Call Me “Murphy”on June 29, 2012 at 12:05 am
Is anyone out there familiar with Murphy’s Law? For those of you who are not indoctrinated with this pessimistic principle it states simply that, “Anything that can go wrong, WILL go wrong.” So for those who are fiending for a deep-dicking in the ass by the choo-choo train of chance that we call life, assume my identity and change your name to “Murphy,” so that you too can feel like you’re getting passed around like the new guy with soft features and the “purdy mouth” locked away in OZ penitentiary.
Now, is it just me or does it seem like I am the most unlucky bastard on the face of this unforgiving earth? I’m not just talking about gambling or less than ideal fortune, I’m talking about life constantly pissing on me like R. Kelly at a girl scout troupe meeting. Here’s a sad little story to illustrate…
One day when I was 8, I went for a bike ride. I rode my bike about 3 miles away when my front tire suddenly slipped out from under me and I came crashing down. I completed a full forward twisted Cirque du Soleil-like summersault, but failed to nail the landing. Luckily, my head broke my fall… and all I had were some severely scabbed arms and a very bloody knee. I couldn’t ride and could barely walk, so I proceeded to fashion a tourniquet with my t-shirt for my hemorrhaging knee and began hobbling home. About a half mile into the trek, I ran into a police officer who saw me take my tumble from afar, but felt no need to actually come to my aid. He made sure I wasn’t going to keel over on his watch and then gave me a fistful of tiny bandages that Bilbo Baggins wouldn’t even use if he nicked himself shaving. The cop quickly dashed away to probably stop a robbery at Krispy Kreme or something and I continued on my way. My bike was busted, my knee was bleeding, and I was still a good 2 miles away from home. I asked myself if this could this get any worse and that’s when it started to rain. I was now, literally being “pissed on” by the gods themselves. Don’t think that’s too bad? Well, here’s the pies de resistance- this exact same thing happened again 7 years later when I was 14, right before I was about to get my learners permit.
Now, that’s just one of many pathetically unfortunate stories that have been peppered throughout my life, but I just thought of it here because I stand now on the precipice of a bold new venture, launching my own webcomic and daring to think that anyone out there may give a tumbling fuck about what I have to share here. If experience has taught me anything, it’s that I should prepare for the worst and start seeking out German fetish clubs and support groups for retired shop class teachers who might be interested in buying my domain name. Nevertheless, call me a glutton for punishment or a wide-eyed idealist because I still ride bikes today, buy lottery tickets, and look forward to a new day that may bring new luck. Maybe I’ll find a dollar? Maybe you and a couple thousand of your closest Facebook friends will like my website and keep coming back? Maybe my luck will finally turn around? Or more likely, maybe I’ll be impaled to death by shards of a broken mirror that I knocked off a ladder I was standing under indoors while I was trying to open an umbrella to fend off the rabid black cat that’s scratching away at my genitals. But hey, what the Hell do I know?- it’s probably just me.