Support Group

Way off in a plain old metropolitan everytown, probably not too different from yours, there's a support group of people with stupid and unbelievable conditions. These conditions were so magical and beautiful that they really made you think about life and even made some people cry from having feelings when they'd hear about the ailments.

There was Ivan Bogwell, who had this dumb unbelievable condition where if he changed his mood he would... die. That's right. He was only able to have one feeling. Just one. So because it was easier for him to be mad all the time than happy he was always mad and he wasn't allowed to be happy or he'd die. Isn't that poetic? Are you gonna cry?

Suzy Honk ran the group, she had the same condition as Ivan, yet she chose to be happy about everything. Even sad stuff, so she had to be happy when friends died and war and stuff. So sad right? Are you gonna cry?

Smope Bensington, who had a rare condition that really exists, where if he lied someone he loves will die. He always found himself in wacky hijinks because he wanted to lie. Doesn't that pique your curiosity about him? I've got to see what kind of situations Smope has gotten himself into.

Sparky, who owned a family bus built by his grandfather and if the bus went over 50 mph Sparky's heart would stop. Pretty easy fix, he just made sure not to drive the bus. But I can't help but wonder what would happen if the bus were to get stolen, eh?

Magpie Butskin, a young lady who at the age of 58 was gonna turn into a baby and start all over. Wow what a beautiful condition. Are you gonna cry?

There were other people in the group too with wacky and heartwarming conditions. One week at the meeting there was a new anxious looking new guy in the group.

"What's your name and what is your ailment, fella?" asked Suzy in her chipper tone.

"Me? Well... My name is John... Blah. Yeah. I have a bad bad condition where I get sick if I talk too much... I better be quiet now. Oh, also I heard my fingers will fall off if I indulge my compulsion to steal!"
"Well we know our wallets are safe around you, at least!" said Ivan.
"Exactly." Said the new guy.
"Well John Blah," Magpie said to the new guy, "it's fine with us if you stay as long as you like."
"Great." said John.

Obviously the new guy was a big liar and up to something, but these support group people were too wrapped up in their conditions to pay any attention. Turns out he was a failed Hollywood script writer who didn't have any ideas, but found his way to this support group meeting to steal these peoples beautiful troubled lives and turn them into premises for beloved movies.

He was responsible for such celebrated works as "Emotional Spotlight of the Singular Feeling", "The Distinct Situation of Bogwell's Mood", "Liar Die-er", "Charlie Snowflake", "The Belly Button of Magpie's Baby" and "Jenny Sparkles Water Park of Wonder".

One guy from the group, Charlie Snowflake tried to express his frustration by writing poetry but somehow he wound up stuck inside of his poem for all of eternity. So sad.

The screenwriter stole all their sad and beautiful life stories and made a fortune. They were mad about it, but what could they do? One of them, Bronstone Meriwether, tried to take revenge but his head exploded as soon as he got the idea to take revenge. That was his ailment that he couldn't take revenge on people without that happening. Pretty beautiful, huh?

The Story of Chris

Chris was a boring guy but he cared about a thing. The thing he cared about was real boring too. No one cared. Who cares!? He wasn't interesting and he had a couple of friends who weren't interesting either. If you went to eat at the place then you'd see them, but your eyes would basically just glaze right through them. They talked about who the hell knows, it's not worth asking about.

"Bla bla bla," said Chris.
"Oh that's neat." said Friend.
"My name is Chris."
"Me too." said Friend of Chris.

The original boring Chris lost his job one day. And that thing he cared about like broke or stopped working or something. Also his friend, other Chris, who was part of a big group of boring friends, turned on him, stopped being his friend, and got his other boring friends to stop being his friends too.
"Why'd all that happen today?" thought boring Chris.

Then later that day Chris got his hand blown off because of a malfunction at a gas station. Also he was a witness to a bank robbery that had a connection to a serial killer who killed someone, splattering blood everywhere and it splattered a little into Chris's mouth, and people were mean to him. So yeah he saw murder, lost a hand and witnessed crime and abuse and his favorite thing broke. Real hard stuff. He was troubled by it all. This immediately made Chris very interesting. People from all over were interested in Chris and what happened.

"Chris, can you tell me what happened that day that all that crazy stuff happened?" They'd ask.
"It's hard to talk about, I'll try though." He'd say sometimes.

He was very unhappy and troubled by all this stuff. It really affected his day to day life and he would say some strange stuff about how he was feeling inside. Some people who had gone through other things related.
"I lost a family member." said a guy.
"I am a war veteran and killed someone." said a lady.

Chris went to a therapist to try to get help with this interesting stuff.
"I'm really hurting from all that stuff I saw that one traumatic day."
"You sure are interesting," said his therapist.
This therapist was really a good judge of who is interesting.

