You will never find anyone that is as big of a loser as I am. Honestly, I’m not making that up: I’m a fuckin‘ dork. Now, I know that most people here believe otherwise because of the sexy, articulate manner I take towards my blog, but it’s true, I am a loser and it’s about time I come clean about it.

Now I’ve always wanted the concept of myself to be manly. Especially here on the realms of the INTAR WEB I wanted people to say “Oh HEY, there goes that VIN DIESEL look alike DAN LUKE cruising off on his awesome motorcycle that he built out of lumber and pine from his many years of manly lumber jacking with his godly biceps and Greek chiseled good looks! I HEAR HIS E-COCK IS HUGE!” But they don’t, it’s always “Wait… Which one are you? Harold or Kumar?”

This loserness… or loseritis as I like to call it, traces all the way back to my early childhood at my elementary school playground. There I was on the basketball court, out casted from the popular kids and their basketball “team,” but I wasn’t going to take this rejection lying down. I was going to go all TOMMY UNDERDOG. Y’know like the kid in the movie that goes to camp and makes a few quirky friends that are out casted because they wet the bed or are Muslim and slowly wins over the camps support… YOU KNOW, the classic underdog story.

So there I was on the court gathering every leftover kid I could find: Christopher the Retard, John that one ugly kid, Paul the dyslexic, Stanley the socially inept, Rudolph the cripple. Give me your poor, your sick, your ugly, your wheelchair bound, your smelly.

We were going to be the underdog team, we were going to destroy those popular kids and win because that’s what happens in EVERY SINGLE DISNEY MOVIE EVER. But reality is fucking harsh. We got our asses kicked, we got humiliated and then on top of it all, the leader of the Popular team, Adam, offered every single kid on my team a position on his team. And you know what? Every single one of them left. They limped, rolled, and crawled over across half court line to Adam’s side of the court.

“Christopher?! You’re leaving too? After I took you in, trained you and treated you as an equal even though you’re retarded!”

“Stanley?! You too?! Oh come on Stanley, you socially inept motherfucker! Go ahead, leave! Get your fifteen seconds of fame you bastard.”

That was only the beginning. When my loser tumor went from benign to malignant. The next years of my life would be confined to Pokemon, fantasizing at the hypothetical idea as to what would happen if Optimus Prime and the lead singer from Coheed and Cambria had a kid (GIANT TRANS-VEHICULAR EMO?!), girl shopping on facebook, masturbation, and constant losing. I didn’t think much would change when I left to go to an art school in Chicago. I spent the first few nights lying awake in my bed unable to sleep. It was called Intense Insomnia I think. Either that or my bed was too hot, and too uncomfortable, and too rigid. But if I said all of that I would sound like a fussy little girl… So let’s just call it a bout of manly insomnia.

I met some crazy kids at College, there was Mitch the Smiley, Jesse the Bi-Polar Jew, Steve the secret Cock Lover. We had some good times, we had some okay times, but we also had one of my best times: The time I actually won. The time that, for once, my loseritis succumbed and I was actually a winner.

So what was it that I won? It was a fight. I won a fucking thirty second fight over eggs. Now that isn’t to say I haven’t fought before. In third grade I got jumped by a group of black kids during recess and got stomped on until I bled, cried, and screamed “MY NAME IS MARGRET I AM A PRETTY LITTLE GIRL PLEASE STOP HURTING ME.”

And recently at College I took a bunch of punches in the face from Jesse the bi-polar Jew while he was drunk. His grand finale was smashing a lamp over my head. But this time was different. We started in Mitch the Smiley’s room on April Fool’s day. We had gathered and drained a carton of eggs and were going around breaking them over people’s heads to see their reactions. It was Jesse the bi-polar Jew’s turn to pull the prank, but he was to nervous to actually do it, so in Mitch the Smiley’s room I started berating him.

“You fucking Moron!” I say, “All you had to do was break the fucking empty egg over his head! Quick and fucking simple! Why did you just sit there like a pussy the whole time dammit?!”

