Gather 'round everyone, and hear the tale of why I chose my name, ? Michael Mejido?. ...It was a dark and stormy night, the wind howled and the owls Hooooed, and I was lonely. Very lonely. Things got like this alot, and so I sat. Alone... by myself... thinking to myself. THINGS ARE NEVER THE WAY THEY ARE, I thought to myself as I ate an orange - the orange that later was to be my demise.... The night passed on, and I grew restless. Things began to look at me, and I couldn't feel my hands anymore. I looked around, and I knew it watched me. I couldn't stop it. It was there. I didn't want it to be there, but it was there. In the dark. Watching me. Things were simpler back in those days, when a man could go off to the Piggly Wiggly and get themselves an orange, only to come home with it and find it had a worm growing out of it. Now some might find this attractive, but not I. It just wasn't the way I was raised. I, a farm boy raised in the old style, sought a richer, fuller life, and thus made it my lifelong mission to compose the greatest concerto of a man called Mozart. Mozart, after all, was my hero. I looked up to him because I was born without a father. He became my father. I cannot talk of such things anymore. And so the night went, and as it did I grew weary of all the tomfoolery, and so I began to eat the orange, delicately peeling back the sweet rind to expose the fleshy pulp of virgin fruit. And to my mouth it was exposed, and I dug into it with my tongue, passing my curious tip over its ripe skin, slipping through crevasses and dividing flesh ever so delicately. My hunger needed to be satisfied. The night was viciously cold, as I sat in front of my glow box, looking at pixels fresh and refresh before my hardened eyes. I could feel the cataracts form. It hardened me. To realize one's downfall before it happens is to catch the wheel of Time and examine it - the wheel looks back and wants to be let go... it knows that what is happening is wrong.. . very wrong. It wants desperately to be let go, but I wouldn't! I couldn't... I needed to know. I needed to see. I wouldn't let it go. It was fleshy and soft, and as I squeezed it it gave way under the pressure of my grip. It was so soft... So I was banging this chick, and all of a sudden my friggin' mom shows up. Things were simpler back in those days, when a man could see his reflection in a pond and not have to worry about a fish rippling the surface. It looked back at me with its fishy eyes and it knew... it knew. But the night swallowed it up and let me alone, to face its chill with only my Milwaukee Bucks cap and a shot of tequila to quench my thirst... and I was desperately in need of thirst. Oh lord, I prayed, take me from this sleep you call Life... It mocks me, and calls me names... calls me vicious names like Poopy Head and Michael Michael Motorcycle, turn on the key and watch him pee. They can be so cruel, your children. Your creations. It's so a guy can't live his life the way it was meant to me. Things were simpler back then, when a man said "hi", and you said "hi" back to him, and both parties smiled and went on their way. But it's not like that anymore. It will never be like that again. And it's your fault. Don't you think I don't know that? So there I sat, and I longed for the breath of a freshly cut lawn to sigh... and expel itself onto me. It needed me, and I needed it. The night was cold, however, and I stared at the screen until my eyes hardened. But it wasn't meant to be... it just wasn't meant to be. And it's all your fault. I looked across the pond, to the place where I once lived. Where I was born. To a place where the goodness once was, to a place where the toads could never get me. I needed to walk across the pond to get to it. The pond, the black pond that shimmered in the night like a painted fart looked at me and wouldn't let me cross. But I needed to cross... i needed to cross. But it wouldn't let me. You think I don't know you? You think I don't know? It needs to be done, and I'll cross if I need to cross. And I WILL cross. And the toads will be left behind, and the pond like a painted fart will be left behind. But there I remained. And it was permanent. And I knew it. Don't you forget that I always will know it. And I looked to you for guidance, but you gave me the raspberry. Not the good type of raspberry, the one that tastes like the fruit of passion, nor even the '70's pop band that once featured the vocal stylings of Eric Carmen, but the raspberry of deceit. The raspberry of lies. The raspberry that was later to turn into a poisoned sack of turds. ... the type of turds that no one welcomes. And it painted me up like no other, and I knew it. Don't think I didn't know it. And there I sat. In front of my glow box, watching the pixels fresh and refresh... eating my ripe passion orange, and looking for naked pictures of Brittany Spears - the type of picture that makes my groin bulge. And that's why I chose the name "Michael Mejido".