InsaneJournal

Murderface: Hand-Me-Downs
When I was growing up, I never had anything nice. Even if it started out brand new—well, everything starts off as brand new somewhere—it would be a steaming pile of crap by the time it got to me. Or maybe it started off as a steaming pile of crap, you know, it was just some cheap knockoff. Then I got it new. Well, maybe.

My fucking grandma was a thrift store nut. We'd always go down to the Salvation Army or some bullshit. She'd say something like, "I grew up with five older sisters, and I worked on a farm. I didn't even know they sold new clothes," or, "William, when I was your age, we were going through a little something called the Great Depression, you little asshole."

To be fair, I could kind of be an asshole growing up. But, big deal, my parents were killed in a big murder-suicide! You know? So big deal.

The creepiest thing about that old, worn down, good-god-no-one-in-this-place-could-possibly-still-have-a-pulse-it's-so-out-of-touch house was the fact that, for as long as I can remember, an article about my parents' tragic deaths was taped to the wall. Higher up than I could reach for years, even if I could still read it. And when I did finally reach it, come to find out it's glued on with some sort of, like, wallpaper glue. That's just sick. I think she was trying to make me feel more at home as a baby or something.

The old bat actually made grandpa explain why I lived with my grandparents and not my mom and dad, like all the other kids at school. You know, back when he was more alive than dead.

It wasn't enough that I was always the ugly kid in class, or the lazy one, or, yeah, of course, the little asshole. I was the orphan, you know? Of course, I was also a really poorly-dressed orphan. I threw scissors at a little boy who called me Little Orphan Annie once. You don't want to know what I did to the one who tried to call me Pollyanna.

That's another thing. You think literary orphan boys, and who do you think of, what, like, Oliver Twist? Yeah, no kid knows about that. It's really stupid.

I should write a book, you know? Just about a little orphan boy and everything and how he's...you know, an orphan, and his parents are dead. And he lives with, like, his psycho grandmother. It could be a horror book. But maybe it would be one of those horror books they dumb down for the little kiddies so some kid that had a dad who decided to kill his mom and then kill himself could be called something other than Little Orphan Annie.

What about Rupert? Sounds a little lame, but it's an orphan name, an old orphan name, like set in London or something. Pip pip, cheerio! I'm Rupert! I live in London, ol' chap, and my grandmum is a serial killer. And...and my grandpap is a robot who has no feelings. Tally ho!

Yeah. I could get into that.

So the point is, I never had nice things growing up. New things. But now it's just one of the perks of being the songwriter, lead guitarist, bassist, and manager of world-wide sensation metal band Dethklok.

Alright, I'm just the bassist. But that's the foundation of the band. Who really wants to hear a song without a bass line? No one, that's who.

If I need something, I go out and buy it new. Don't need it anymore? I burn it. I've made it my goal to never have to go to a thrift store again. Everything there is ugly, and smells terrible, and, well, that's just too much like the me I am already, and not like the me I've always wished I could be.

I always dreamed of being the Metal prince I am today. Even before I'd heard my first metal song. I always wanted cool gadgets and toys, and wanted to choose my own bedtime, and be my own man.

There was something else I was missing, though. I had bands before. Toki's the only one who didn't have one before Dethklok, and, let's face it, he's kind of lame, and kind of young. Like that armless bastard murderer psycho psychologist said, I guess we're kind of a family.

We have a deal not to put it that way, you know. I think we'd run the risk of getting too attached or something.

Hey, at least grandma only hit me with a spoon, and usually I was being a smartass. I get the feeling Toki's parents screwed him up royally (fitting for a prince of metal).

And if my grandma had slept with all the guys around town—oh god. Think I need to puke.

Okay, I cleaned myself up a little bit. Anyway, if my grandma was anything like Skwisgaar's mom, I'd have to kill her. That's not physical or anything, but it's, what is it called? Psychological abuse?

Pickles and Nathan's parents seemed okay.

I'm just glad I'm not that new baby Seth's just had. You know, Seth, Pickles' brother. Amber seemed okay. I got in a little bit of conversation with her. She's kind of boring. The baby'll probably grow up to be a greedy, selfish dick, just like his dear old dad.

It might have an Australian accent at least. G'day mate, I'm a greedy, selfish prick who's only 5 years old! Gimme all your money, and then we can put some shrimp on the barbie and...you know, open a couple Foster's beers. Or something. And go shoot some Koala bears and fight a kangaroo. Mate.

Whatever. I guess that's enough being philosophical. Toki just got back from the recreation room, so I think I'm clear to play Wheelchair Bound. That game is okay with other people in the room, but it's better alone.

Oh, did I mention Toki killed a guy the other week? Yep, right in the middle of a Snakes N' Barrels concert. Those guys aren't doing so hot.

Yeah, something is seriously wrong with that kid. I mean, he's weirder than usual.

Nathan thinks it has something to do with all the people dying around him. Wouldn't that be the least brutal way to die in the history of death? Being loved to death? No thanks. I'd rather he hate me than go that way. I'm gonna go when I'm really old, in some awesome blaze of glory.

Wouldn't it be awesome if my legs stopped working someday and I played live action Wheelchair Bound to my death or something like that?

After I write that stupid book of course. The one about Rupert.

'Ello, gov'nuh! And then I'm motherfuckin' wheelchair-bound.

Yeah.

Oh yeah! Almost forgot about Planet Piss. Planet Piss, then Rupert the Murder-Suicide Horror Story Orphan, and then I die. Just, die somehow. Not like I play the game to death. It's probably stupid to end life that way. It's probably better to like, you know, get mauled by a rabid dingo or something. To let the awesome story come to you.

Dingos! That's another Australian thing. Hope Amber keeps an eye on that baby. That'd suck. Before he conned me out of all my money or anything!

What if Rupert was Australian?