damn it, as soon as i sit down to tell you my story, i get all tired and crap. i've had another fucking long day, and i'm not sure i can tell you the whole thing without getting sidetracked a great deal. just excuse me if i start prattling off on minor ideas, here.. eventually, i'll end up back on the point.

let's not mince words here: i'm a loser magnet. no shit; i must have some sort of magnetic force exerting from my body to draw these great crowds of plebieans to me. it's not that i care all that much or anything-- i mean, it's better than hanging out with all the fucking fakes and their petty problems. "ohHELPme! i *broke* my fucking *nail*!" and "jesus christ, coach fathead didn't list me as a starter?! lesgo slash 'is goddamn tires!" although i'll be the first to admit that "loser problems" aren't that life threatening, either, but jesus! at least they're *honest* ones...

so my lifelong friends have left me in sort of an akward position more than a few times in the past. truly, it's not that easy hanging out with only the weirdos. especially when you're not all that wacked-out yourself. circumstance and experience with the "normals", though, has left me bitter. yeah, i admit it; i'm bitter. but why the hell shouldn't i be? this world has produced a generation of competition-craving, individual-hating, obstinate, mind-numb morons for my peers. and i'm not one of them.

god, that used to really eat me up. *i'm not one of them.* do you have any idea how much easier it would be if i were? sad to say, i *have* tried to conform to their damned ideals... not that they were really *ideals*, even-- just a stupid set way of life-- tradition. well, *fuck* tradition. as easy as life would be if i were among them, i'm *not*. and i no longer care to be. i'm now very aware of the fact that they're all sheep, and the flock can go... go flock themselves.

so like i was saying, i used to be real gung-ho on fitting in and all that. this was mostly around fourth or fifth grade, though, so we'll just call it an eighth-life crisis. i was friends with a considerable amound of populars, but my magnetic personality had me associated with quite a few of the, ahem, undesirables. i also still hated the point of view held by the general population of antifreaks. but beyond this all-around dislike of their attitudes, there was this one bastard in particular, brandon gibson, that i really could *not* stand. still can't, actually.

at any rate, this brandon guy... he was a real piece of work. he believed it to be his duty to let the nerdier population know exactly what their worth was. that being less than the worth of most types of pond scum and all mosquitos, you can guess how he let them know.

i despised him. everything *about* him. i wasn't too subtle in letting him know, either (although... he wasn't exactly the sharpest knife in the rack, and at that point in my life, my sarcasm was limited to me answering his questions of "hey scot, wanna go throw rocks at girls?" with saying "suuure" in a really pathetic voice...). brandon, on the other hand, thought i was the greatest thing since sliced bread. and then after *the incident*, he