20 to Your 1

Have you ever had ADHD? I did, it's great fantastic awesome bad-ass!

Spent most of my childhood making obnoxious car sounds with my mouth, peeling out whenever there was a chance: school, home, quiet time, asleep time. I didn't care what or where... BRRRRRIIIINNNN !!!BRRRRIIIINN!!! BRRRRIIINNN !!! SQAWEEEEE!!! SQAAAAWEEEEEE!!! SQAAAAWEEEEEE!!! BRRRRIIINNNNN !!! BUUHHHUUUURRRR!! BUUURRRRRHHHUUUR!!

I finally grew outta that...psshhh NEVER!!!

You’re welcome, whoever gets to witness me rounding corner 5 at the grocery store.

If you want people to leave you alone wherever you might be, give it a try. You can be your own car or truck, or if you have enough creativity you’re always welcome to be something else that peels out—like a Big Wheel or a RadioFlyer. I’m not here to judge nor do I care.

Nobody mucks around with the guy or gal who makes peel-out sounds with their mouth while they strut around.  Start a wreck with someone you don't know (or someone you do know). You will be in their priers tonight—guaranteed! I do it all the time it works great!!!

Do you have a kid with ADHD? Buckle up my friend and enjoy those years of “SHUT THE HELL UP!!!” Take my advice: get yourself a hobby that takes you far, far away from home. Something like looking at National Geographic boobs in person, replanting the Amazon Rain Forest, or some kind of solo mission that requires you to blow on paint (dry or wet, it doesn’t matter!). This is the only possible solution if you still want to be—at best—on speaking terms with your kids later on in life.

 I would like to take up this little space right here and thank everyone who knew me in my growing up years who didn't kneel down and punch my face.

With ADHD everything has to be fast—I ate fast, did my homework fast (okay, ditched that so I could do stuff), I even watched TV fast.  I had super speed, or what felt like super speed to a 5-year-old. I kinda felt that way all up to 14-ish. I had great hand-eye coordination and a hunched back with a ka-dunk-a-dunk ass to follow. I was built for speed all the way round.

At least that’s what I thought.  I never had the lung capacity to ever make it really far . Anything farther than running across the street and the only thing fast about me was my mouth.

 silent sqaawee's

I was a product of my environment more and more as I grew older, but when I was little everything was really far, so it didn't matter.

When I was in Junior High a few of the neighbor kids and I decided we would all go out for AA Soccer. I played lots of soccer growing up. Okay, let’s be honest.  I WATCHED lots of soccer growing up, I sucked! I was signed up for it year after year only to wake up early and waste most of my Saturday morning sitting on side of the field freezing my ass off. Even if you didn’t know me, you could always spot me out there.  I was the one who looked like a homeless kid.

I looked that way 99% of the time anyway unless I was naked (and I still say it should be 100% of the time). I still look that way to this day, it's the “in” look for me I guess.

For the AA tryouts I wore my typical soccer uniform: a Metallica t-shirt, baggy pants and a hat worn backwards. I'm pretty sure my shoes had smoke bomb green on them from the previous 4^th of July.

We started out doing sprints half way across the soccer field. That's a pretty good distance for me, that's right about where my mouth sounds start backfiring KA-KA-KA-KA-KAKAK-AK-AK. 

I was in one of the last groups to go. I lined up with kids I've never met and pulled my smoke bomb-dusted skater shoes to the white line, revving my mouth for a good ol’ fashioned ass-whoopin. I knew I had those *&$#@ (meows) licked.

All my friends had already run and they were standing over by the coach, waiting for the next round. We lined up 4-across and he blow his little whistle tweeeeaaaatttttttt...

I ran so *&^$#@ fast I buried the other kids, BRRRIIIINNNNN-ing and BRRRROOOMMMM-ing all the way. 

I hit the finish line, SCREEEEEEAWWW-ed through a left-hand turn and kept on racing…until I ran outta gas a few steps later. VVVVVRRRRRAAAAAWWWwwwsssshhh.

The coach mouths off and says “whaaa... is that kid on drugs?” Not knowing my friends were standing behind him laughing their asses off. Needless to say I was cut from the team. Let it be okay I say. If soccer doesn't need me, I don't need soccer. I was just there to blow the dust off my BBBBBRRRRRIIIIIN BBBBBRRRRIIIN Big Wheel.

That was the last of my sprint days. Later on in life I got extra lazy, started smoking and to be honest, who the hell wants to run fast anyway? I still had my hand-eye coordination tucked away for another day.

One of my first jobs was washing cars. It was a perfect ADHD job. I worked with almost all my friends at the time, so work never really felt like work. It was like dick-off time with pay. All I can say is that idle hands are the devil’s hands, no matter what age you are. You had the choice of smoking or smoooking or flipping quarters or playing Knuckles. I'm not sure if you know what Knuckles is, but I’ll explain it fast-like.

First, line your knuckles up with someone else, “fist-to-fist.” You decide who goes first, it doesn't really matter who starts. The object is to smash your knuckles down on top of your opponent’s knuckles. As soon as the whomever it my be breaks away from your fist you have the option to move. If you’re slow you learn to get really quick really fast. The whomevers turn continues to go on as long as they have hit your hand.  The beatings continue until they miss or you cry. When they do miss it's your turn to repay the favor—if you haven't quit by this time.

It was at this crap-ass job for $6.00/hour, Thursday – Sunday, 3pm-close. During my down time I found that I was given the worthless talent of being “Champion of the Universe Knuckles smashing guy.” I should have been sent to the Olympics! I loved that game. I would play anyone who was willing to play. Man, woman, child or beast, I never discriminated. I don't believe I ever lost a game of Knuckles.

Maybe I didn’t lose, but that's not saying my eyes didn't well up with tears when someone hit me after playing for hours on end. Nothing like bashing the hell out of your hands at the beginning of your shift and having eight hours of washing cars and smashing knuckles ahead of you. I remember making ice packs just so I could drive home. Days of pain would follow. I loved it!

After I left that job I had nobody to play. I should have started my own tournament, like Blood Sport, where people who played Knuckles could come from all around and we could mix it up with people who have other talents like high-kicking, or skipping, or being double-jointed. We could battle it out ‘til the bloody, bitter end.

After suffering Knuckles withdrawal I started giving people 20-1, which meant I will allow you to miss 20x to my one. I only remember one person (you know who you are) taking me up on that. Once.

I still appreciate it.

And thank you x2.

I sometimes wonder looking at this pic if it's not just me beating myself up and looking the other way. I do that a lot. Meh...one day I will get the best of me.

I took this pic in an outdoor racquetball court. I drove around for weeks looking for a wall that would work.  Once I found it I had to wait for the &$%*# racquetballers to get out of my way.  Figures I’d pick the most popular wall in town.

All of the m3s are wearing the same clothes, I just changed them in Photoshop.

I heart Big Helper.

I think everyone should adopt a catch phrase. “I do stuff” has been mine for a few days now. When the pic was finished I brushed it in using a bleach bypass filter with a vignette.

Thanks for playing along with me and my m3's

Come back anytime, and tell a friend if it made you smile or if it disgusted you … I'll take either one—or both!

Check back soon-like. We love havin ya

I do stuff

Christoph