… this is you're brain on boredom.

Although it took a lot more effort that you’d imagine when I was about 4 years old I did manage to successfully touch the kitchen stove and yes mom was telling the truth….that fucker was hot! How could I not want to touch the stove…..mom was always around it and looked to be having so much fun with her giant spoons and kiss the cook apron. From my vantage point on the ground that place looked like a wonderland, smoke was rising from big shiny pots, spoons would rattle as the pasta sauce was mixed just right. The sights and sounds were almost too much for my 4 year old mind to take. If I were 15 I would have had an erection pointing longingly up towards the stove…..towards my destination. Then suddenly and without warning my fantasy world came crashing down on me as mom said, “don’t touch the stove.” What the fuck was going on? I thought, that cheap dirty bitch was keeping the fun all to herself. Ok I was 4 I was probably thinking, what a big stupid head mommy is. But the translation is cheap dirty bitch. If your four year old calls you a stupid head remember that’s 4 year old speak for cheap dirty bitch. Wash his mouth out with soap immediately. Do not pass go do not collect your juice box. Well of course since mom said don’t touch now I had to touch, where once it was simply a want it was now a need. I couldn’t sleep until I knew what treasures were hiding up there. Id be scarred for life, Id be 50 years old not feeling complete if I didn’t get up on that counter and see just want exactly was going on up there. With a loud bang from my brother’s bedroom I quickly had my chance as mom went to investigate. The chair I slid over to the counter while simple to you was the toughest work out of my life at that point, but this needed to happen I was determined. I scaled the chair up to the counter, did a back flip over the sink, twisted in midair to reach the other counter, and gracefully pirouetted towards the shinny pots with the magical clouds rising up from them. I reached out in slow motion and lovingly caressed the closest shiny pot, it was then that the most important life lesson I would ever learn was firmly entrenched, not to mentioned burned into my entire being…….don’t touch the stove!I realized that the stove was not a wonderland of magical clouds and pixie dust….fuck no it was an evil evil place set on destroying everything that was good in the world….at least that’s what I thought at that moment while my hand was smoldering. Ok I was 4 I was probably thinking the stove was a big stupid head. Lesson learned right? If only it were that simple. You see I firmly believe that we all need to touch the stove. No matter how hard you try to convince your friend that this new boyfriend is a real prick she’s not going to listen to you, not until she gets burnt. I kept touching the stove throughout the rest of my life, I’m still touching the stove as we speak. Not literally dumbass I m speaking figuratively. When I was a teenager I was inundated with the “here’s your brain on drugs” ad’s. Somehow a burning egg suddenly seemed like it could be a lot of fun. Thankfully my first (and last) experience with Acid was a bad one. It seemed like such a good idea at the time, of course I had just finished a healthy serving of Vodka and several…ok fine several dozen beers. When I woke up in a friends basement in pitch black and my mind processed it by telling me that the Acid I had taken had fucked my brain up and that reality was all just an illusion and now that I took Acid my brain wasn’t strong enough to create the illusion it was the beginning of the end of my drug use. I laid in the pitch blackness for what seemed like years, until I could focus off in the distance the smallest point of red light. Of course when the Acid had run its course I was able to realize that the light I saw was from my friend’s alarm clock. But in that moment under the influence of one powerful fucking hallucinogen to me it was the beginning of all creation. My mind was getting stronger. If only I had more light I could bring reality back into existence. After almost setting fire to my friend’s house I was completely cured. I could see everything, I left his house and floated home. Once at home I broke down and learned once again why we should never ever touch the stove. Why couldn’t I just get high and stick my dick in the chip dip like everyone else I know? Or meet a woman of questionable moral fiber and wake up wearing her vagina as a hat? Why do I end up questioning the world’s very existence? Id like to say I’m completely cured of my obsession with touching the stove but I know I’m not. I don’t do drugs....but I do still drink occasionally. I figure it’s bad enough drinking to the point of passing out and having nightmares about the shit my friends were doing to me while I was gone......I don’t like the thought of being whacked out of my mind on dope to the point where I’m still conscious yet unable to move a finger to stop it as my buddy decides it'd be funny to rub his balls all over my face like a chalkboard eraser. At least if they teabag me while I sleep it wont bring back repressed memories of my years as an alter boy.