The John

I am The John. All other Johns and subsidiaries of the name "John" (Jon[athan], Juan, Juanette, Juanita) are inferior to me. (No discussion allowed). I am an appreciator of the arts. I am a musician and a fiddler of arts of the visual medium. "Fuck" is my favorite word in the entire English language. It is versatile and can be classified pretty much as any part of speech. The John prefers not to be defined by the car that he drives, the fact that he owns a portable calling unit, or the length of his hair. The John is a lover, not a fighter. An entertainer. A myth, but still, a man. Not Spartacus, not yet Moses, not quite Jesus. The John is of his own celebrity. I will change the world and/or die trying. Until then, I will write, I will love, and I will crumble. In All Johnesty, The John._______________________________________________________ ____Comrades: For years I have used the above diatribe to encompass the online personality that is The John. Well, six thousand, six hundred and sixty plus miles from home, two years of college behind me, a few haircuts, a broken nose, a broken heart, and an empty bottle of gin later, I have only come to find that I am a man only more cynical than when I started my one-man campaign against pretty much anything that has to do with the devolution of our species and anything that simply annoys the shit out of me through myspace. (Sidenote: I think that the runners of myspace should seriously consider remodeling their “cynical” emoticon in the mood field because it’s a little misleading. I mean, you have those out there who don’t know what “cynical” means and thus view my emoticon and think of me as an obnoxiously pugnacious bastard. At least not make it red, you know?) I also have grown internally. Medically speaking, a cardiologist said that my heart is actually bigger than my body requires (True story. But a lot of that has to do with my heart condition). Based on that simple medical fact, I often capitalize on how much of a lover it metaphorically makes me out to be. (One more piece of parenthetical digression!) For the sake of your time, I won’t put that into written words, but if you’re anything but an idiot, you’ll get what I mean to say there. ___________________________________________________________ For the next several thousand words, I will write about, well, me. It’s just me taking things in its most literal form possible. Like that time when I heard the word “aloha” and then in a deep, dragging baritone said “ha.” Well, I took it how it SOUNDED literally, at least. But I digest. What I’m trying to do is give you a sense of who I am. Who The John, John R.P. Del Rosario, John, John-man, the John-meister, Johnarino (makin’ copies), T-Su, the one guy at school who checks the “Asian/Pacific Islander” box on SATs and Census forms is perceived to be. As much as I like to think that I define who I am, it’s really who the person you perceive me to be that matters. I mean, I’m from the Northern Mariana Islands. That makes me a Chamorro. But, if you’re stupid and ignorant and still think I’m Mexican, Filipino, or some kind of Hawaiian, then I can’t change that. Because if you smell bad, there are various fragrances out there that can remedy that. If you have bad vision, then there are the options of bifocals or surgery. If you’re physically repulsive, you can get plastic surgery so you can look as good as Michael Jackson (or not). But, as Ron White says it, “you can’t fix stupid.” ____________________________________________________________ I am a lifelong student, a citizen of the world. I salute no flag, worship no god, and respect no authority. I eat no fast food, drink no soda, and take no shit. I write pretentious and obviously false stuff like the previous sentence to add flavor to an otherwise flavorless piece. I know I could have used a different word other than “flavorless.” I could have used “bland,” or “stale.” But Lord knows why I used “flavorless.” And also, I capitalized “Lord.” I think that gives you an idea of where I stand religiously. And by that, I mean that I stand religiously on tabletops. Why do I do that? I guess because I’m a short guy. I’m not too tall. I’m about 5’6” 4/9ths. I also think that my height is one of the many contributing factors to my inferiority complex, in addition to my hideous face, my deplorable toenails, my large amounts of money in stocks and bonds, my uncanny resemblance to Burt Reynolds, and my farts that smell like cherries. It is that inferiority complex that drives me to want to be better than people like athletes and chicks that can hold their breath underwater for long periods of time. (They shall be reduced to the ground beneath dog shit!) I only kid about things like this because subconsciously, I want to be a swimmer. What stops me from being a swimmer? My homophobia. It’s that simple. I am afraid of gay people. I don’t HATE them. I have a fear of them. I don’t know why people use that to categorize haters of gay people. It’s imprecise. It is my over-thinking of words and usage that brings me to write things like this. Come to think of it, I may not fear gay people as much as I fear society’s overuse of inaccurate language. Actually, it’s probably the exact opposite of my take on fearing homosexuals: I hate inaccurate language