The Story Of My Life
(It Isn't Jealousy, Really)
Written by:  Alex Sandell

Isn't it funny how best friends disappear, lovers vanish and family and friends stray?  None of us seem to notice.  We may think about them occasionally, but we never really wonder where they are.   We're just concerned with how we might impress them if we end up bumping into one another like two ships in the night (I knew I'd get that moronic saying in an update someday, I just knew it!). 

We've shared some of our greatest moments with these people.  We've laughed with them, cried with them, we've even rubbed our private parts together with their own, yet what are they to us?  Just a memory?   A vagina?  A penis?  A gigantic, throbbing anus looking for love? 

I was thinking about that, recently (excluding the "gigantic, throbbing anus" thing).  All the people that have came in and out of my life.  Some of them were just temporary "human-fixes", others will be forever treasured.  Sara the insecure slutty girl who picked up hitchhikers because they were "an easy lay" was easily disposed of in my treasure-trove of memories.  Good riddance (although she had a really nice set of boobs).  Jeff, the guy who made a deal with me when we were young and idealistic, that if I made it, he made it, and if he made it, I did the same, was not, and is not, so easily forgotten (although I have no interest in his knockers).

I still email him once in a while.   He gets back to me even less.  He's working on some idiotic morning show in California.  I guess "Playboy TV" recently offered him a job.  He wrote to me and asked whether or not I think he should take it, I wrote back saying I'd take it faster than you can say, "personality isn't all that matters".   He hasn't responded yet.  It's been a month.  Oh well.  At least he ordered a shirt.  Now I just hope he actually pays for the damn thing.  That would be cool to see a "Playboy" model posing in a Juicy Cerebellum T-shirt.  I 'spose one of those celebrities interviewed on the morning show could wear one.  George Lucas in a Juicy Cerebellum T-shirt would be some mighty fine publicity.  I hope he'd lose that gigantic double-chin, though.  It might obstruct the view. 

Still, what the fuck does George Lucas matter, if there's no Jeff?  Have you ever had a friend like that?  Someone you counted on who ended up basically pulling the rug out from under your feet?  Jeff is distant, and I don't think our friendship will ever be what it was 10 years ago.   When we got together for "a couple of hours" (it ended up being more like 7 or 8) a few months ago, things seemed dandy.  Almost "normal".  I guess you can never go back, at least not for more than 7 or 8 hours, and I've heard that things are never what they seem. 

Call me naive, but I really believed that if I made it somewhere, Jeff would be the first to come along for the ride.  I would keep my pledge.  Without honesty and integrity, the most you can do is take yourself to "higher" places, while abandoning everyone else.  If you're loyal, and stick to your word, you can go further than you've ever dreamed of, and take as many as you can along for the ride. 

That's what I tried to do, as soon as The Juicy Cerebellum became more than just a personal webpage for 5 friends and a couple of parents to stare at.  As soon as my buddy Jeff discovered this webpage, I offered him different jobs.  Write this, do that, whack off at least three times while swallowing a dried packet of Kool-Aid.  He turned me down.  He couldn't write, he said.  It was his chick that did the writing.  Being his chick, I asked if she'd be interested in writing some shit for the page.  She said, "hell yeah" and then wrote absolutely nothing.  Now she's the Assistant Editor at Box Office Magazine.  She's trying to find a job there for me.  She's been trying for quite a long time.  What a woman.  Maybe if I wait another 17.3337 years, she'll let me bring coffee to the "real" men and women who write about important things like, uh . . . gossip. 

So, I wait.  Blindly following the road I thought led to nirvana, but really ends up in an epitaph reading, "this sucker died poor, and believed all".   I believe Jeff wants me out there, in California, working with the celebrities.  I believe his girlfriend, AnnLee, is finding a job for me, and it's not just some lame excuse meant to make Jeff feel better about himself.  My ticket's in hand, and I'm ready to fly.  Call me soon, Jeff . . . no matter how much you pay for them, tickets expire.

Back to the table of brains

Back to The Juicy Cerebellum.

1999 Alex Sandell [All Rights Reserved].  If you copy this, without my permission, I'll pull an Old Testament on you, and request an eye for an eye.