Chris met a dysfunctional woman who had some problems and was mean to him. They got married because Chris couldn't be sexually aroused unless he felt like he was trapped and in danger. They are happy and in love even though she is so mean and unpredictable.

The Niceguymen

It was the 60s. We were young. We were bad. And we ruled these streets. We had our own tight knit group with a set of dreams. Some of us were older. The older guys ran the show. And we followed suit. They called us the "Niceguymen". It's cuz we were nice guys but we were men, and you know how men are. Boys will be boys. That means us men caused trouble. And every now and then we had to be not so nice. Things got ugly. But we ruled the streets. So there was no one to answer to but us. By the end of the 60s we were in big trouble because it went to our head and we got power happy from being power hungry and we ate too much of that power. I guess it went to our stomachs too.

It was fall of 1966 and we were planning what would be the biggest score of our careers. The other guys had the goods and we had to figure out how to get em. Boy did we want those goods. These were the goods that were gonna set us for life. Get us out of the business, sever all ties, and have us living comfortably. But first we had to figure out how to do it.

There was me, Denny. I was young and eager to learn.
"I'll do whatever it takes." I used to say.

There was Fat Boppo. He was the tubby guy of the group,
"Gimme a sandwich!" he'd say at every meetin'.

There was Sinch. He was the complainer of the group who thought everything was difficult.
"I don't know, how do we dooiiit?!"

There was Marv who was in his early 20s and had liver spots on his head. That was about the only thing interesting about him. Why'd he age so quickly?

There was Long John Johnson. He was tall and big and loved to play the game basketball. He had dreams to play someday on a court.
"Pass the hoops!" He said.

There was Sal the Gal, he kinda ran the show and dressed like a woman but was a guy named Sal.
"Does this dress make my hips look ok?" he asked.

Then there was Quiet Frank. He was the ideas man. Wasn't a plan he couldn't crack and an idea he didn't have. He had so many ideas. That's why he was the idea man. We were real keen on figuring out exactly how to get the goods from this score so naturally we turned to Frank for ideas.

"I don't have any ideas." said Frank.
"...Oh hmm. What should we do?" said Sal.
"Should we give up?" asked Sinch.
"What if we ask Frank for more ideas?" I suggested.
"Good idea. Frank, can you think of any ideas?" asked Sal.
"Hmm no, got no ideas."
"Damn. Does anyone else have any ideas...?"
"Cannoli!" said Fat Boppo.

We all thought Cannoli was a good idea but weren't sure how it was gonna help us get the goods that we wanted.

Then Long John Johnson suggested we watch him play a game of "courtball goes in the basket". And that might help us get the goods if he were to win. It was to be the big game that he would hope someone would watch him play to discover him as a big ticket to the big time. This plan, we were excited by.

"Do it!" we all cheered to Long John Johnson, as he played his game. He was so good. He could dribble the ball and everything. He dribbled the ball up and down the court between goals. Then as he was about to make his big effort at the hoop, Billy Cranko, who used to be part of our group but we meanly kicked him out without thinking there'd be any consequence, showed up wearing a big hat and gun in his hand. He fired his gun shooting Long John Johnson dead.

"That's what happens when you do things mean." said Cranko as he ran off.

We all held John Johnson in our arms as he died, he was supposed to go to Vietnam and make it big the following week too. He was gonna be our ticket to the big time. We were all real sad.

Our group really did suck. We were in denial about how great we were, as well about how great those times were. The 60s were pretty hard, there was a lot going on. We were pretty poorly educated too. Our neighborhood was not very resourceful. I was trying to oversell us earlier when I said we ran the streets. It just wasn't a very bright group coming out of our particular hood at that time.

The Sensitive Story of Little Pip

Little Pip was kind of a tubby little squishy guy that if you got close to him you'd wanna give him a hug. He was real sensitive awwwww. Isn't that so sweet that he was so sensitive? Awww. He worried about what people thought of him. Awww how gentle. If someone said an insult to another person, Little Pip would feel bad for both the person being insulted, "I hope you aren't feeling bad," and the person who made the insult "If you need to talk some things out I'll listen." Everyone was hurting. Awww so sensitive, right?

Little Pip worried about what people thought because he's sensitive awww, but then he punched at a lady, hey isn't that mean? He didn't hit the lady though so maybe he got lucky and redeemed himself because of that. Instead of being a guy who punched a lady he was a guy who tried to punch a lady. I can't decide whether you're supposed to like him more because he got lucky and missed the lady, or not like him because of his intention to hit her. Is one worse than the other? Life is full of tough decisions and I gotta say it's no exception being this narrator, I've got a lot of problems, man.

I just manipulated your heart strings by telling you how gentle Little Pip was so you'd feel pity on him but then feel conflicted when I told you he tried punch a woman. I feel guilty playing with you and asking these hard ethical questions. Should I feel like a jerk about this? See how hard it is for me?