Jesse the bi-polar Jew pipes up in his New Jersey accent, “EY COCKSUCKA, HOW ABOUT YOU DO IT? I’LL SMASH DIS FUCKING EGG ON YA FUCKIN‘ FO-HEAD!”

My eyes bulge out of my head like a cartoon wolf, “FUCKIN‘ DO IT DUDE.” I raise my arms out stretched like a drunken frat boy belligerently trying to start a fight.

“I’M RIGHT FUCKING HERE MAN, DO IT.”

He leaps off the couch and waddles right up to me, he raises his fist into the air, egg clenched tightly, and then whips his arm down, the shell rocketing and smashing into my forehead… Literally, it fucking SHATTERS all over my head as the debris tumble to the floor.

“THE FUCK?” I yell.

“Jesse, you gotta pick that shit up.” Mitch the Smiley says from the couch.

“NAW! NAW! NAW!” Jesse starts pacing in circles frantically, flailing his arms, “NAW HE FUCKIN‘ TOLD ME TO, HE SHOULD DO IT!”

“Jesse,” Mitch the Smiley starts again, “you gotta clean that shit up.”

Jesse the bi-polar Jew calms down, he bends over and begins collecting the broken shell pieces with his hands.

“Yeah, you missed one bitch,” I taunt him.

“Aw, YOU MOTHAFUCKIN COCKSUCKIN DOUCHEBAG, JUST WAIT ‘TILL WE GET OUTSIDE.”

“Yeah, keep picking those up Bitch,” I say to him, pointing to the floor.

“MOTHAFUCKING COCKSUCKA.”

“You miserable piece of shit,” I say, “You rectal ward,” “You ass-belonker.”

After the floor is Clean Jesse looks to Steve and they start to leave. I’m tired and worn out so I sit down. Right before they leave though, Jesse calls out to me “that’s right, sit down you fucking pansy!”

And just like that I’m out the door. I stumble out into the hallway but he’s waiting for me. He slaps me across the face, an eggshell formerly planted on his palm shatters all over me into my hair and onto my clothes. I slide two egg’s out from my sleeves into my palms, I’m like fucking Neo from the Matrix, I’m gonna double fist this shit. I stretch out my two arms, eggs delicately laid in my palms, and slam them into his ears clamping his head. He stumbles back, regains his footing, and charges back at me, shoving me into a door. In the distance, Steve leans against a door all non-chalantly, just taking everything in and laughing. I pick up Jesse and hurl him to the ground. The elevator doors open in the distance behind him and a black chick steps out.

“MOTHA FUCKING COCKSUCKA!” He screams charging at me, pushing me full force into another apartment door.

In the distance the black chick looks at the carpet of the hallway, it looks like some kind of egg-shell hand grenade has gone off. She looks to Steve leaning against the door, and the two dumb fools wrestling over a bed of broken egg-shells.

”WHATS GOING ON?!” She screams.

I pick up Jesse and launch his body into the ground, but he just whips back up on his heels and charges at me again.

“They’re fighting,” Steve says uninterested.

I grab Jesse and launch him onto the ground again.

“OH YOU FUCKING COCKSUCKA,” he spits, shooting up and charging again.

“OVER WHAT?!” The black chick screams to Steve.

I grab Jesse yet again, we wrestle in a circular motion, tumbling into doors and walls until I toss him onto the bed of eggshells again.

“Eggs,” Steve says glancing at his cellphone, “It’s a long story.”

Finally I break Jesse’s lock and step back, “We’re done.” I say. We stand panting, grabbing at our hips for a few more seconds and then it’s over.

Ten minutes later, the after residents have stepped out of their rooms to see what all the ruckus is about, only to find a bed of white shards all over the hallway. Ten minutes later after Jesse and I have cooled off I’m in the hallway sweeping up the eggshells with a broom.

I couldn’t believe it. The ridiculousness of the situation, how fast it escalated, and how pathetic the “fight,” actually was. But I didn’t care. In this hallway, with this apron… In this hallway, with this broom, and dustpan and the sweeping method that my mother taught me. In this hallway, on top of a bed of eggshells I’m a man, and for once I actually won.