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Cautionary note: There's a lot of adult humour... The result of several late nights.
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People always talk about how awesome it would be to be able to dodge bullets… I don’t agree.
That’s bloody hard to do.
However… I quite enjoy telling them where to go.
Confused? That’s fairly ordinary.
In fact most people are still confused after they see it… Which is why I’m still alive.
I guess it’d be easier to give you a brief history of my life… So you understand what the hell I’m talking about… Because I’m not talking about dodging bullets.
When I was born in 1982 my parents named me after Mozart, they gave me the ridiculous first name of Wolfgang.
You think that name’s cool? You can have it!
That name caused me more bloody pain than I’d care to relive.
You ever been hit in the face by a tire-iron? I have.
In fact my nose has been broken forty six times now… And it doesn’t show it.
In fact it never has.
The first time my nose was broken was in a fight at school… I talked back to a bully and he just walloped me, a few minutes later in sickbay I got freaked out.
Nurse wiped away the blood… Then asked me why I had wasted her time… The teacher who’d seen me get hit was just as confused as I was…
There was not even a single mark on me… Where the hell had the blood come from then?
The second time was the very next day… This time the bully was wearing knuckledusters… Showing off… To a girl.
To her great respect she turned on her heel as soon as she saw what he had in mind.
This time there were red marks on my face from the knuckledusters… But my nose remained unbroken… The blood origin less.
I began to understand what was going on… Super fast healing or something…
Two years later I was officially declared dead… I have the coroners report in a frame on my desk…
Struck by a truck my brain was traumatised… It killed me.
They’d even carved my gravestone and was lowering my coffin into my grave when I woke up… That was a shock I tell you!
I hammered at the coffin… They heard it and opened it up…
And my parents feinted dead away… Whereas the priest yelled out something about a zombie and smacked my over the head with a crucifix…
People overreact in extreme situations.
I was given an MRI… And found to be in perfect shape.
Year Twelve was the worst year of my life… One of the sensationalist TV shows did a thing on me… I didn’t agree to do it…
But they got the doctors and the morgue and the funeral people and interviewed them…
Then somehow got a photo of me from school…
People recognised me and bashed the crap out of me…
I kept getting my nose healed… unfortunately the bruises didn’t follow suit.
When I left school things were a little better… Though not by much…
My face was everywhere in my town…
