Ginsanity; Part 1 - May 6, 2008

(Reconditioning Batteries)

This is part one of a multi-part entry that details a brief period of my life when I went violently and dangerously insane. I've always been a little off -- albeit functionally and comically off -- but this is not that kind of off. It's a scary off On my personal timeline, It begins immediately after Requiem for a Pepperoni Pizza, so you might want to read that for reference before you start on this.

I thought for a while about how I wanted to start this off, and I think it'll be most appropriate for me to do that by giving you a glimpse of a screenplay I've been working on for a while. Actually, it's the first screenplay I ever started working on, so excuse the glaring format errors. I thought I captured the situation pretty well in this clipping, and besides...it's a story about how I went off the deep end -- A little medium hopping probably compliments the subject matter. The rest of the entry will be in my typical short story format.


Mike is in his apartment, sitting on his couch in his dark living room with the shades drawn. Portishead blares on the entertainment system's speakers as he takes long drags from a cigarette and pulls from a plastic bottle of cheap whiskey, staring at the ceiling. The clock on the cable box reads 9:38 am. His cell phone rings and vibrates on the table. He sees it, but doesn't pick up.


Mike, it's mom. (sigh) You need to pick up. Look, I am so, so, so sorry about this. Listen; your father did this to himself, Mike. This isn't your fault. You aren't the reason that he drank himself into that stroke. You aren't the reason that he's been an invalid for the last seven years, and it isn't your fault that he chose to drink himself to death over being there for his family. He was a selfish asshole. Anyway, you father did have some last wishes. All he really said was that he wanted to be cremated, and that he didn't want a funeral. Instead, he wanted to have a big reception with everyone there at his favorite bar. You know, the Polish one underneath his assisted living apartment in Chicopee. Take some time off of work, Mike. You need some time. We all need some time. Call me back. I love you. Bye.


A large group of people congregate on the sidewalk outside of a seedy Polish veteran's bar waiting to go inside and be greeted by the family.


Mike opens the door and hesitantly walks into his father's assisted living apartment, which still hasn't been cleaned out yet. The people congregating outside of the bar can be heard through the open windows. Mike walks over to one of the walls, where an 8" x 11" picture of Mike as a young boy with missing front teeth and a bowl haircut was hung with a thumbtack. The picture was faded from exposure and the corners were yellow and curling inward. Just as Mike touches the picture and smiles, his cell phone rings.


Hi Mike, it's Jess.

Hi Jess. This actually isn't the best time. They are just about to start the funeral reception, or whatever the hell they have planned downstairs.

Oh Jesus, is that today? I'm sorry, Mike. This can totally wait.

No no, it's OK. What's up?

No, seriously. This is really bad timing.

Jess, come on. Just tell -

(Interrupting) Don's trying to get you fired, Mike. He's been petitioning the big wigs up in Portland to axe you for taking bereavement leave.

What the fuck? You're kidding, right?

I know, Mike. It's ridiculous. Don't worry, it didn't work. You are allotted a chunk of bereavement leave in your contract. The big wigs just now actually ended up reprimanding Don for being such an asshole. It was hilarious. He's been storming around all day.

I...I can't believe he would do something like that.

You know those energy traders, they have no souls. Look, don't worry about anything. You're job is secure, just go do your family thing.

Thanks, Jess. I appreciate it. See you later.

As Mike hangs up his phone, he looks at the picture of himself as a child on the wall for a moment before he rips it down, stuffs it in his wallet and leaves the apartment.


The interior of the bar is covered in dingy wood paneling and beer advertisements. Mike is drinking a rocks glass full of Jack Daniels and playing a game of pool with his older brothers. The haggard local patrons see no reason not to sit at the bar to get drunk and rowdy, even though they have no affiliation with the family. A karaoke machine is used as a microphone, and one by one, people walk up and share their fondest memories of Mike's dad, and to give their consolations to the family. One man steps up, John, 55, his face, ravaged by years of alcohol abuse, shows deep sadness for the loss of his favorite drinking companion.

Albie was a great dreamer, a man who could charm an entire room instantaneously with his outlandish and often embellished stories. Albie was very accomplished academically, graduating from the top of his class in college, and legitimately, this is no joke - his I.Q. was just two points shy of the great Leonardo DaVinci. As great of a man that Albie was, he remained just that; a dreamer, even to the detriment of his loving family and children, who are all here today.

Mike sits at a table next to his sister and his mom, slowly sipping a glass of Jack Daniels, glaring at the shifty, meth addled locals at the bar, who are being outlandishly rude and obnoxious, hooting and hollering over John as he gave his speech. Family members walk up to the loudest one and ask him if he could tone it down. He does, but starts yelling again moments later.


Mike is outside with his mother, Susan, 55, who has blond hair and is wearing a pant suit. The loud man at the bar, clearly a meth addict, wearing a half buttoned Hawaiian shirt and stained while denim shorts, stumbles outside.

Aye ewe, what's dis party all 'bout?

We are here for the funeral reception of my ex husband, his father. (Puts arm around Mike)

Well ain't that a cryin' shame. Hey sexy lady, ewe wanna dance wif me?!

The meth addict grabbed Susan's arm and tried to drag her across the street. Mike walks up to the man, grabs his arm, and escorts him 30 feet down the sidewalk to a bus stop bench. The man looks at the pavement as Mike calmly whispers into his ear.

If you don't show my family some respect and leave here this instant, I am going to kill you.

The meth addict looks up at Mike and gives him a patronizing smile, flashing three orange teeth.

My father just died, and I have no qualms about throwing my life away by ending yours. I will kill you, leave your body on that bench, and I will feel no emotion. I won't even run afterwards. The cops will see you, dead, and they will see me lying on my belly right here, giggling and finger painting on the sidewalk with all the different fluids that are leaking from your insides...that are now outsides. I will go to jail for the rest of my life in order to make the memory of my father's funeral a pleasant one for the people attending, and I want you to know that.

The meth addict looks up at Mike, scared out of his mind.

I'm glad we had this talk. Take care, now.

The meth addict starts backing away from Mike slowly with a bewildered look on his face, turns around and starts running. Mike walks back to the reception, straightening his tie while he breathes heavily, his eyes completely dilated.

(To himself) Nice, dad. Nice place to make your family show up at. Really, it's a beautiful venue.

Posted by KungFu Mike at 3:52 PM

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I like the format. I can really see it in my head, played out exactly like a movie. Good work.

Posted by: at May 7, 2008 05:35 AM


Posted by: Anonymous at May 7, 2008 07:15 AM

i like it kfm, i really like it.

Posted by: tc at May 8, 2008 12:19 PM

Definitely cool. I wondered if the monologue of murder was a bit much.

KUNGFUMIKE EDIT: It might have been a bit much, but that's how it happened in real life.

Posted by: Wayland at May 8, 2008 01:37 PM

Great writing. Let me know when this gets picked up by ABC Family channel.

Posted by: Mike F. at May 8, 2008 06:32 PM

It was definitely called for and I hope it stuck with that guy. Much love bro.

Posted by: Wayland at May 9, 2008 09:59 AM

holy shit dude.

Posted by: Anonymous at May 9, 2008 05:04 PM

I'm amazed that you were the only one to threaten him with imminent death, considering. Can't wait to read the next part.

Posted by: A at May 11, 2008 04:52 AM

I see a graphic novel in the works.

Posted by: Pete at May 11, 2008 06:23 AM

time for pt 2 mikey

Posted by: ya moms ass at May 27, 2008 05:52 AM

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