And I'll let you in on another secret: I have a narrator. You can't hear him, but he's making me out to be way worse than I am, to another group of people, than I'm making myself out to you. This guy's just out there talkin' about me! How am I supposed to deal with that?

"How am I supposed to deal with that!?" I shouted to the sky.

Little Pip just sat there waiting for me to continue telling his story.

"I don't feel like going on with it..." I said to the world.
"You have to!" Interjected my personal narrator, that I was telling you about earlier.
"Hey you're not allowed to interact here you're supposed to be telling this somewhere else!" I told him.
"Technically this isn't your story either, you're holding it up, it's Little Pip's."
"I don't mind," said Pip.

He was probably lying, that Pip. You know how sensitive the guy is and you also know he can't be trusted. He did swing at a lady once, remember?

This really pushed a button on Little Pip, when I said that. He started beating the pulp out of me. He had buried rage issues and said I was abusing my narrating privileges.  He beat me to death, or at least to where I was incapacitated for a while. I couldn't continue narrating his story.

"Hey this is the other narrator from before," the New Narrator said.
"I'll be finishing up the rest of the story from here." said me, the New Narrator.

I'm really sorry the initial narrator had to interfere so much because truth be told he really affected the  outcome of where our squishy hero was headed. Little Pip was on a road to personal recovery after he threw a punch at that woman, who frankly, kind of deserved it, I won't get into that part, but after bludgeoning the initial narrator so badly Little Pip is incarcerated. The initial narrator really should not have been so judgmental toward Pip, he also had a drinking problem, you know? I guess I'm judging him too a little.

Dirty Mouth Ricardo's Dream!

Dirty Mouth Ricardo was a bad boy but so lovable that you couldn't ignore him. He loved to do this little twinkle toes dance shuffle. His twinkle toes dance was his pride and joy. They called him Dirty Mouth because that's his name and also he's got a real dirty mouth if you give it a good close look.

One time he was really wanting his twinkle toes dance to get some attention because he was so good at it and put his heart and soul into it. You could say it was almost his life's work. Like it would be hard to deny that he cared about this twinkle toes dance. He'd do the dance and your eyes would just ping pong between watching his toes twinkle to his hips shimmy-shaking to his pleased-with-himself facial expression and then back to this twinkly toes. Pretty cool. He also was a messy guy and had a pee-pee stain in his underwear often but don't judge him for that, because probably more people have that than you'd even guess, like the President, or a doctor, you know? They didn't call him "Pee-Pee Undies Ricardo", because they might as well have just called him "Ricardo" if they were gonna call him that, because that's nothing of note. But his Dirty Mouth was of note. It was all grimy and you just get a look at it and you know it's dirty, understand? Like little stringies from lip to lip, and dark foamies at the mouth corners.

So listen, Dirty Mouth Ricardo heard there was a position opening for the one and only twinkle toe dancer at the new dance station so he went and knocked on the door and told Greg, the guy there, he'd like an appointment to talk about wanting the job as the twinkle toes dancer.

Greg was like, "Hey I'm Greg I'm the guy who is in charge of picking the twinkle toes dancer. Maybe we can meet the Monday after next Monday?" Dirty Mouth was like, "Geez okay is there a sooner time?" Greg was like "No." Then Greg rescheduled it to even later in the day before the meeting.

Dirty Mouth Ricardo finally got to meet Greg to say he wanted to dance, and made his pitch, "I definitely think I am the best twinkle toes dancer you're gonna find and I am certain you won't find a better twinkle toes dancer."
Greg tapped his feet on the ground, rubbed his hands together and took a big breath through his nose.
"Here's the thing Dirty Mouth Ricardo, I am thinking of giving this position to a person that you think is not as good at twinkle toeing."

Not ready to take no for an answer Ricardo responded,
"But I am the better choice. I know I am!"
"Yes I know, but instead I think I will give it to someone less deserving. You know? It's a tricky decision, you know?"
"But I want it!"
"Sorry you probably can't have it."
"Is it because I have a dirty mouth? Because that cannot be helped. I was born with a dirty mouth and cannot change it, it does not reflect my ability to twinkle."
"No, definitely not because of your dirty mouth. My advice to you is either find another way to be satisfied doing what you love or quit forever."
"Motherspitballs!!" dirtied Dirty Mouth.
"Hey watch your mouth, Dirty Mouth! There's children in here!"
Dirty Mouth looked over to see there was a kid on the couch.
"I believe in you, Dirty Mouth Ricardo, I'm a wise but impressionable young child."
"You be quiet little boy," said Greg, "now please excuse yourself Dirty Mouth. I have to go and sit here the rest of the day."

Years later the little kid grew up to be just like Greg because he spent too much time with Greg. And no one knows if Dirty Mouth Ricardo quit twinkle toe dancing forever or pursued his dream. What do you think he should have done?

