusiasm. Trust. Dedication. Discipline.....Your Life.
This is the true test of love. You give your all. Your soul bleeds with all things you feel, and you cringe at the thought of being away from this person, and you shake with anticipation at the thought of seeing them again. You cry when you think you've hurt them, but you skip when you think you've pleased them. All things I have mentioned, are free.
Many years ago, I figured it out. The true test of love comes to this: If you were on a deserted island. No TV, no radio, no media or correspondence with the outside world...Would it be possible to be in love. To show the person you loved them, and to remain in love?
Of-fucking-COURSE it's possible!! It's just bullshit to think that you need a card to express how you feel. It's stupid to think that Jake Gyllenhaal can show her how you love her better in a movie, than you can yourself at home. It's asinine that CHOCOLATE in a heart shaped box means "I love you." when you could have wrote her (no matter how shitty) a poem and put it in her lunch for work, or on her steering wheel of her car. Make her breakfast, and make your pancakes in the shape of hearts, or sing her a love song (Sinatra preferably) in your most broken and horrible voice. But, show the woman you love, that LOVE isn't based on a diamond, a brick of gold, or an 18.6 BILLION dollar industry. It's based on 365 days a year. It's based on the fact that you know in your soul of souls that you cannot live without this woman/man and you NEED them...not want them...in your life!! So, show them.
What happens if there's a day at work called "Work Day" when everyone works harder? Do you fuck off the rest of the year, and then work super hard on Work Day? Fuck no. Stupid. You'd get fired.
Therefore, stop sucking your left thumb, pull the right one out of your ass, and Man Up!! Real men know romance. Real men know passion. Best of all (read Shakespeare, Chaucer, Poe, Keats), MEN....know Love.

Love doesn't have a dollar sign in front of it. These women that say that they want a man that can "Supply me with what I'm worth." are shallow, and empty inside, and need something more than love......

No, your woman is your Queen. You are her King. To rule over a kingdom, you have to know how to please one another, before you can please the lands.

In finishing, I leave you with this thought:

On your deathbed, you are lying there with 1 minute to live...you can open a box of chocolates, and read a card...or you can gaze into the love of your life's eyes, while squeezing their hand that somehow has molded to fit yours perfectly over the years...you choose.

Me? Well, you know Knuckles, I'll be okay. I know love. I've felt it in the cockles of my heart. I know what I'm missing, and I know what I'm looking for...but for now...

I'm going to get me a hooker and buy her some candy, and hope she gives me an extra 30 minutes for free tomorrow.

Just sayin'....

I love you all....well...most of ya's....
-Johnny

A fistful of fistfuckery....just for you...

The day has come, you're in the office, the hot guy that you've noticed checking you out once or twice has finally started approaching your desk, he has two cups of coffee in his hands. "Hey, I didn't know if you took yours with cream or sugar, so I brought both.". You giggle, and take the coffee, and talk about passing thoughts about office behavior, and then you get a text message; "Hey honey, I changed the oil in your car yesterday because it was running low, and put air in your tires, did you notice it running any smoother?" You ignore it for now, and go back to the hot guy standing in front of you.

RED FLAG!!!

Look ladies, I of all people know that there is plenty of sweater meat in society. Hell, while living in L.A., there were more hot chicks than my whiplashed neck allowed me to look at, but one thing we've lost touch is....the effort a person that truly loves you, makes.

And, sadly, manly men...have a harder time expressing such emotion to you, that you seem to bypass such actions as 'non-efforts' or rudimentary.

Example: (let's go back a few years) You're in high school, and there's a guy that has noticed you from afar for the last two years. He has asked your friends what your favorite music is, and what groups and songs you like from each. He then proceeds to make you a mix tape. In the music world, this guy would be known for doing R&D. Here, it's a crush.

You're talking to Captain McRoid, the quarterback from the football team. "Yeah, I took state last year, but I think if I'm going to go pro, I need to step my game up." "That's interest..." "Hey, excuse me, I have been waiting to find a time when you're alone, but you seem to be always surrounded by someone, so...I just wanted to give this to you, and say I made it for you." "Thanks." "So, McRoid...what were you saying?"

Yes, it's extreme...but, it leads to bad behavior....like....pushing a girl in high school for a dude, usually leads to a wife beater in the future. Lack of acknowledgment of overwhelming actions, can lead to the demise of effort on the others behalf, lack of interest from your side, and even worse....you not being able to ever be satisfied by anothers actions.

