Chapter One - How I died, Had A Weird Interview, Then Tossed Off. Back To Life

Hello, thank you for reading the opening salvo of what is sure to be my ongoing hatefest for all those wankers who think they are better than everyone else, backed by the UN. I may know that we are better than you, you may know that we are better than you, but there is no need to say it. Crueller words could be said, but I leave that to another time.

I am sure that you are itching (Please apply a cream if that is the case, I have enough problems of my own to catch anything from you. Dirty, filthy sod) to find out my tale of woe, of triumph and my glorious conquest of those blasted UN bastards. Unfortunately, you will also learn why you are all my property and I own your souls. Maybe you shouldn’t be reading this after all.

Still with me? I think you must have a screw loose somewhere. But that’s your problem, not mine. Onwards and upwards as they say, unless you are afraid of heights, then you are doubly screwed as there are some nasty gits with guns behind you, and if you turn around, it will not end well. They’re ugly as fuck. Fugly as they say. Honestly, you will probably need to be checked into a mental hospital, with hourly injections of the happy drugs. Maybe you should turn around after all.

I’m done. End of chapter. Go home. I’m tired. Balls. Oh well, I tried to spare you. Forward march.

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My name is James Jude Jamison, or JJJ for short, or even J as the ultimate shortness of my name, but let’s not be lazy. You can call me JJ. I don’t know what my parents were thinking, but they were probably hoping for a laugh, and a child can’t defend itself when it is born. That is why they invented Retirement Homes. They got me on birth, I’ll get them when they start losing their keys. So any day now really.

I was born not only with a terrible name, but just to rub it in, they decided for the ultimate giggles, to give me an inoperable brain aneurysm, located near the basal ganglia. I don’t know why I have a hanging herb in my brain, but we all do. The little bastard could go off at any time. And I have been living with it for 23 years now. I must admit, it did let me get out of sports quite regularly. “Coach, I can’t participate. If I do, you will probably, maybe, get done for murder, at least negligent homicide”. They weren’t very impressed after about the fifth time, but I had a genuine medical note from a proper doctor and everything. That’s why I have never learned the fine art of forgery.

I have this sneaking suspicion that without that note, the Coach would have called it, and gotten me killed. I am hoping that in the alternate realities where this happens, that my head explodes from the force of the aneurysm, and gets my brains all into Coach’s mouth. Coach is not a very nice person after all; if anyone deserved to have exploding cranium pieces go flying into their gob, then it is Coach.

Of course, with this bomb in my head, I was well compensated with an awesome superpower. The power to fall asleep anywhere, anytime. Especially when you get those boring ass teachers who just lull you to sleep, cus they’re shit. I admit, not the most spectacular power ever, but it was mine. And maybe a few of the other kids as well. Shut up, I know it’s not a power, but please let me have this. Fine. Be that way. Watch out, I am going to put a deliberate error here somewhere to just to get my revange.  So there. You know that it is going to bug you. Muahahhahaha. My life as a villain got started really early. Bow before me, for I have made your inner Grammar Nazi rage against my might. Suck it.

I got through secondary school, through college (read England, UK. We have actual segmented school years. First comes nursey (2-4), primary (4-11/12), secondary (11/12-16), college (16-18), university (18 till you get bored and drop out. Or you die), unemployment (maybe a job here and there to mix it up, everyone needs a vacation), then death).

I managed alright for myself. I got my 8 A-C GCSE’s, two A Levels and a diploma. I’m not sure what subjects I got the qualifications in, but it will probably turn out to be something like Computer Science, Maths and other useless junk like that. Probably. Then somehow, I’m a bit fuzzy on the details, but horror of horrors, I got a job.

Please don’t make me tell you what my job was. It’s humiliating, degrading, dehumanising. Very well, I became, reluctantly mind you, a………. What, you couldn’t make out what I said? Well, that’s your fault. Fine. A nursery minder. I hate children, they are so stupid and dumb and childish (PS. I secretly do love children, but I thought that liking to play and teach children would bring on the ridicule. Toddlers are great. I love them. Not like that you pervert. Your sick. Get your mind out of the gutter. Give me your name now, I’m tell the police. Stop, I said stop, stop running. Dang. He got away).

