Saturday, February 11, 2012

I'm a Bad Man: But I Don't Gun Down Angels

Howdy Y'all. I have never really considered myself to be a 'good guy.' A lot of people tell me what a good guy I am but in my own mind I know things about myself that they don't. When I look back on my life so far, I sometimes find myself thinking 'Damn! Did you really do that...oh yeah you really did do that.' Some of those things I did for my own sick pleasure, while other acts of madness were carried out for my own survival. When you are born into dirt poor Hill Billy poverty, you learn pretty quick that morality can be relative sometimes and a good man really is hard to find. I remember growing up being told by everyone, except my mother, that there was nothing good about me. I was a dirt poor piece of redneck trash in most people's eyes and there was no two ways around changing their minds. So, yall can guess what it was like growing up in such an environment. I am surprised that the grown man you see in the picture to your left has made it this far.  Yet, I have to come to terms with my background. So let's start to deal with it, shall we?

My daddy partying with his buddies while holding my sister
Guns were apart of my daily existence from a very young age. There were men carrying guns around me daily. I really did not know the idea of 'gun totting America' as the Japanese media loves to proclaim until I started to venture beyond the mountains. It was not uncommon for my house to have a gang of hard working, poker playing, beer drinking, gun packing bad asses hanging around. I remember seeing just about every type of gun one could think of by the time I was 12. For some damn reason all of them liked to show me how to use all those guns. I was damn near a fire arms expert before I entered Junior High. My mother hated the idea of me playing with guns all the time but there was not much she could do about it. It is not an easy task to tell hardcore mountain men to stop giving the kid guns to play with. The first time I actually shot a gun must have been when I was about eight years old. My daddy was drinking with his buddies and one of them had a common .45 on him. One of the guys bet my father that I could not shoot a 40 of malt liqueur off of a dog house about 15 feet away from the door. Out of stubborn pride, my father took that bet. I was so excited that I popped off too many shots in a row and ended up shooting the 40 and the guys front driver side wheel of his near by pick-up truck. I think they got into a fight over that little stunt I pulled. So yeah, guns were apart of daily life for me.

But as we all know, playing with guns are fun until something fucked up happens. 

Fast forward to my freshmen year in university. As you can expect, the college crowd did not take well to my hill billy ass. My college buddies ended up being outsiders and foreigners who were a bit too different to be accepted by my fellow Americans. I did not mind my buddies much because they liked to create a little hell on earth just like I did. I made friends with a Russian guy from St. Petersburg. No one really liked him because he was VERY Russian and did not give a fuck what anyone thought about him. We used to buy MD 20/20, get drunk as fuck, and then throw firecrackers at each other. Yeah, we were into that kind of fun.

Anyway, the first time I returned home was for Thanksgiving break. I was dating a chick from India at the time so she was coming home with me. Yuri soaked around campus a week before because none of the host families would take him in for the break because they were scared of him; and for good reason. So, I told him if he would give Sheela and I a ride to my house he could stay with me over Thanksgiving break. I had no idea at the time how much of a bad idea that would turn out to me.

The first night should have been a warning sign that it was going to be a fucked up week. When we arrived at my house Sheela was tired so she went to sleep. I called up a few buddies, got Yuri high off some weed, and took him to a high school football game. He fell in love with American football. He was yelling at the players to 'kill each other you American bastards' and trying to pick a fight with the line ref. Everyone was giving us the 'die you commie fuckers' look the entire time. Yuri did not give a fuck and was singing the damn Russian national anthem at half time. We were lucky to get out of there alive. And that was day one...

During the course of the next few days the four of us, my father included, developed a taste for cheap Tequila, arguing about everything and fists fights(the fights were was mostly my father and I after Sheela pissed him off). Yeah, we were having a good old fashioned West Virginia good time. 

It was all fun and games until one night Yuri got drunk and wanted some pussy.

On the first day I told Yuri that the guy who lives on the hill across the road will let you fuck his wife if you give him some pills. I said that as a joke but Yuri thought I was serious. One night Yuri got more drunk than usual and decided it was time to get his fuck on.  He still had some Xanax he had bought from some wigged out science major. He grabbed the bottle of Xanax, my dads condoms, and as he marched out the door proclaimed, 'I'm going up hill to trade pills for man's wife.' My dad had long ago passed out, Sheela was high off her ass, my fat ass gay cousin so too drunk and I was left to try and stopped Yuri. I tried to talk him out of it but he just kept saying, 'Good loving for good pills' and knocked me on the ground several times. I finally gave up and said to him,'fine you crazy Russian motherfucker, if you wanna get killed tonight go night ahead.' We all just waited for the gun shot to break the silence of the night.

They spoke loud and with confidence.

Yuri: Ryan said you will trade pills for the fucking of your wife? I am here to make trade.
Angry Redneck: What the fuck are you!?
Yuri: I am Russian and I come to fuck your wife! Where is she? 

A few minutes later....BOOM! 'You Russian commie bastard! Get off my land before I kill you!'

The boom sound came from the business end of a double barrel pump action shot gun. The death threat came from a man named Randy; and he was pissed the fuck off.

Yuri came rolling back to my house as cool as a penguin. He kicked open my door and coldly said, 'Where is gun? Time for American asshole with slut wife to die!'

He went right to the gun case and picked out a truly classy weapon; a rifle which had not been properly cleaned for about a year. He also grabbed a box of bullets and started to head out the door. At that point I had to stop his crazy ass from going on a murderous rampage. As Yuri was loading the gun I hit him square in the jaw, but that only dazed him. I hit the bastard again with a good old fashioned Irish upper cut and he was down for the count. It was then that I noticed that Sheela and my fat ass gay cousin had been watching the scene unfold with a look of pure horror on their faces. They looked like they had just watched a zombie take a bite out of someone. If the whole situation had not been so fucked up, I might have started laughing at them.

Seeing that Yuri was pretty much out cold, the three of us want out back and smoked a joint. We thought it was all over...but Yuri was not finished yet. When we heard his Ford Bronco start up and kick up gravel as it hauled ass out of the driveway I simply gave the fuck up. He was sure to get himself killed one way or the other. Yet, to my surprised he return within 30 minutes with some very special friends. Yuri's new friends were four cops cars and eight pissed off cops. They circled his Bronco while one of them shouted, 'One of you Smith's come out here and claim this son of the bitch.' I was the only Smith in the house who was smart enough to deal with those cops. Dad was passed out and my fat ass gay cousin was too much of a pussy to talk to the cops. I came outside and said, 'I am a Smith. What the hell did he do?'

The lead cop took me to the side and very smoothly said, 'I don't know were this guy is from but he is fucking crazy. One of our officers was on traffic duty and that bastard tried to hump the damn hood of the officers car. Now you look here Smith boy, You lock him up in a room and do not let him out until he sobers up. If we catch him out again tonight we will take him to the station and you know what will happen there. Do you understand me you little Smith asshole?'

I agreed and they cut Yuri loose. I told Yuri to go pass out in my room. I made sure to lock the damn door behind him. From that day forward he forever became known as the Yuri the redneck Russian.

As unbelievable as this tale seems, I can assure you that it is all true. I cannot make this shit up.

My life is much more mellow how compared to my days living in the mountains of West Virginia. Which is most likely why I have damn near lost my mind here in Japan. Being a good guy who is so damn polite is not easy when you come from the kind of place I have. The social pressures of Japan have damn near broke me but I am sure most people in Tokyo could never handle West Virginia.

This is the first in a series of posts about my background. I need to comes to terms with what made me who I am today. It will switch from my life in West Virginia and here in Japan. I am sure you will find these post to be entertaining and enlightening.