Regardless, though hundreds of years later archaeologists discovered Greg's remains and were able to determine that he was a real worthless shitty guy. So that's kind of cool, right?

The Tale of Travelin' Grime.

Grime was on the ground and he was stuck to it. He basically relied on people to step on him so he could get around. But boy did he get around when he got around. Also when he got around he’d have little pieces of him left behind, often w/ a slimy grimy stringy separation. But what he’d lose he’d pick up somewhere else, off the bottom of some shoe or from wind blowing some piece of krap onto him that would then be classified as part of Grime.

Smile was a phony. Total phone balone. He showed up and was debonair and smooth talky.

“Hey Grime, lemme make you a deal. I’ll sell you this krap that will clean ya up and everyone will see ya as clean!” Said Smile.

“What? Don’t you understand that basically all I am is ‘not clean’. So if I clean my ‘not clean’ then I am literally nothing. Plus I'm already mostly krap so why do I need more krap? What? Am I gonna rub krap on krap and make krap disappear?” Grime said all that in kind of grizzled sort of grimy voice, by the way. In case you heard it differently.

Smile was devious because sometimes he was genuine and sometimes he was a she. That’s right Smile was a woman too. Nevermind that though. I’ll keep calling him a he. Sometimes he was genuine and sometimes you couldn’t tell if he was trying to get something from you.

Grime was miserable a lot, but he had nothing to hide. He was well traveled so even though you wouldn’t wanna give him a hug all the time, he might be important to have around because he can tell some tales. He’s experienced some hardcore stuff. One time he was scraped off something living and flung through the air, kicked around, then sat miserably for like 8 months, then scraped off, scrubbed off and then stepped on again and sat in a closet. Somewhere in there was a breast. Not sure how he got to wherever he is not, but I know he’s not in a closet. 

One time Grime had to challenge Smile to a duel and he got to show his true colors. Yellow teeth. A grimace. Grime realized and so did Smile, that Grime and Smile weren’t so different. Behind Smile was actually some of Grime. And they realized they must be from the same place because their names kind of sound the same. And now the lesson that you just learned is that you should rub grime on your face. 

Muscle-Bound Ira!

Muscle-Bound Ira didn’t have glasses and wasn’t a body builder. Oh shit, you ask, what the hell was he? He was just a regular guy. But he kicked some serious butt, right? Nope. Nope. Well he must have been a real bookish dork though, huh? I mean “Ira”? Cmon. Nah, huh-uh, he was well read but not like devoid of communication skills or anything. Well he probably was a real nebbish. Nah he seemed pretty level headed and that’s because he was. Well he probably got picked on a lot when he was young, that’s what forced him to become muscle-bound. No, no, he had a regimented eating and exercise and sleep schedule so he was always in pretty good shape. He also avoided drugs and only drank on special occasions. Well did he clean house in the babe department? He wasn’t a womanizer or anything if that’s what you’re wondering, no. Did he feel the urge to prove his masculinity to himself? Like I said… He saw some people, had some relationships. Some didn’t work out. Parted on good terms. Still friends, all nice people. Was he ever worried about his future? Making ends meet? Muscle-Bound Ira just stayed focused on his goals, but not to the point of exertion and exhaustion. He supplemented his free time w/ plenty of hobbies. You know, Chess, Checkers, Stencil, Drawing. Shit. Well surely he’s bound for a nervous breakdown. I mean look at this guy! No, he’s not nervous breakdown-bound, he’s muscle bound. Goddamnit. I’ll bet he had strict parents and they beat him into this mold of society’s idea of like that perfect behaving man. He’s bound to burst any second. His parents were loving people and he’s not burst-bound, he’s Muscle-Bound. Well did he ever use those muscles for anything awesome? Like beating up a bully? No he studied Tai-Chi and has always been a good talker, why do you want Muscle-Bound Ira to have such a dark side. Tai-Chi? Ha! So he’s some New Age weirdo. Can’t stand those people. He’s not a character in a story that needs to have some sort of conflict. But everyone has some sort of conflict! Not Muscle-Bound Ira, he’s balanced very well. Perfectly? No, no one’s perfect. Ira has to have some sort of conflict, HE HAS TO! Otherwise no one is interested in hearing about him! Well maybe that’s what’s interesting about him? I hate Muscle-Bound Ira… I hate him. His life seems so goddamned perfect. I owe a lone shark two thousand dollars, my mother doesn’t speak to me, and I’m noticing this thing that is an odd-shaped mole on my shoulder. But can’t afford doctor bills. Why isn’t anyone making a story about me? One day I hope to meet this Muscle-Bound Ira. I will make his life a living dying hell! Just, like mine! Oh that’s very nasty. Shut up. You have a poor attitude- I’m going to leave you to yourself.