Your significant other changed your oil, because he wants you safe. He wants you to be able to come home to him nightly, to the comfort of his arms. He watches action movies and imagines protecting you like Jason Statham, or Sylvester Stallone, and so when he gets done watching those, he starts telling you about the only fight he's ever been in, because he wants you to feel that he's your heroine, and you're his princess. He jerks off to porn...as odd as this one sounds for you ladies, because he doesn't want to be like the multitude of men out in this world that cheat on their wives by anything that moves. He tugs one out, so that he's not tempted to leave the woman he loves, by his damn 'other brain' outweighing his heartfelt one.

We men....we are an odd bunch, I'll give you that...we do some dumb shit, and sometimes admit to it, but moreso than that...we do a lot of dumb shit in your name. We act macho, to get your attention, to be your Alpha...we download a song illegally off the internet, because we want to show you, "I'd go to jail for you.", and we do some off the wall shit...to try and prevent McRoid from garnishing your attention.

Which means more to you, the guy that opens the door, or the super hot guy on the other side that says "Damn, you look hot!"....words....words are easy....efforts, efforts are what set us aside from others.

So, ladies, the next time you're in a situation where a man does something for you (unless you paid him for it), think and rethink where this is coming from. Think about how much time and effort he put into it, and think about what kind of response he's looking for, because if you start pushing his efforts aside as simple 'tasks', then he'll find someone that will appreciate the effort he puts forth.

This also goes vice versa...girls going to action flicks with their man...going to Hooters to watch UFC...watching Sunday and Monday Night Football....men need to pay attention too.

Well, that summarizes that....and so, the next time your man talks of tugging one out...don't go to the chick thought, "Is he tired of having sex with me? Is he attracted to all those girls on the internet?" No, he wants to stay faithful to you...and, that's his way of showing you so.


Tuggingly yours,
Johnny

Is it possible to break your own heart?...

Remember back (i'd ask you to close your eyes and remember back, but then you couldn't actually read what i'm writing here), back to a time when innocence ruled our personality, and a new pair of sneakers meant we could run faster than the day before. Remember back to that time when you'd run a race in the playground to try and win, but ultimately you were just happy you were competing. I think this is where it begins...that feeling....that rush...of acceptance...of dominance....of an ego. When you're younger than that, you do things because it makes YOU happy. Playing with your toys. Eating a cheerio you found on the floor. Hugging your Mom.
Innocence.
Then comes the acknowledgment of dominance. If you win that race, all the kids think you're cool. Notably because you're faster, but you become known as the 'fast kid' and you feel cool. Sometime, someplace, another kid will challenge you, and beat you. So, it begins. You run harder, practice longer, and break your back trying to get that title back. Not because you're curing cancer, but you want your title back....you want to be cool again.

From the time we get our first "Ego Stroke", it begins. With me, I see it everyday, being that I live in L.A. and am an actor myself. In the bars, at the clubs, even at BBQ's...the first question is 'What do you do?' ultimately with the follow up question 'What have you been in? Anything I'd know?' To the lower level actor, each and every time that question is asked it's like a kick to a bruised nut...it hurts...you've worked...but nothing huge...nothing...'known'. You could bust out a movie and say "There I go......!!!", but then you'd feel dumber than before for being in it so briefly. No, it's best to say you're a fucking janitor or something.....but, all of that is off subject....my true ramblings are about Lost Souls today.

Sometimes, with all the pissing contests existing in this town, you get caught up in the bullshit. You go through times of feeling inadequate, and miniscule. Once an actor has caught the bug, (be it in highschool, college or otherwise), it usually meant that you did some kind of stage performance and had the satisfaction of having that immediate gratification of applause. You felt 'cool' again. It's addicting. You want more, and more, and more....you feel...to use a word for a lack of a better one....accepted. Isn't that ultimately all we all want? That's why we buy the 'cool' clothes. That's why we buy a 'cool' car...beause we want SOMEONE to say, "Cool shirt!! Where'd you get that?" or "Damn that car is cool as hell, I'm still driving last years model."
To me, I see it everywhere. It's just more evident here in L.A. There have been times I have looked in the mirror, and a flash would go off in my head and I'd think "Who the hell is that?"

Seriously.

