CHAPTER 1: The Beginning
John was born on a hot winter’s day in the middle of a Wal-Mart parking lot. His mother, Anne, was so busy loading her bargains into her car that she didn’t even notice when she gave birth. In fact, had a passing motorist not yelled “Hey, you stupid bitch, you just gave birth!” the umbilical cord probably would’ve been severed with a car door. Ouch. Fortunately, this was not the case. As soon as Anne looked down and discovered a baby crying on the blacktop, she put out her cigarette, finished placing her bags in her car, then picked up John and sped off to the doctor’s office.
As Anne patiently sat in the doctor’s waiting room, she started to think about everything that led up to this moment: how she drank a little too much wine and slept with a few too many men. Not that Anne was in any way a slut. No, she just liked to have sex with anyone who would look at her. Or anything. But who really gives a shit about Anne? This is the story of John.
OK, let’s face it, Anne was an idiot. For the entire duration of her pregnancy, she had no idea she was with child. She just thought she was eating a few too many Oreos. And who in their right mind goes to the doctor’s office after giving birth? You go to the fucking Emergency Room, am I right? Yeah. But really, that’s enough about Anne. This is the story of John.
Oh, there’s one more thing you need to know about Anne: Not only was she the town whore, she advertised it proudly. She even had one of those magnetic signs stuck to her car. “I’m The Town Whore,” it read. Which you’d think would be pretty effective. But business was limited, since she forgot to include her phone number on the sign and stupidly stuck the thing to the roof of her car.
Yeah, you might say that when they were handing out brains, Anne probably screamed at hers, dropped it on the ground and stomped on it until someone could sedate her. That would explain why from the moment John had teeth, Anne fed him nothing but Oreo cookies. Regular Oreos were for snacks and the Oreos with Double Stuff were for dinner. For a side dish, Anne would painstakingly scrape out the filling of about 100 Oreos and serve it all in a bowl as sort of a mashed-potato-like thing. Only it tasted nothing like mashed potatoes. It tasted like sugar. And Crisco. Which is not good.
Needless to say, after a while, John’s teeth started to hurt. Anne explained that it was just because his jaw was growing and that the pain would eventually subside. And she was right. The pain did eventually subside, after John’s last tooth fell out. That’s when Anne realized John couldn’t survive on Oreo cookies alone. After all, since John no longer had any teeth, he was unable to get the nourishment that the dark chocolate Oreo wafer provided. Instead, Anne put him on a strict diet of whipped cream and pudding.
Now, when I say “pudding,” I’m not talking about dessert in general, as you Brits tend to do. No, I mean good old-fashioned American pudding. Chocolate Vanilla Swirl with calcium for growing bones. Anything but butterscotch. That shit is disgusting.
So where was I? Oh, right, John. The story of John. Do you really want to read about this? He’s just your average toothless pudding-eating guy who has a very popular mother. Are you sure? OK, fine. Fuck. I was hoping you’d say you didn’t, because I really have no fucking clue what to say about the kid. You know, when a guy asks you if you really want to hear about something, it usually means he doesn’t feel like talking about it. He also might say that if the person he’s telling the story to has fallen asleep or has shoved the barrel of a shot gun into his mouth.
I mean, if this was the story Anne, I could have told you about how she turned tricks for cookies and cake. Or how John wasn’t the first child she gave birth to in a parking lot. But like I said, this isn’t the story of Anne. It’s the story of John. Damn it. Why didn’t I make this the story of Anne? It would’ve been so much more interesting to read. Well, I guess this is the end of Chapter One. Fuck. I am so screwed. Which reminds me of another story about Anne.
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