Maybe if I can overcome that hate, I can be a swimmer! Then, my insecurities about myself will mean nothing to me and I can finally just be a regular, normal, apathetic human being like most of the rest of you! Or you all can suck a dick because I’m not changing for anyone. ____________________________________________________________ I believe that children are the future. And that if we teach them well, help them lead the way, show them all the beauty they possess inside, and give them a sense of pride, that they will eventually lose their value system on what true conscientiousness is and will grow to be apathetic, money-hungry sexual deviants that are driven by fear and consumption. So, really, what the fuck is the point? ____________________________________________________________ I have a myspace account (obviously). I also have a facebook account. I know it’s un-hip to have either or any friend networking site account, but just so you know, I use my insecurities of people not accepting me, thinking of me as an ignorant, computer-illiterate person, and the fact that I boast a vast array of friends all over the world that I HAVE to keep up with regularly as excuses – no, a crutches – to keep on keeping on with this crazy circus. ___________________________________________________________ On the subject of myspace, I am not one to put pictures underneath my “Who I’d like to meet” section. It’s not that there is anything wrong with the pictures, it’s just that I am appalled by the sheer stupidity that I’ve already seen in that section throughout the years. For starters, I’ve seen way too many dead celebrities’ pictures (i.e. Bob Marley, Tupac) on there. Let’s see, 1.) they’re dead and 2.) THEY’RE FUCKING DEAD! You guys better be god damn sure about your fates in the afterlife to pull such idiotic moves. Also, if you put pictures up there of friends and family on there, then I’m just going to assume that you’re some kind of retarded orphans. ____________________________________________________________ I have two dreams in life: 1.) I have dreams of fuckin’ an R&B bitch. 2.) I have a dream to be a writer of the next great American novel or a scathing look into the Chamorro condition. I’m currently pursuing the latter but haven’t given up on the former. ____________________________________________________________ I support gay marriage. I am COMPLETELY opposed to gay divorce, though. ___________________________________________________________ I’m an aspiring politician. And I believe that I will be an excellent politician because I will be the most honest – excuse me – johnest, right off the bat. For one, I LOVE the sound of my own voice and the only reason I want to get into politics is to hear myself speak. I don’t think any politician has ever reached that level of sheer honesty, ahem, johnesty to admit that. That should be enough for anyone to want to vote for me. I mean, sure, I’ll tell you that I care about the environment, the economy, and the children (okay, maybe I’ll reconsider the children for the time being) but that’s just what you HAVE to do as a politician. I’ll tell you that I will improve healthcare and security. I’ll tell you that I have a personality traits of a comma and not a period: I’m a uniter, not a divider. I mean, I want to make the world a better place, but I won’t let that get in the way of my vocal audibility. I do promise that I will make your voices heard… as filtered through my godly baritone. And THAT is a promise that I can keep. ___________________________________________________________ Home, to me, is on an island. It is home to one of the last remaining monarchies in the Pacific. As an indentured servant, I took up writing in hopes to one day be press secretary to the king. That never came to fruition. I was exiled because I had a bigger penis than the king. It was either get my penis cut in half so that His Majesty could remain superior to every other man in the kingdom or continue to be the model for every penis you’ve ever seen in a biology textbook...times a thousand! I chose the latter. Ladies, it’s Guadalupe 103 at Miner Village, El Paso, Texas. Single file line please. ___________________________________________________________ In terms of preference of sexual position, I like to be on the bottom. I work well under pressure. ___________________________________________________________ On the topic of home, I come from a chain of islands that were formed from volcanic activity after its lava dried and cooled above sea level. That upsets me because that means we were never a part of Pangaea. It’s as if we were an afterthought in the creation of the world. (Sigh.) ___________________________________________________________ In a nutshell…I’m a nut. In a turtle shell, I’m a ninja. In a coconut shell, I’m delicious. ____________________________________________________________ I am sensitive. I have proof: I’ve read Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s Love in the Time of Cholera, just like that guy in High Fidelity. I think that should count for something. I mean, it should be the literary equivalent of telling a female, “I watched the Notebook and loved it.” Well, The Notebook was also a novel before a movie, but chances are that many women don’t know that for two reasons: 