Because of this fortunate circumstance, I was free to do my own thing from 14:00 till 17:00. Then mum got home. Then the nagging starts. Then I have to look after my little sister. She is such a bitch. Grow up. Your like 3, stop being such a child. Why aren't you in school? Bloody slacker. No, I love her really. Maybe I should put her in a bottle. That way she will never grow up. So cute when they are at that age. I swear, I have never seen anyone else in my life who falls on their face so many times. Hilarious.

So for three hours per day, I get to indulge myself in my hobby. I’ll let you have three guesses of what it is. And if any of your say masturbate, I do that in the evening. Go one, guess. Bet you can’t get it. No, that’s not it, neither is it that, wrong again. So stupid. And the answer is: RPG’s. Or more accurately, single player role playing games. Told you that you wouldn’t get it. I hate these MMORPG’s. I’m a loner for a reason. It’s why I have never gone on a single date. Whenever I meet a cute girl I like, I laugh in her face, pull her pig tails, then leg it. What do you do? Please, tell me. I’m so lonely. My closest companion is my right hand. My left gets the occasional tug, but righty keep on smacking it around when it tries to get close. I kind of like it.

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That’s it, I’m going to end the chapter here as I need to go……. Wash up. Yeah. Wash up.

I’m back.

I know, I am that good.

So, I am 23, I’m sitting on the family computer, in the main room, not with my trousers around me legs cause I saw a nice looking female Elf, called Steve, on a game called Older Books, Dayrim. Nope, I am a pure and innocent soul. I’m starting to blush from the looks you are giving me.

It’s 16:59, and mum is about to get in with Charlotte, my little ankle biter. We all know what her fetish is going to be when she grows up. There I am, sitting at the computer, not with my trousers around my ankles, screaming at the screen “Die you bastard, why won’t you die? Oh, you’re an Illusion. Guess that’s why you’re not dying when my big, bad blade is penetrating you”.

Then the inevitable happens. Mum opens to door, takes one look at me, smacks me around the back of the head, furiously whispering *Pull those pants that are NOT around your ankles before I get your sister in*. You might be thinking that by this point that I am dying of embarrassment. But I’m not. Because. Well, just because. Not because my mom is hot. Not at all. It’s because I’m face down, bleeding out and dead on the keyboard, and just as that poxy mage came out of hiding. And launched a fireball in my face. Killing me. Double teamed, way to go, yeah. I got killed my a bunch of one’s and zero’s, and my mum. She will probably not feel guilty at all. Probably tell me to get my lazy corpse up and clean up this mess so I don’t traumatise Charlotte. That, or she will break down into tears, because blood is a bitch to get out of keyboards.

So that is it. I’m going to a better place now. Hopefully, I get to meet some hot angel chick and finally get laid. I’m cumming babe, just hold on, and call me Daddy.

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I’m travelling to a bright light. I can see words forming in the distance. They are a bit blurry at the moment, but second by second they are getting clearer. Slowly. Minute by minute. Come on. I can just about make it out.

Piss off!!!

Great, not even heaven wants me, and hell will probably find me too much of an annoying sarcastic prick. They’ve got enough lawyers and priests. They don’t want someone who has taken being an obstinate dick and made it into an art form. Critics. (Please see appendix A where it explains the story of the broken down car and the guy who wants to borrow a jack. If somebody who is not me could please write that appendix, I’ll sue you. Thanks).

Anyway, I am starting to look around, maybe one of the other religions will take me, and if worst come to worst, I could go with being a Christian. Worst possible scenario only though. Then, suddenly, I feel a tap on my non corporeal shoulder. I must say, I am slightly impressed. I would have definitely gone to more magic shows if they could have performed something like that.

