THE WARPED WOOKIEE
What's wrong with me, you ask? To answer that, here's a little about me:
I am Chewbaca X, so you don't have to be. I am Chewbaca X, and if I got my numbers and colors straight, I'd be a real threat. I am Chewbaca X you know, the enthusiast they thought was a woman and now they think is a chameleon. I am Chewbaca X I know the big words but not how to pronounce them. I am Chewbaca X, who can see into the souls of the unwary. I am Chewbaca X: buy me a SoBe and I'll tell you why cats smile. I am Chewbaca X, and you shouldn't believe a word I say. I am Chewbaca X: hair as red as flame, eyes as blue as crystal sky, skin as white as snow, in bells and plats. I am Chewbaca X and the rest is all lies.
My star sign is Scorpio, my favorite colors are black and purple, and I like sushi although I suspect that it is secretly dead raw fish. I will not, under any circumstances, shave any portion of my body with a straight razor. Like most of my species, I must be invited in. I heartily believe that gryphons shouldn't marry and vampires shouldn't dance. I walk the fine edge of that blade that is conciousness on one side and dream on the other that most others traverse only twice: that thin, silver horizon where you hover right before falling asleep, and right before completely waking. I have a slight self esteem problem, but nothing that I can't handle. One day I hope to reside in a city whose streets are paved with time, own a were-goldfish who transforms into a wolf at full moon, and inherit a library card to the Library of Alexandria. Either that or live next door to an old man in Nicaragua who owns the universe and who keeps it in a jam jar in the dusty cupboard under his stairs. The details of my black life and dubious death will be written in certain books, and the foolish and the curious may seek them out. Nothing could induce me to elaborate here. By comparison, Gilles de Rais was an angel in human form, and de Sade a weak and simpering child. The world shall be well rid of me--if rid of me it truly is.
Here are a few unsubstantiated rumors that are circulating about me:
- This little song was not written about me, no matter what the newspapers say.
- I was not found wandering the sewers of Salem as a child during the winter of 1864, unable to say anything more than "Powerful big rats, gentlemen."
- I do not have a vestigial tail. Anymore.
- I do indeed possess what most people would commonly understand as "eyes", even though they tend to quiver and spin wildly at the sight of certain...things.
- I am afraid of neither mirrors nor street conjurers, but I am afraid of scrunchies and my mother was scared by a pawn-broker's sign.
- I am not a refugee from a bloody shambles, nor am I the troll who lives beneath the bridge. I can, however, be found out wandering around the desert kicking coyotes and watching the sun rise in the West.
- I was not the product of an unholy union between a mountain lion and a mountain goat. But, being compatible with the average housecat, I sleep most of the afternoon.
- There were no tooth-marks on the bones.
- I have never been convicted of any capital crime, for reasons that remain shrouded in mystery.
By now, you could be thinking something along the lines of this, or you might be thinking this, or you might even be thinking something like this. I don't know. There is always the slight possibility of this going through your mind, at which point you should shoot yourself in the face with a bazooka. But wait! There's more!
There is one more rumor that I would like to put down right now, separately from the rest, because this one is causing me grief day after day. They won't leave me alone! I'll show them!
I am not a member of a fraternity of critics, in reality a dark brethren, linked by profane rites and blood vows. We did not sacrifice a child to the Great Unabomber (left), nor did we perform a critical mass with lots of evil-smelling candles and insidious chanting. I do not worship Lord Cthulhu (also left), although I think he's a pretty good guy, and he bakes a mean bundt cake. And I mean mean. It bites back. I am not a member of the sect of the Knights Templar that separated to follow the teachings of St. Franco, who, by the way, no one else ever accused of being a saint, but I am a Black Knight (left again), and damn proud of it. But that's enough vicious rumors for one web page, isn't it?
But seriously, my name is Jason C. Slate, former resident of Welcome, North Carolina, current resident of a dorm room in Greensboro, NC. I am a former student of North Davidson High School, a current Computer Science major at the University of North Carolina at Greensboro. I graduated 10th in my class, and got an SAT score of 1440. I am a fairly easy-going guy, slow to anger, but if you ever manage to really piss me off, you better hope that I don't know where you live or work or what car you drive. My hobbies include video games, reading sci-fi or fantasy, comic books, and girl watching. I believe in God for the most part, and Heaven and Hell, although the Hell in which I belive is a wee bit different than the Hell that is normally accepted. I do not believe in the use of illegal drugs, but I don't mind if you do. I don't believe in pre-marital sex, even though I'm in college, but I don't mind if you do. I listen to metal and alternative music, such as Korn, Tool, and Rammstein, but I also love Phil Collins, and Rod Stewart. I am constantly being told that I am not right. I also wonder why that is. I am usually the person my friends go to when they have a problem, even if it is terribly obvious that I can be of no help whatsoever. I need more big pants. I drive a bright red '99 Chevy Camaro, and I love it. I am for capital punishment. And, top it all off, I am currently in love, and it is the greatest thing since sliced bread. And there it is.
If there is a moral to this part of the story, and I distrust morals in the same way that I distrust beginnings, white trash, and those old men who wander the streets talking to themselves, it is simply this: Know that with which you deal. See you in the funny papers...or maybe the obits...or the classifieds...or the stocks page...or the editorials...or wherever the hell we happen to bump into each other. Gimme a break here!
You wanna go back to the main page? Good!
Like it? Hate it? Do I care? Apparently so, or I wouldn't tell you to email me at ChewbacaX@hotmail.com