1.) The movie is more accessible and chances are that more have seen it than read it and 2.) Women can’t read! Are you kidding me? I mean, shit, they can’t vote, they aren’t allowed to drive automobiles, and can’t leave households after 6PM. Of course they’ve never read it, silly. ____________________________________________________________ I measure time with the metric system. ____________________________________________________________ I see the glass as half full. Also, if its contents are exactly halfway filled, I see it transforming from a half-filled glass of liquid to a robot that walks and repeats the names of numbers only divisible by one and itself. I call it “Optimist Prime.” ___________________________________________________________ With me, it’s not wordplay. I don’t play words, I pimp words. It’s word pimpage. Get it right. ____________________________________________________________ I don’t take shits. I leave shits. In toilets. Then I flush. Sometimes in the middle of the woods when toilets are not available. Why would I want to take a shit? What would I do with it? What would drive a man to want to take a shit? I don’t have time to dedicate to the handling of shit. ___________________________________________________________ The John is the universal solvent. ____________________________________________________________ I am one to converse, not conversate. For the record, “conversate” is not a word. Really. Type it in a Word document and try and dodge that jagged red underline. Better yet, look it up on m-w.com and see if an entry comes up. Actually, better yet, read A Midsummer Night’s Dream or Hamlet or any other work by Shakespeare aloud. Then, just randomly insert the word “conversate” in some sentence and see if he doesn’t come back from the dead and beat the shit out of you with an independent clause wrapped in a sonnet nestled in a hyperbole. I feel that conversation and words are strengths of mine. At times, quantity will overpower quality (much like this entire “About Me” section demonstrates), but for the most part, I’ll find something to talk about and be as engaged in it as possible. I’ve read Dale Carnegie’s How to Make Friends and Influence People. So, I’m ahead of the game, I think. It is because of my need to communicate that I don’t understand nightclubs. Loud music, dark room, drunkenness. Nightclubs are biased to the good-looking. I mean, a pretty face in deafening music can convey more sexual tension than even the cleverest pick up line. That won’t stop me from going though. It’ll just stop me from not drinking while I’m there. ___________________________________________________________ My Thizz Face is not any different from my regular face without any expression. Yes, I’m THAT ugly. ___________________________________________________________ As a member of the male gender, I have hobbies that will often overshadow my love for family or any prospecting love interests. I’m not into cars, sports, action figures, Star Wars, or video games, but I am into music. I play the guitar, but I haven’t named mine. I think that should set me apart from other guys. The naming of your tool or inanimate object of affection humanizes its existence in your life. I find that absurd. No one can come between the relationships I have with actual people. Speaking of “coming between” and “humanizing inanimate objects,” I did put my dick in between my box spring and mattress and tried to fuck it once. Just saying. ___________________________________________________________ I’m a mama’s boy. No clever quip here. ____________________________________________________________ I don’t refer to my relatives as my “fambam.” Those who only know me from college in Texas may not understand, so let me explain. Chamorros have taken on this new idea to be trendy with the word “family” and started calling these units, “fambams.” Lord knows where “bam” came from, but I’m going to assume from its explosive nature that the term means to take family to exciting new levels of fascination. “It is my fam-BAM!” If not, then they would have come up with a less edgy word. My family isn’t as interesting for me to want you to be positionally displaced from their awesomeness. There is no awesomeness. Just a group of people flowing down the same bloodline and that have similar follicle tendencies. ___________________________________________________________ Tan Holdings owns my dad. This is why I live in the internet. Join me, will you? ____________________________________________________________ I can justify anyone’s actions towards growing up too fast: global warming. Missing out on the benefit and nuances of childhood? Fuck that. Disney already fucked up my perception of love beyond reclamation. Sex me up please. The polar bears are depending on it! ___________________________________________________________ God gave me fat around my stomach because all the muscles are in my brain. Fair trade, I’d say. ___________________________________________________________ This is the way that I rank these indefinite units of conversational measurements of time in descending order: 1.) Moment 2.) Sec 3.) Instant 4.) Flash 5.) Jiffy ___________________________________________________________ The John is an infinite measure of