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Description
Before this ‘story’ about my life of sorts actually begins (let’s face it, a person’s life, fictional or not, is nothing to take extremely lightly), I’d like to thank various people for the support that I have received throughout the years. First, I’d like to thank my Father, for without him and his part in screwing around with some underage bar wench, I wouldn’t exist. My Mother also: thank you for keeping me full term and then decide that you don’t need or want me. Seriously, thank you for throwing me in the cold dampness of life when I was still in a state of gooey worm-dom.

Okay, enough of the morbid sarcastic beginnings. Even when talking about something like this, I can’t shake off the tendency to lie my little white ass off. I have no idea who my parents were and what they did. Dad could have been a hobo that got lucky just as he could have been a noble man (the term noble makes me laugh) who boinked one of his servants who just happened to become a pregger. The same applies for Mom. Well, except the pregger part, since guys can’t get pregnant last time I checked. Yet the same fate awaited me. I wasn’t wanted, so I was ‘thrown’ away and left to the world to do its bidding. Luckily for me, the world decided to send me a middle-aged Jewish man named Ezekiel who just happened to need someone like me.

You see, in the world that I live in; there are respectable Jews and non respectable Jews. Ezekiel happened to fall in the latter. The only respectable thing he did was name me Emmanuel, a nice little Jewish name which apparently was also the name that some carpenter’s kid had eons ago before he was pierced like a pin cushion on a stick for being a total spastic hippie or something. When I was a little kid, we settled that he should just call me Manny, since it kinda got annoying to listen to him whine on and on; “Oi Emmanuel” this, “Watch your schlumpy ass Emmanuel” that. Blah blah blah BORING.

Besides, Manny sounded way cooler for the type of job that they had to do to get food on the table. We delved in marketing scams of all sorts: telemarketing (I was dressed as a woman that backed up the product), door-to-door salesmen (I was the midget that backed up the product) and we even tried the boy-scout-cookie-sale thing (I was the Boy Scout that backed up the product).

Needless to say, we did a whole lot of moving after each scam that I backed up. I still don’t understand why people are mad after, say, joining a magazine that doesn’t exist, buying a product that doesn’t work, or even eating a cookie made solely of saw dust.

Of course, I never got that much money. It may sound stereotypical of me, but Jews are greedy bastards, and Ezekiel was probably the president of the club. For the one dollar I got, he got twenty, and that was only when he was in a ‘sharing’ mood. So I did something that I’ve only regretted a few times when I’ve been beaten up one too many times.

I conned Ezekiel into giving me all of the money.

True, it wasn’t the easiest thing to do (he DID teach me everything that he knew, and he was a greedy Jew), but an old man is an old man. And old men throw their money away at small petty things like charity and lemonade stands. So you’d see me, a then 15-year-old boy building lemonade stands all over town, more precisely where Ezekiel hung out, and use different disguises at each stand to fool him into buying a 5$ lemonade that was actually soap water. At least it tasted better than the real stuff.

While I was at it, dull Normies also bought the stuff, so the profit margin went way up.

It was the good life, that’s for sure.

However, life bit me in the ass one Monday afternoon, when Ezekiel and all the townsfolk that bought my ‘lemonade’ became really sick.

Who would have thought that drinking mass quantities of soap would cause gastric problems of all sorts?

So I applied another lesson that the old man taught me.

I took the money that I made, bought a cheap vehicle and fled to my heart’s content.

To this day, I have no clue what happened to those people and the old man, but I’m still afraid of what would happen to me if I went back to the town.

The money is pretty much gone, since I’ve had to finance my scams and then pay for the horrible retribution of the many failures that I’ve had to endure.

Now here I am, 21 years old and trying to make a living out of pretending to be an invalid with a coffee mug extended to the masses, hoping that they’ll actually believe that I’m trying to fund an organization that tries to make fake limbs for people ‘like me’. up to now, I’ve collected 30 buttons, 45 pins and a marble. This may be a passive way of trying to scam people, but it’s the only back up plan that I had the time to create lately.

