Isaac Henry is a dick head

The more you know, the less you like.

Hello, I am Isaac Henry, and for as long as I can remember that fact has not meant much of anything.  I am average in height, average in intellect, and slightly above average in imagination.  I am mediocre in physicality, mediocre in personality, and slightly below mediocre in decisions.  My hair is dark brown and usually matted to my forehead with grease.  My skin is often shimmering and riddled with pimples.  My eyes were mostly blue, sometimes silver, and always red.  I had spent most of my childhood a hopeless nerd.  I was the kid in your high school that although we had four minutes to walk 25 feet, I’d tuck my head and run to each class.  I avoided even the simplest of social situations.  I couldn’t help but fall victim to role-playing games, and preferred the world of fantasy, to reality and history.  I had a lot of acquaintances, but mainly because I was simply around, and very odd.  I am not entirely sure how liked I ever was, or how liked I will ever be. 

I developed early, so I got to date the girls that would grow up to be beautiful, but were far too young and ugly to make that assumption.  I dated them when their mouths were more metal than bone, and their tits were sharp anthills with a fluffy, inflated, crown of nipple.  My physical appearance was not my only attribute that developed early.  My addictive personality did as well.  I smoked a cigarette for the first time shortly after I turned 12, with an older boy that lived next to my childhood best friend.  His name was Gary and he has no importance in this story.  Shortly after hacking and choking through my first few smokes, I tried my luck with lady Mary Jane.  The beautiful, eternal, lover that could never abandon you no matter how your life turns out.  She was my savior, and my demise, my mother, and my child.  The enabler a young idiot like myself could so easily be entranced by.  If it weren’t for Mary Jane and her unyielding, ever-warm embrace, I never would have become the fuck up I became.  I cannot blame it all on her and her influence though.  I was meant for terrible things and ever since I was just an infant, this was apparent.  My potential had just been lying dormant.

I find it difficult to dive deep into detail about myself, and how I came to be.  I just believe the other characters in the story to be far more interesting.  I think the best way I could acquaint you with myself, then and now, would be to say I am a dick head.  I have always been a little dick head, and I doubt I will ever be anything more than a dick head.  As a child I was an ugly little dick head, but I didn’t quite know it yet.  I started realizing it in my teenage years, but assumed that it was the world’s fault.  By the time I was an adult, I had mostly come to terms with the fact that I was a dick head, and that it was pretty much entirely my fault.  That conclusion was not the spawn of maturity, but the lack of other excuses.  The excuses and pointy fingers ran with age, as my self-respect dwindled.  I was from Vegas and Vegas from me.  It had always been very bad for me, and now I was good for it.  

Hello, my name is Isaac, and I can’t name shit: A story of the terminally witless

I was standing on the corner of Las Vegas Boulevard and some street that doesn’t matter.  I hadn’t been there very long but it was already beginning to smell like burning rubber from my shoes melting to the sidewalk below me.  It was the type of heat that turns sidewalks into grills to cook your eggs on.  I know that to be a fact because that’s how I cooked my breakfast this morning, asphalt fried eggs with gravel and dog shit.  I was waiting for someone there, someone to sell me something that would help me ignore these things.  I felt like a prospective groom left at the altar in front of a sea of family, but I wasn’t, I was a fucked up druggie dick head waiting to score.  My name is Isaac Henry and I am a druggie dick head.

Every car looked shitty enough to be his, so every car that rolled past me, I hated.  He was always late, just like every other drug dealer in the entire world.  It was 5:32pm and I was barely high from the roach someone left in my car ages ago.  Needless to say I was bitchy.  Just like I always am, a bitchy druggie dick head.  At some time around 6pm his shitty little perpetual rust machine rolled up to the light of that nameless street, and turned right towards where I had been standing for fucking millenniums. “What’s up man?” he muttered lazily as I flew into the car.

“not much, just collecting some skin cancer from that asshole sun out there”

“I hear that man, how much you want?”

“Well, I want it all, but I only got ten bucks”

“Then ten is what I got for you”

“Better than nothing”.

  He handed me a little melted cellophane present that he made from the wrapper of his cigarette pack.  As soon as that little ball of burnt black poo touched my hand I felt consumed by a sovereign sense of urgency.  It felt like a spike slowly driving itself into my palm, and the only way to stop the pain was to smoke it, and that’s exactly what I intended to do.  I left his car and told him I’d give him a call if I ended up doing anything that night, even though I never intended on calling him, he wasn’t that sort of friend.

That night was presumed to be a good night, at least as good as any that you could have in Vegas.  It was the night that Elliott was having his biweekly “fuck the heat, kill yourself” party.  Which was basically a bunch of fucked up, drugged out, shit heads getting wasted in an overly air-conditioned replica of every other house in southern Nevada.  His parties were usually pretty decent because everyone knew him.  He was the tall, skinny, and handsome resident of the druggie dick head home base.  His house was the setting of every “I was so fucked up last night” story, and because of that he was legend, and I was his best friend, or whatever.

By the time people started showing up to the party I was already blown out of my mind on the couch battling the heavy, warm, inevitable blanket of opiate sleep.  I was the radioactive shit stain on a twenty-something year olds poopy undies, I was a pointless existence, but I was okay with it because most likely so are you.  Anyways, I was sitting there as the friends, of friends, of friends poured onto the couch like a horde of zombies, for hugs and a hello from the boney little chucklehead that is me.  The shittiest thing about being fucked up before a party starts is that when people arrive and start getting buzzed they want you to follow down the same narrow path.  Out of stupidity, weakened will, and a love for being exceptionally inebriated, I oblige.  I grab a bottle of whiskey from the hand of an acquaintance that was standing directly in front of me and shove it in my face.  Through the slightly transparent empty end of the bottle I see the woman I was avidly trying to pork.   I say pork because I think that most accurately describes what I wanted to do to her.  She sees me after a few moments of me obtusely staring at her, and floats over with a smile loosely pasted to her pretty little head.

The later it gets, the more obliterated I become, slowly slurring the moderately sized words I carefully choose in an attempt to impress her into sleeping with me.   I was staring directly at her face but couldn’t make out how she actually looked.  No matter how hard I squinted at her all I could see was dull color.  “I have to pee like a race horse, ill be right back” she says while frantically scaling the grounds with her eyes for a bathroom.

 “oh hokay, I’ll be right here waitin an practicin some new material for the after bafroom comversation I hope to be having with you momentarily”

“He hee, you’re an idiot Isaac, he hee”

“Thanks babe, you too”

With that last retort, I left the remaining shred of my consciousness.  I lost my shit, I shot from zero to sixty in a millisecond, I was about to die or just had.  I pinched off a thought, just like a dream, about the most insignificant shit I have ever thought of.  It was the puniest twig my mind gave me to grab hold of, while ripping through a million pound current, I was fucked.