So, out of the proverbial blue. I get an email that someone on LiveJournal liked one of my posts there.

And honestly, by this point. I had mostly forgotten LJ was a thing. Sure, I had the little doohickey that crossposts these blog posts to the ol LJ installed in my WordPress plugins, but that was strictly legacy.

In other words, it means that it’s not so much that I wanted it in there as there was never a good enough reason to get rid of it.

Kind of like Canada and the Monarchy.

So being as vain and desperate for validation as any other writer, I clicked the link to see what it was that this total rando liked.

And what I saw there blew my mind.

It’s just a piece of work I did for class at VFS, but it’s frigging hilarious. I am overwhelmed by myself. It’s so full of wit and energy and fun.

And it reminded me that I am truly one funny motherfucker.

Here it is :

The Legend of Michael Bertrand

“A+++. Excellent student. Would teach again. “

Mrs. McLeod, six grade teacher

Wonderful and Perceptive Human Being

“He and I had the same business agreement for years. And I can say, without a doubt, that there wasn’t a single day that I didn’t get my newspaper. “

Mr Peter Hogg, newspaper recipient

Fine and Upstanding Pillar of the Community

“You mean the fat kid?”

Mister Anderson, worst gym teacher on the planet

Owner and Operator of a stupid, stupid face

These are some of the things that critics worldwide are saying about future superstar and all around swell kinda guy, Michael Bertrand. But do any of us really know him? What is going on inside that fantastic mind of his? What powerful forces intermingle to create such powerful prose? And does he have a heterosexual brother?

Yes. Yes he does. Text him at (555) 555-FAKE and he’ll hook you up.

Michael was born, at a very early age, in the tiny Maritime fishing town of Summerside amidst the green rolling hills of Prince Edward Island, in the great nation of Canada, He likes to say he wasn’t born in the middle of nowhere, but rather in the place people who did live in the middle of nowhere meant when they said they were going into town.

He says a lot of things like that. You get used to it.

He was the youngest of four children, and that meant nobody cared what he did. That was both the best and the worst thing about it.

At school, he was a gifted student who did his school work with contemptuous ease and passed every test without ever studying.

This might have contributed to the constant bullying.

He went to college at the University of Prince Edward Island, which has the dubious distinction of being consistently voted the second worst college in Canada. (Suck it, Memorial!)

He excelled there as well, and would have graduated with a degree in Psychology from there had his parents not withdrawn funding half way through so they could retire early.

From there, he become a wanderer of the wilds of the World Wide Web, and beheld many a majestic and mysterious site. Long did he roam, having grand adventures and carefully gathering knowledge.

In other words, he surfed the Web and played video games.

But soon he grew bored of the vagabond’s road, and after a brief stint in traditional education, was accepted into the Writing for Film and Television program at the prestigious Vancouver Film School. He worked hard, wrote many things, and now, he is a proud graduate of that program.

And now he stands, ink still wet on his diploma, ready to join your writer’s room and use his talents to make your television show even better,.

Almost brings a tear to your eye, doesn’t it?

Me, a while ago

That’s funny as hell, in my not at all humble opinion. I know there’s a lot of people who would think I am coming on way too strong, trying to hard, or just being obnoxious as hell,. but what can I say.

That’s just the kind of queer little duckie I am.

And the more I accept that and work with it, the happier I will be, I think. I have a huge and vibrant personality that doesn’t take no for an answer and is perfectly willing to blast people with charm and risk being obnoxious rather than accept constraints I have never wanted or liked that are designed to make me “tone it down”.

Fuck that. I’m a high flying wonder of biblical proportions. Damn you tiny people and your tiny minds and tiny lives.

Then again, talent has never been my problem. I’ve always had enormous abilities. From learning to read when I was three to getting great grades without even trying to all those little incidents that pointed to me being a heck of an orator, I have always had an excess of what most people would love to have at all.

That pisses people off. But whatever. Those people are beneath my notice.

There is a whole amazing world waiting for me out there and I have loads of ability to offer it. I can do the fuck out of so many things it’s insane.

I’m a wizard, goddamn it, and surely someone wants my magic enough to pay for it.

The real problem is my psychological issues. There is this thick heavy clog in the pipe meant to take my energies and translate them into real world accomplishments.

And it’s that clog that keeps me from knockin’m dead in the real world.

That makes it sound simpler than it is, though. Get rid of the clog and everything will be okay and that’s the end of that, right?

But the real deep down dirty issue at the core of my problems is that part of me loves that clog for keeping reality out, and is not at all sure it wants it gone.

And until I resolve that conflict, this continuous stalemate where every move I make is countered and negated will continue.

I can write all I want about how I want to walk in the fresh air and sunshine after being so cold and lonely in the dark for so long, but unless I deal with the terrified troglodyte inside, it is never going to happen.

So it’s not the clog, it’s the trog. Let’s call him Trog, which of course is short for Troger.

He is one scared and angry dude. He fears the light of the sun and all that blue sky and wants nothing more than to squat in his cave all alone

That’s because he’s been hurt very badly in the past and it makes it hard for him to trust anybody and so as sad and lonely as he is, when someone enters his cave, he runs and hides till they go away.

Or, if push comes to shove, he will chase them away.

And those times where he does try to befriend someone are rarely successful because all the time he is trying to get to know someone, the crazy voices in his head are ringing very loud alarm bells that make it very hard to concentrate on what the person is saying and leaves him in a kind of stupor.

You’d be stunned too if you had a head full of lunatic monkeys shrieking and shitting everywhere every time you are dealing with someone you don’t know.

Eventually. the monkeys win, and poor Trog runs off to his deep dark cave where nobody can find him. And whoever was trying to befriend him wonders what the hell happened and what they did wrong, and concludes that Trog doesn’t like them.

Or at the very least, that he’s too scary and confusing to be around.

How he longs to explain to people that there are times he cannot stop himself from running away and that it doesn’t mean he doesn’t like them, it only means that the monkeys won this time.

But he would have to stop running away to do that.

So he squats in his cave instead, and busies himself tending his little fire. gazing into its flames, and crying soft black tears.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.