Without there being a up or down, forward or back, or diagonal, I turn to my left. There, serenely waiting for my attention to focus upon his/her bland, ordinary form, awaits the strangest creature I could have imagined. A garden gnome, with a fishing rod over his shoulder. A. Garden. Gnome. Huh. Didn’t see that coming. Nice.

“Come with me if you want to live”. Now, you are probably expecting Arnold’s voice to be issuing forth, and your right. This time. Next time I am going to change it to a squeaky Hamstery voice next time. So there. And name him/her Bubbles. Cudderly Bubbles.

The Gnome turned to his right, and began to drift away, softly floating into the endless white abyss. Yes, everybody got it wrong. The abyss is in fact white, not black. That would be the void. A completely different kettle of fish. Arsehole completely went right through me. He/She could have asked me to move aside, but noooooooo. That should have been the first clue.

I follow, he/she drifts, I follow some more, he/she drifts some more. I’m getting a bit bored here. I’m going to skip to the end. But I will be happy to describe later the interminable journey I took if you are interested. If you are, please, end it now. I’m literally crying for you. Whether it is with sadness or with laughter, you decide. It’s probably laughter. But again, you get the final say. It’s definitely laughter. Or maybe sadness. Is there really a difference?

Eventually, the Gnome slows down. A room appears around us. Slightly off white walls start to form. It looks like a padded cell, but maybe we are all in my head, and I don’t like intruders. Or maybe it hasn’t finished forming. Turns out it is the latter after all. Who’d have funk? Not me.

The walls start to shift to a nice dark brown woody colour, then in fact becoming wooded panels. Must be an up-town padded cell, for the swanky wackos. Chairs and a long, infinitely long table start to form. On my side, a comfortable looking padded chair appears. Across the table, about three feet away from me, a half dozen chairs appear, looking even more comfortable than mine. It would be a bit weird if I was talking about a baker’s dozen. Then would the half chair be a stool. Use your imagination.

In front on the six chairs, six figures start coalescing from a tiny pin prick of light, quickly enlarging, taking shape. Weird, I would have thought they would have chosen something close to my form to put me at ease, it this obviously troubling time for me. Two eyes, one nose, one mouth, a head, a torso and two arms. And a weird mass of tentacles hanging down from where their nuts should have been. (If you have ever seen Farscape, picture pilot bottom half).

They sit down in the chairs. Oddly, I would have thought that sitting on your tentacles would be highly uncomfortable. Not them. They looked on blithely. Maybe they’re masochists. Shame I haven’t got my whip and shiny heels, with the glitter on the toes. Wait. Where did that though come from? Hmmm. Oh well, maybe in my previous life I was a demented sex pervert who liked tentacle porn. Look away now innocent mortals. Daddy has to re-arrange…. Nope, haven’t got a lower half. Haven’t got a upper half. Still just a blob of light. Bugger.

I wish I could tell you what happened then. I feel like a conversation and assessment happened. It’s like that feeling you get when you wake up, and you know you have had a fantastically weird dream, and you really want to remember it, but you were too lazy to write it down, and now you are flogging yourself with a whole salmon. No? Must be me then. But try to imagine it, and you still would be weirded out. But you would know the feelings I experienced.

Sometime during the interview, one of the tentacle creatures picked up with Gnome with the fishing rod, placed it into its lap, and proceeded to eat it hat. Just it’s hat. Then it licked the Gnome’s face. Then I looked away. Nobody should have to see that. But if one of you does tick me off with your comments, then I will make you relive that scene. You’ve been warned.

 Time passed, questions were asked, by me, about what the hell the conversation is about. Unhelpfully, I am sure one of the creatures explained, but that too faded into obscurity. Balls. Time passed again. The conversation had finished. The creatures started to go to sleep. Or that is what it looked like. Then their craniums started throbbing. Undulating. Disgustingly. I need to be sick. Then they stopped, opened their eyes, and looked at me and said, “How about an orange”.

Then suddenly some jerk jerked me back by the scruff of my neck, travelling like a million miles an hour, and flung me back to life.