Cap'n

I know what you're thinking because I'm thinking the same thing.

"Is Higgy alive?"

"How has Higgy kept his Blogspot account?"

"Do I have to hear another excuse about the domestication of his life?"

"What does Higgy plan to use as a metaphor in reference to the neglect of his blog?"

Well yes I'm clinging to life, Blogspot will keep any piece of shit blog up, my Farmville plot is doing great thank you and I'm torn between the bastardization of Saturday Night Live and the guy below who looks like he survived an abortion.

Anyway, I bet you are feeling that we've grown apart. Well you're right. I don't care about you or your entertainment. Here are a list of things I've been doing instead of entertaining you:

• Spent the holidays with future in-laws trapped in the 1950's. This included activities such as watching tv coming through an antenna, botching Christmas Carols with my voice while Mrs. T rocked the piano, and lay in the bed in which Mrs. T's mom was conceived for 4 nights. If that isn't an FML, I don't know what is.
  
  
• Cursed out a 10 year old kid on Modern Warfare 2 calling him "illiterate" and telling him he should "read a fucking book" instead of playing the damn game. He deserved it, he was trying to punk my boy Incognito. Oh Hell to the No.
  


• Actually spent way too many moments in my life checking to see if the cotton I had been growing in Farmville was ripe enough to pick. Yeah I picked cotton. I wanted to get a sense of what my fore-fathers did before me. Next step, build a cabin.
  
  

So since enough of you have complained that I have provided you with material, I've decided to make a better effort to write the back log of stories I have in queue. At the request of my mother, I'm going to write about the early run-ins with my first arch-nemesis in my life which changed me from a shy, fun-loving child to a cynical bastard who uses racism as an ice-breaker.

As a background to this story, I need to give you a brief bio on my mother. She is all but 5'4", all but 100 lbs and all but addicted to humor. To get her fix, she used me and my sister as fodder for her humor. Ok, mainly she used me because I'm an easy target. Her motto in life is "find a weakness in someone and exploit it." Well she definitely found my weakness. Its name was Captain.

Captain had the scowl of an old seaman and the beady eyes of someone straight out of Da Nang. He had no arms, a stump for a leg, and commanded the vessel rivaling the likes of G.I. Joe and Leonardo. He had the drawn on moustache of a porn star circa 1972 and the pangs of desire for a child's touch. He haunted my dreams as a 5-6 year old and reigned terror over my bedroom and all throughout in the house.

Captain was in fact a Fisher Price "little person" much like the images shown below except he adorned a white sailor's cap.

"I want your weenis Higgy."

My mom, knowing that I had an irrational fear of "Captain," made it her goal to have him make timely appearances around the house. Captain appeared in my cereal, in my pants pocket, under my pillow, in random drawers, in a bush like the Vietcong, etc. I could go on and on with this shit but I'm afraid I would just give her the inclination to hunt down this fucker and find more places as to where to hide this scurvy perv. Everytime Captain made an appearance, I would shriek in fear and in the sissiest of manners, smack Captain away and cry like a little bitch. As I ran around the house crying "Wee, Wee, Wee", my mother would be laughing so hard she was crying and developing a bladder control issue all at the same time. She couldn't get enough of it. Even my Dad started to think she was being a bitch to me. She didn't care. So much like a crack addict, she had to continue to get her fix when the withdrawal twitches started to ensue.

Did I fear Captain may make an appearance in my onesie pajamas? Yes. Was I smart enough to throw the fucker away? No. Was I ever so trusting in my mother that Captain would never strike again? Yes. Does this make her an asshole? Yes. Do I still hold a grudge. Hell yeah I do. Fuck, I can only imagine how far ahead in life I could be if I didn't find a reason to make fun of every random douche, knob and cock gobbler I encounter. I am burdened with this disease of getting my humor at the expense of others and I have no one but my mother to blame. Like me she just had to satisfy her craving by using me as her bait. She had to keep her little sissy son in check while feeding her addiction. And I plan to do so with my future offspring. They is so screwed.

So Mom, I would like to personally thank you for placing the fear of God in me with regards to pedophiles and little people. Your ability to warp my fragile mind has made me a bigger asshole today. I love you for it.