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Joined 1 year ago
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Cake day: June 26th, 2023

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  • My cousin (actually double first cousin, so almost a brother biologically. His mom is my mom’s sister and his dad is my dad’s brother) had a fuuuucked up childhood.

    His father was a severe alcoholic and abandoned him. I wasn’t allowed around his dad as a kid. I have two memories of him from when I was a kid. One time he bounced the muscles in his arms and legs and told my brother and I he had live frogs under his skin. In the other memory, he chased my father with a chainsaw and jumped through a window in an attempt to kill him. My father doesn’t associate with most of his family. My father abandoned me too, but I had a mom and a step dad who did their best.

    His mother had him until he started school. She dropped him and is 1 year old sister off with my grandparents and disappeared. She popped back in when he was a teenager. I mean, she was around before that, but she tried to be a mom when he was around 15.

    He thought his father didn’t even think about him. When I was in the 7th grade and he was in 5th grade, we snuck into the attic of my grandparents’ house to sneak a cigarette. We were snooping and found a box full of unopened letters from his father. Neither of us were even allowed to have pictures of our dads.

    His dad had written him a letter at least once a month all of his life despite never getting a reply. That broke something in him. He went from thinking that he had a father who didn’t care at all to the harsh realization that our grandparents hid letters from him. The only people who loved him, in his world, had betrayed him in the worst way.

    We sat there bawling our eyes out reading those letters. He found out he had two half siblings, Michael and Rebecca. His father had sent him pictures of every stage of their lives. Turns out that despite his problems, the woman he had his next two kids with had it worse and abandoned him to raise them as a single father.

    I’m crying typing this. Lord.

    Next day at school, he had a binder with their pictures glued on the front. He wrote underneath the photos. “Michael and Becca, I love them both.” He had never met them, but had read about their first words, their first steps, favorite foods, the ways in which they reminded their father of him. Goddamn.

    I didn’t know anyone from my father’s family but him, and we were close all of our lives. We learned to play music together, wrote songs together, we did everything together.

    I didn’t understand his interest in the whole juggalo thing when that came up and I thought it was cringe as fuck. I don’t feel that way now. As bad as I had it, he had it worse. When I was a kid I could only focus on my problems. My grandparents had it together. They had a nice house, money, and nice lives. I was dirt poor. I had nothing. I thought he got lucky and I envied him for having a real home to grow up in.

    Only as an adult did I see that he had it worse than me. My mom had problems, but she was there. No one lied to me about my father. My father legit didn’t care, and even though he was doing better than my uncle, he didn’t write me any letters. Shit, I contact him today and he might reply three months from now. My cousin was lied to. He was told that his father a worthless drunk who didn’t care and didn’t even try. I’d rather learn that was true than learn they’d hid my father’s love from me.

    My grandma died two days ago. I should message my cousin. Goddamn I’m mad at myself that I haven’t yet. Didn’t even cross my mind. Fuck.

    But yeah, I can’t relate to the juggalos, but I get it. I get where they’re coming from.



  • My cousin is a full fledged juggalo. I don’t personally get it. I’m antisocial anyway, but the lifestyle is just bizarre to me. It isn’t for me I guess, but I’m for people being happy and doing what they love no matter what it. I don’t need to get it.

    He loves the lifestyle. That man has travelled all across the country couch surfing with complete strangers. It seems to me that almost any juggalo will invite another juggalo into his home like they are a huge extended family.

    He’s had some wild life experiences that I could only dream of.




  • Me too. God bless the Appalachian mountains.

    I’ve probably met more mouth breathing, lead paint eating morons (myself included. As a matter of fact, at one time I was a t-1000 Liquid Metal mercury from 50 thermometers in my hand moron) than most people will ever encounter in 10 lifetimes. I can count on one hand just how many of those people were truly bad people.

    If I have a visibly heavy load at work, it can be annoying how many people wander up and say, “hey ‘ere buddy. Yew gawn need inny hep wittat? I’ze just checkin’.”

    Open the hood of your car and you can summon an entire neighborhood. For real, need directions in the Appalachians, just stop somewhere with houses, open your hood and spend a few minutes staring at your engine.






  • I pretend to speak in different languages. I give speeches as Mao Zedong, Hitler, Churchill, Kennedy, tv preachers, etc. I play with different high pitched Lincoln sounds and encourage the troops. I’ve encouraged ships full of pirates to prepare for Spanish ships and all the treasure that awaits them. I’ve called back to Houston to describe the moons of Jupiter. I’ve recorded my farewell to my family as the ship runs out of oxygen. I’ve been Napoleon just before a large battle, Alexander making promises to the Persians.

    There might be something wrong with me.

    One of the most embarrassing moments of my life was when I was alone at work for hours, very slow day. I started doing my best fake German Hitler impression and oh boy, the SS were seigin’ and heilin’. We were losing the war. Out of nowhere an old dude came walking out of the bathroom. He nodded at me with a look like he was embarrassed for my ancestors and descendants, I nodded at him with the reddest face on the planet. Took me months to get over that one. Fortunately he had an out of state tag and I haven’t seen him since. I hope I never see him again.







  • I seriously have a boiling hatred for computers now because I couldn’t even be a little bit mean. I’ve snapped a few times when people blamed me for problems years after I worked on their stuff, but mostly I just got trampled on and robbed at every turn because I didn’t want to upset anyone.

    By the time I was mean enough to demand payment and things like that, I already hated it.

    My daughter is passionate about computers, so nowadays if I so much as want to tweak something a little bit I let her do it unless she don’t want to. I don’t want to burn her out too.