velocities. ____________________________________________________________ I don’t have many favorites. I don’t know what that says about me, but I’m just one to not think about preferences. I mean, Coke, Pepsi, or generic HEB soda are just some instances of carbonated sugar water that I personally don’t feel any need to distinguish between. I don’t have a favorite Power Ranger or a favorite slang term for marijuana. I am one to have favorite words, though. In my collection is the word “fuck.” Pretty obvious. Another one of my favorite words is “sequoia.” I mean, dude, 4 consecutive vowels and it includes ALL the vowels (fuck Y)! Also, alleluia and hallelujah. Nothing in composition, but I like the way a mouth looks while pronouncing them. One of my least favorite words is “conditioning.” It’s not that I don’t like it, but it is a very suspicious word. It exists just to fuck with me. Take “air conditioning” for instance. What are these machines doing to the air? How are they “conditioning” the air? Air is so invisible and gaseous that it’s almost an abstract concept and there is no need to condition a ghost. They don’t clean the air or even change its molecular qualities to make it more beneficial to those in the room. All air conditioners do is alter the temperature. And it doesn’t even do that to the air that’s currently in a given space, but it blows new air into there. “Air conditioning” is not a very accurate term to describe the process of temperature alteration through the emission of new air. Also, hair conditioner. For the record, ladies, I only use shampoo. I don’t use conditioner. My mom and all past girlfriends have had an issue with this due to my hair’s unruly nature. My take on it is that I like the condition my hair is in, I feel no need for further conditioning. I mean, conditioning my hair is a waste of time. It trivializes my genes, and my identity. So yeah, fuck “conditioning.” ___________________________________________________________ My vocabulary doubles as a chick magnet. ___________________________________________________________ Also, I’m the kind of guy to point out nuances in pronunciation. Take the word “tab.” To a southern man, it’s “ta-yub.” Next, the word “mirror.” To the same southern man and anyone with that damn southern-California “accent” it’s “mere.” I usually slit my wrists when those kind of injustices happen. ____________________________________________________________ I don't use pencils that were made in China. They might have lead in them. ____________________________________________________________ All of my legally binding contracts come in the form of pinky promises. All other lesser agreements are in spit handshake form. ____________________________________________________________ I love Texas. If I had the choice, I’d name my first son “John,” after myself. Then to show my love for this great state, every proceeding son’s name will be one of a Texas city’s name. One of them will be named “Austin,” another will be named “Dallas,” another “Denton,” another “Waxahachie,” and so on. If I have a girl, she’ll be my little “Abilene.” Other subsequent girls’ names will be left to their mother. My only request is that I would have the name’s spelling be phonetic. Yes, like how the name would appear in parentheses in a dictionary. ___________________________________________________________ Recent developments: I have acquired a substantial amount of credibility in the state of being “crunk.” More on this as it develops. ___________________________________________________________ I’m not one to require much or any make up on females. I make acquaintances with women, not clowns. I do agree if one uses make up to accentuate as opposed to conceal. I think that should entice if not attract some women to me because I actually know the fucking difference. ___________________________________________________________ I’ll tickle your funny bone and titillate your tittle bone. ____________________________________________________________ I am in your extended network. I have further plans of extending said network until its walls are sulking and flabby. I’m also going to install a hot tub, put on some spinners, and set up an ironing board in there. It will be cocksucking amazing. Your extended network is my bitch. ___________________________________________________________ The John IS your extended network. ___________________________________________________________ (No ideas, theorems, formulas, egos, English languages, social norms, parental expectations, or animals were harmed in the writing of this piece. If you, for any reason at any time during the course of reading this piece, came to think that I was sexist, homophobic, pretentious, sexually deviant, atheist, uber-religious, agnostic, communist, insensitive, apathetic, or republican, then fuck you. ) ___________________________________________________________ (Surgeon General Warning: High dosages of The John may lead to pregnancy. Please keep out of reach of already pregnant women in their second trimester and higher. Also, please disregard any of my warnings on cigarettes. They’re useless. You bought them, you’re smoking them. Really, why am I still bothering?) ____________________________________________________________ _ ..

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