AN EVIL REBORN...

Besides pride being destroyed, I had lost semblance of resembling anything human...

I was put on the fast track to surgery once the vomit cleared. A renowned fruitcake doctor came to read my x-rays and the myriad of other tests done after the beating.

My orbital bone was broken. My nose broken. Jaw cracked. I was truly feeling like Mr. Potato Head after a two-year old on speed got done putting him back together. So some grand surgeon humor was deemed necessary from the doctor. He wanted to peel my whole scull off and put a patch that had been broken in my nose.  He even made a POP sound with his sewer lid lips as he demonstrated what he wanted to do.

Just that easy, huh? Peel off my scull and POP. I can't say I found this humorous. I visualized running his head over with a lopsided 18 wheeler  while making my own POP sound. Schmuck.

MORE DRUGS PLEASE!

So my mother carried more painkillers and prescription pills that everytime she walked her purse sounded like some voodoo rattler snake was going to come out.

But in true hypo-critic form she instilled in me a disdain for drugs. And inimical to that upbringing I got introduced to painkillers that day... Demerol -- hmmmm -- mouth salivates just thinking about-- oh, wait... Back to the story.  So they give me this liquid bag of goodness with a button I could push when the pain started coming. The blastoff button. This stuff could have made a cemetery of dead people come alive to a hip-gyrating Elvis tune.  Hmmmmm....Demerol. Where was I?

So the next day there's a cabal of Cracker Jack box medical degree aficionados of clowns falling in to tell me I wasn't just normally screwed, I was majorly screwed. I refused the head POP thing just so I knew when they put me under the doctor and his posse wasn't having surgery comedy night while I was under anesthesia, or making fun of my oblong shaped melon. For the record I was born with this oblong head way before the Saturday Night Live skit "Coneheads" was on the scene.  Don't like the shape of my head, take it up with God.

Then the family comes and everytime they started shedding alligator tears or my brother started talking, I hit the drug button so his words made sense. Without narcotics my brother makes no sense. On drugs, he makes perfect sense.  He's like a talking trashcan..

...Yeah, that one.  So they could have sawed my willy off and sewed it on my head and I wouldn't have cared as long as that magical button could Calgon all my cares away.

SPINAL TAP the band is better than the real thing.

They stick a horse-long needle into my back and tell you you're going to feel a "little pressure." ARE THEY OUT THEIR MIND!  It felt like Twin Towers were coming down on my lower back.  The repugnant irony is the same people that try to tell you what you're about to feel... have never had a spinal tap themselves!!!!  It's like me stuffing their lips into a garbage disposal and saying you're going to just feel a little tingle on your lips.

Surgery comes rapidly. And the last thing you remember is five seconds of that Darth Vader mask being strapped to your face. And the cold of the room. Hot nurses. I'm naked. Cold Room. It's better they put me under before the jokes start POPPING out at what's underneath my gown -- a turtle trying to run back inside his shell.  There's just no way to sport a hospital gown with any type of pizzazz or style. It's '80's ugly no matter what you do with it. Hurry up and put that mask on... They did.

BAM -- YOU'RE AWAKE!!!

Back in the room. Where's is it????  Nurse sticks it in my hand.  Yeah... the button, good-bye cruel world.

Then there's silence. My Grandma, my brother Oscar the garbage, my Aunt, and my cousin pretty much have their eyes to the floor.  Well, not my brother -- he likes weird things. So I must look weird. And then the 2nd biggest lie when you have a face altering surgery.  It looks like it went well.

So that's why nobody wants to look at me?  Because I look normal?  That well normal?  I looked like the poster boy for the Crypt Keeper.

Hmmmm.... Demerol.

So school's going to start in two weeks. The place of vanity and long-lasting impressions made or killed the first day.  And it wasn't mentioned that now I have a bar in my face for six weeks to keep my jaw and orbital bone sustained until my bones fuse together. I can't even get an honorable mention for prom king with a metal bar stuck in my face. It was concealed except for the GIANT MOSQUITO bite protruding out of my cheek.  It wasn't an Austin Powers Moleee Moleee Moleee moment. I had part of a jungle gym stuck in my face -- Poleee Poleeee Poleee...

But by far my life had changed that fateful day. A part of my heart and hope for the human race had been erased.  Vengeance had replaced that lost piece.  Hate. Anger. It had began to build a city in my heart hellbent on violence, intrigue, and marauding subterfuge. This city had a wall being built that would let few in -- a defense mechanism from defeat.  Wishful thinking was laid to rest in  the graveyard with hope, caring, love, and every other malleable principle that had failed to blossom inside my fruitless mind now scarred and screwed. Power & Manipulation would now become the taskmasters whipping the horses of mayhem to ride harder and carelessly into a world I now called home. Next week on this journey...

ENTER THE GANGS -- the thirst for power. The quest of bedlam. I wanted no prisoners. The hell I would create would be the belltower of my own mental incarceration, ringing upon the drums of personal vindication from my own failures. I had emerged from this near-death experience as a hell-bound Phoenix willing to burn anything in my path or standing in my way -- I didn't want some, I wanted it all... Hmmm... Demerol.