AIM=RiantZ
So you want to know about me, huh? Well, that’s going to be pretty easy for you to find out. I’m sure you already know my profile is public, a rare thing these days on Myspace. I have a public profile because I fear almost nothing, from ex’s to internet stalkers, to zombie/vampire apocalypses. I hide pretty much nothing, and rarely shy away from questions. Odds are that I will not seek you out and add you as a friend, so you’re going to have to get off your sorry ass and friend me. It’s not out of laziness or anything of the sort like that; I’m just offensive and politically incorrect. This doesn’t mean I will go out of my way to make you feel uncomfortable, but it may happen. I’m not one to walk on eggshells here on Myspace. Mostly I am a quiet person until I get to know you better. It has to do with untreated anxiety and general distain for humanity. It’s now time to take the life journey and relive the history of my life. You may want to get a chair if you are not sitting. Actually, if you are not sitting, you may want to kill yourself right now because who actually gets on the internet from a standing position unless your on a mobile phone? Really, think about it. Let us begin this sordid tale without further ado.
My life was started in a little place known as Worcester Massachusetts. I was thrown into this nightmare of a universe kicking and screaming. I knew from the moment I took my first breath that things were going to be crazy. Much of my time as a toddler remains a mystery as I the memories have faded. The first real memory I have is that of when I was two. Yes I remember it well, for I was a coke mule for the Columbian Cartel.
I remember it well. I was first approached by Colonel Fernando Vasquez back in 1981. I happened to be out at the local Zayre department store, when a man dressed in army fatigues approached me in the sporting goods section. I had been pricing out my new Remington 20 gauge shotgun, when he asked me if I wanted to make more money than I could ever dream of. Naturally I shrugged it off, not really caring about the money and he pressed me more. He told me this would be an epic adventure of a lifetime. I would have free reign to do this new endeavor any way I chose. I eagerly accepted, and Fernando told me to think bigger with my now limitless supply of weaponry.
We flew down to Columbia for my first job. Now in Camouflaged diapers, I strapped on my ammunition, holstered my new pistols and shouldered the backpack of cocaine. I made my way through the lower part of Central America unchallenged and unnoticed. When I finally reached the Mexican border, I knew things were going to get rough. I’ve heard stories about the Federales and their corrupt practices. I wanted none of it.
I snuck over the Mexican boarder and into the heart of Mexico, making my way past the Yucatan Peninsula, when it began to unravel. I noticed a dilapidated truck, barreling down on me and I made a run for it. Finding an abandoned shanty off in the distance, I ran towards it, occasionally turning as I ran to fire a few shots at the bastards looking to get the coke I was responsible for. Upon entering the shack, I paused for a moment to take in my surrounding. I would need a plan. Colonel Fernando had told me to keep an eye out for smuggler holes. This place was no exception, and I quickly lit the curtains on fire and jumped in, making my way through the tiny tunnel.
When I emerged, I found I was now behind the Federale bastards and had an opportunity. Quickly, my pistols rattled off bullets, hitting their targets and dropping them like sacks of rice. I was home free, for now.
After further investigation and scavenging of the corpses, I learned an unsettling truth; these guys were actually working for Castro! As his personal gorilla warriors lay crumpled and dead, an impending doom washed over me. Should that bastard find out I wasted three of his elite warriors, I would be a dead toddler.
I continued on, successfully completing thirteen more runs for Colonel Fernando until the fateful day I met my match, thirty Cuban Elite Soldiers. I was captured, at the age of nine. For the next year, I was Fidel Castro’s prisoner.
It wasn’t long after my arrival that Fido, as I have called him so often because his ears actually turn red when I do, realized my unique ability to design the most ingenious devices. I was now a slave researcher, designing floating Volkswagen Beetles and other insidious devices until Fernando broke me out. At this point, Colonel Fernando had become a very powerful man in the Cartel and needed a good assassin with a keen eye for torture and mayhem. I escaped Castro’s clutches and held up in Columbia and eventually the United States, plotting my revenge on that evil bastard. I would have his island and his head! I have still yet to succeed in this assassination coup, but I did manage to cripple his supply and logistics within his lands.
After many years of super secret work, I settled down to a more boring life in a little town not far from where I was born, Stow Massachusetts. I spent my time in school and working until I was eighteen, when I was found to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Now Maynard is a little town right next to Stow. It’s famous for it’s slogan, which is “Only in Maynard,†and that is true for crazy stuff only happens in that toilet of a town. This was the place that I would first and last time I would have a run in with the law. I was arrested for possession of marijuana, a miniscule amount, and promptly dropped out of school. I made my way to Florida where I finally settled in Deerfield Beach. It was a struggle to survive, but I had a roof over my head with bread and water to eat. The girl I was seeing at the time was sweet and funny and had an uncanny knack for sleeping with the men in her apartment building. It was a strange time in the land of Florida, and not one I’m eager to return to.
When I had finally had enough, I made haste towards Pennsylvania, Gettysburg to be exact. It was there, working and living, where I refined my mental torturing skills and indecent nature. Some would say that I developed a counter attitude to the norm for the area and so began a journey of demanding common sense and comedic justice that I still hold to this day.
I had been away from Stow since 1997 and it called up one day, demanding my return, so I happily obliged, making my way back to the place I had called home early in my toddlerhood and early adulthood. Much had changed since I had left and wrongs needed another wronging to make them right.
I found employment and proceeded to live day to day and date the secretary. It was a short lived and tumultuous experience, leaving me with a bad taste in my mouth and stab wounds in the back. I was used, used to keep an incompetent, superficial cunt employed. What I didn’t know, was that for my good nature and decency, I was about to receive one of the hardest fought battles of my life to date. Because of my refusal to do the whims and biddings of this Abercrombie loving wench, I would be targeted to be set up and attempts were made to get me fired. When the secret society decided to start their shenanigans, they exposed themselves. I fought valiantly until the bitter end, taking on all who challenged me and dishing out some payback when I saw an opportunity. I stood alone, against overwhelming odds, and exposed the frauds for what they were.
Eventually the company folded operations in the area, mostly due to incompetence and mismanagement. I was left to seek other employment in the early days of January 2008. It has been a rocky road with little to no prospects since then and my daily attack at hunting a job has no wavered. I currently sit in limbo, awaiting my approval for a moral waiver for my arrest in 1997 from the US Navy, at the age of thirty.
My car has recently committed suicide and has left me with even less options and opportunities as I struggle to make my way through life. I have tried to further my education to become a History teacher, but that too has proven to be an impossible challenge due to a discrepancy with Selective Services. I am no longer eligible for any federal grants, loans, or educational assistance because of this, and there is no way to pay for classes. In effect, I am no longer a worthwhile citizen of the country I was born in and they have, for the most part, washed their hands of me.
Well there you have it. You now know a good bit about me, my past and what to expect.
