When I was young I developed quire a strange habit. You see, as a child, I was very open-minded. I would try just about anything and liked most of what I tried. The problem was that most of my contemporaries abhorred anything new or different. A good example is food choices. I've always loved food, all food. So when we were having chicken nuggets for dinner, I was excited like every other kid. (Yay! Chicken nuggets!) When we had something out of the ordinary, like seafood, I was still excited. (Yay! Seafood!)
Most kids didn't think that way. They'd make faces and refuse to eat new things. So an unwanted pattern developed. Whenever an adult noticed I liked something strange that they liked, they would obsess over it. In their mind, broccoli rabe, pickles, scallops, or whatever instantly became my favorite food item because I tried it and liked it that one time. So every conversation with them became the same shit. "Hey Anthony, I got some broccoli rabe yesterday and saved some in the fridge just for you because I know how much you love it." "They have scallops on the menu. Well I know what Anthony's going to order." Hey Ant, come over here. I have something special for you. It's a pickle. Your favorite."
None of that shit was my favorite food! I liked it, yeah, but not all the fucking time! It became the sole topic of discussion whenever I was around those people. They would talk of nothing else and never fail to bring it up whenever I crossed their field of vision. This would lead to me eventually hating that person and that food/band/color.
And it still hasn't fucking stopped! I know what I fucking like! Shut the fuck up already! Did you think that maybe I forgot that I liked The Misfits and needed you to constantly remind me by throwing up the devil horns and screaming, "JERRY ONLY!!!!" in my face every time you see me? What the fuck?! Really?!
The worst part of it all is that I love a lot of different things and know tons of people from all over. So each little group focuses on one aspect of my personality and drives it into the ground. There are people who only talk to me about books. Whenever they read a new book, whenever I read a new book, whenever there are books within 50 feet of us, I have to hear about it. Other subjects of irritation: cult movies, horror movies, sci-fi movies, punk music, psychobilly, drums, cassette tapes, black clothes, craft beer, cats, videogames, skateboarding, Japanese jazz, coffee, hating other people, food of all varieties, that one band no one else you know has ever heard of, my hot friends, hardcore music, baking, my job, poetry, writing, and I've barely scratched the surface.
It's gotten to the point where I can pin down exactly when and where you know me from based on the nickname you called me by, and the first subject you bring up. Fuck memory! If you walk up to me, call me Weasel, and ask if I still like CKY, then hi, we went to highschool together. We met sometime in 2004 or 5, and you hung out with the skateboarders. Great to see you again, asshole! Now, fuck off please!
Did I mention that I don't care about anyone? If you don't know me now, there's a reason. Go away. I could care less that you knew of me once.
Is that mean? Is that wrong? Why am I expected to give a damn about anything and everything? If someone walked up to you, knew your name, and wanted to talk about the proper way to fold your laundry, would you give a fuck? Or would you wish that person would stop so you can just go away? Most of you will probably sit through that boring lecture about something you don't care about from someone you hardly know. I won't. If I want to fucking leave I'm going to get up and go. Deal with it.
If a tree falls in the woods, lands on, and kills the only man near enough to hear it, does his death make a sound?