Stories about me and what made me this way.
Hold on there, you with 911 on speed dial, I’m just being dramatic, not confessing to a major crime. My eighth-grade year was an eventful one, for it was that same year that I poisoned my English teacher. It was a dark, dreary, overcast morning and, for English class that day, we were going to …
I had several friends growing up, in retrospect I realize so many of them were total jackasses, but one in particular stands out. He was always going on about how his father was the manager of the local Sears department store, as if that entitled him to the privileges of social royalty. They didn’t have …
Like so many other people, I was born to parents. I was the last in an array of four others. Had the pill been invented much later, I would have had younger siblings; any earlier and I wouldn’t be here at all. Go figure. The bony finger of Fate was jabbing me in the ribs …
There’s nothing funny about watching helplessly as your father falls off the roof of your childhood home. Or, is there? When I was maybe six or seven years old, I borrowed-without-asking (which is technically stealing) my father’s hammer to build a tree fort in the woods behind our house. I wasn’t always careful about where …
Inside Doug's Head 