Surely the time will come where they’ll run out of junk and give money. Just you wait…

Description
Before this ‘story’ about my life of sorts actually begins (let’s face it, a person’s life, fictional or not, is nothing to take extremely lightly), I’d like to thank various people for the support that I have received throughout the years. First, I’d like to thank my Father, for without him and his part in screwing around with some underage bar wench, I wouldn’t exist. My Mother also: thank you for keeping me full term and then decide that you don’t need or want me. Seriously, thank you for throwing me in the cold dampness of life when I was still in a state of gooey worm-dom.

Okay, enough of the morbid sarcastic beginnings. Even when talking about something like this, I can’t shake off the tendency to lie my little white ass off. I have no idea who my parents were and what they did. Dad could have been a hobo that got lucky just as he could have been a noble man (the term noble makes me laugh) who boinked one of his servants who just happened to become a pregger. The same applies for Mom. Well, except the pregger part, since guys can’t get pregnant last time I checked. Yet the same fate awaited me. I wasn’t wanted, so I was ‘thrown’ away and left to the world to do its bidding. Luckily for me, the world decided to send me a middle-aged Jewish man named Ezekiel who just happened to need someone like me.

You see, in the world that I live in; there are respectable Jews and non respectable Jews. Ezekiel happened to fall in the latter. The only respectable thing he did was name me Emmanuel, a nice little Jewish name which apparently was also the name that some carpenter’s kid had eons ago before he was pierced like a pin cushion on a stick for being a total spastic hippie or something. When I was a little kid, we settled that he should just call me Manny, since it kinda got annoying to listen to him whine on and on; “Oi Emmanuel” this, “Watch your schlumpy ass Emmanuel” that. Blah blah blah BORING.

Besides, Manny sounded way cooler for the type of job that they had to do to get food on the table. We delved in marketing scams of all sorts: telemarketing (I was dressed as a woman that backed up the product), door-to-door salesmen (I was the midget that backed up the product) and we even tried the boy-scout-cookie-sale thing (I was the Boy Scout that backed up the product).

Needless to say, we did a whole lot of moving after each scam that I backed up. I still don’t understand why people are mad after, say, joining a magazine that doesn’t exist, buying a product that doesn’t work, or even eating a cookie made solely of saw dust.

Of course, I never got that much money. It may sound stereotypical of me, but Jews are greedy bastards, and Ezekiel was probably the president of the club. For the one dollar I got, he got twenty, and that was only when he was in a ‘sharing’ mood. So I did something that I’ve only regretted a few times when I’ve been beaten up one too many times.

I conned Ezekiel into giving me all of the money.

True, it wasn’t the easiest thing to do (he DID teach me everything that he knew, and he was a greedy Jew), but an old man is an old man. And old men throw their money away at small petty things like charity and lemonade stands. So you’d see me, a then 15-year-old boy building lemonade stands all over town, more precisely where Ezekiel hung out, and use different disguises at each stand to fool him into buying a 5$ lemonade that was actually soap water. At least it tasted better than the real stuff.

While I was at it, dull Normies also bought the stuff, so the profit margin went way up.

It was the good life, that’s for sure.

However, life bit me in the ass one Monday afternoon, when Ezekiel and all the townsfolk that bought my ‘lemonade’ became really sick.

Who would have thought that drinking mass quantities of soap would cause gastric problems of all sorts?

So I applied another lesson that the old man taught me.

I took the money that I made, bought a cheap vehicle and fled to my heart’s content.

To this day, I have no clue what happened to those people and the old man, but I’m still afraid of what would happen to me if I went back to the town.

The money is pretty much gone, since I’ve had to finance my scams and then pay for the horrible retribution of the many failures that I’ve had to endure.

Now here I am, 21 years old and trying to make a living out of pretending to be an invalid with a coffee mug extended to the masses, hoping that they’ll actually believe that I’m trying to fund an organization that tries to make fake limbs for people ‘like me’. up to now, I’ve collected 30 buttons, 45 pins and a marble. This may be a passive way of trying to scam people, but it’s the only back up plan that I had the time to create lately.

Surely the time will come where they’ll run out of junk and give money. Just you wait…