Growing up poor sucked. Growing up poor in Missouri sucked worse. When one kid would ask me what I got for Christmas, I'd always make up something I'd seen in a commercial on Saturday Morning Cartoons. I knew I didn't get anything, but it was so much easier than explaining why I had nothing.
I remember this one time...prepare for a tear jerker....I was roughly 6 or 7...and my school year was about to start, and I had worn out my old sneakers beyond all repair. (duct tape can only go so far) So, my Mom had to get me a new pair. We couldn't get any, so we went to this place where people would donate things to the poor, and if you were poor, they'd give it to you. Well, we got this pair of sneakers....and I use that word loosely.....because, they were made out of something I would assume was a mix between beef jerky and plywood. I 'think' it was a type of leather, but I can't be sure. To top it all off, they were blue...something of a smurf color (pre-smurfs)...but a bit brighter, and the outside was a little fuzzy, like a velvet painting. The next couple of days I tried my best to break them in, but they were so damned hard that they bruised my ankles on the bottom side from them not giving in. This was bad, because school was starting, and not only did I have neon blue shoes, but I was walking funny because of my bruises.
First day of school comes, and I head out to the school bus in the rain....I am kind of happy because I found a pair of my Dad's socks that were fuzzier than mine, but were quite a bit bigger than I should have had, but the fuzziness let me walk fairly normal with my bruised ankles.
I arrive to school, and walk off the bus and a girl says to me, "Excuse me, but your shoes have dyed your socks." and to my horror, I look down and in the pouring rain notice that my shoes are bleeding....I guess the hard material didn't absorb the neon ink they dipped them in. So, the ink is running down my shoe...soaking into my sock....and creating a kind of blue/brown puddle where I'm standing.....this is right off the bus, so I have every kid staring at me on the way passed. Some laugh, some whisper....most just look at what I'm staring at.
That day, that very day, I didn't stare at my shoes.....but stared at everyone elses. No one else had shoes that bled. No one else suffered that embarrassment.

I did, and I knew I had to do whatever it took to make my life better. The older I got, the more I realized that everyone else had nice things, and I had nothing. Older than that I realized that family means more than material things, but people don't look at you at first glance and say..."My, but that guy seems like he has a good relationship with his mother."

No, they look at your shoes, they look at your job, they look at your shirt, your haircut, your everything....they look at everything but your soul...because, that doesn't matter in this town.

If you're nice, you're weak...if you're a liar, a cheat, and a thief, then you're exactly the person that's going to fit right in.

We all have to play the game. We have to...to an extent....I'm trying my best to not lose myself....trying hard. But, in a town where everyone talks to the guy that just did a piece on CSI, and you're left to get the drinks....it's hard to be true.

Listen, a man once said..."Fake it till you make it.", but that only holds so much weight with me. I love who I am....I love the fact I open doors for everyone...I love the fact I say "Thank you." instead of "Thanks.". I love the fact that I call women 'ladies' and men 'gentlemen'.

There's gotta be something said for a boy that has a country accent and knows more about the New York Yankees than half the city of New York.

I love what I love, and it's because it makes me feel good. But, to be accepted, to be truly loved by all.....that's where we start losing focus.....Plato said: An opinion is the medium between knowledge and ignorance.
This holds true for all those that think I need to be 'cooler' to do this, or to have as many jobs as he's had to be cool. That's your opinion.....

I'm now in my 30's...and I think my sneakers are fine as-is. I think I can run fast enough....and I think I'll be just fine standing here in the rain alone.

So, be proud of who you are...not for who you are to others...but, who you are to yourself. Judge yourself by what you see in the mirror inside your soul...take a good hard look at yourself and determine whether you're doing what you're doing for the right reasons. Do you love yourself, 'as-is'? Go to the gym because you want to be healthy....not because Joe's body is better than yours....read a book, not because it's on the Oprah List, but because it's the genre of book you like to read.

You can truly see how much I give a damn about making others happy right now, or I would've stopped writing ages ago...but, this sets my soul at ease.

I have a mother that I love dearly. She's a hippie that truly loves the earth. I have a father that is like Hank Hill and Boomhower rolled into one. I have a sister that is a know-it-all, and a brother that's a pothead....but you know what?....I love them for who they are...they each love me for who I am. No frills...no bullshit.....just a skinny boy with bruised ankles and blue socks....

It doesn't matter what you wear...it doesn't matter how cool your car is....what matters in the end is happiness. Do what makes you happy. Live with respect in your heart, and a sense of decency to you....and people will remember you for the right things....don't let the world rule you.....

Goodnight all....my heart is heavy....very heavy....but, word by word....blog by blog....I'm freeing it of all of its rubbish.

Love me,
Johnny