BEING A SCRAPBOOK CONSULTANT IS EASY (Part I)

I looked deep into my heart to write and found
concept art of proto-Bob Barker the antagonist
of Bram Stoker’s famous novel, One Hundred
Years of Tuna Abstinence, set in the undersea
mountains of Mule Lick, NV (not far from Berlin,
NV) where the cold war is kept on ice when WANG!
a book of explosions and experiments went off
fragging my commanding officer, a near mint pussy
complete with original box and instruction manual.
The manual offered detailed instructions for each
experiment. It included a geyser tube and balloons.

Nevada scares the fuck outta me.

I thought about calling Brad for advice but
Brad scares the fuck outta me.

People often ask, “How can I change my last name?”
“How can I control my face?” I considered looking
for the answers to your painful questions on Facebook
but the new Facebook scares the fuck outta me.

Fitness questions, for example, as they pertain
to the poor. The poor lack the wherewithal for
basic everyday resources like bottled water and
leopard leotards. Not because they are by definition
poor (profitable!) but because they inconvenience me.
Hates that.
Nothing scares the shit outta you more than
a mosquito you can hear but not see. Amirite?

Lon Chaney could contort his body into the shape
of an invisible airborne parasite and motivational
speaker John Basedow, gay-straight friendly TV
personality multinational Pakistani razor brand
and Holy Cow Shark Milk resistance band mascot.
(A portion of all shark milk goes to rebuild the poor.)
The recipient of numerous humanitarian awards
delivered via totally ripped and smokin’ warhead.
Only the YOU ARE STILL NOT HERE marker survives.
Mall of America scares the fuck outta me.

It begins to be like living in the real Minecraft.
Armor can mitigate damage from mob attacks,
while weapons can be used to kill enemies and
other animals. The game has no set goals and
cannot be won. My virtual goldendoodle hides
under the abandoned ammo dump, her tail
a rip in the sundial I spent all night hard coding.
A train-wreck is coming.
A train-wreck is coming.
Minecraft scares the fuck outta me.

See this guy right here? This guy has a green beret
and can do fourteen trillion push-ups. He paid six-
hundred bucks to say he wrote All Apologies,
he’s a modern day goldsmith Mannerist sepia baby
eraser in a blog café with unlimited papal mint refills.
This guy scares the fuck outta me.

And then I realized something that transformed
me in a way I hadn’t expected or prepared for:

The future scares the fuck outta me.

The crack of dawn scares the fuck outta me.

The basement hall scares the fuck outta me.

Your background scares the fuck outta me.

Snow death scares the fuck outta me.

Skeletron scares the fuck outta me.

The Pope scares the fuck outta me.

Dr. Who scares the fuck outta me.

Mrs. Pac Man scares the fuck outta me.

This shit my Mom has outside the house
scares the fuck outta me.

Noodles: Just the thought of that
scares the fuck outta me.

Cindy McCain scares the fuck outta me.

This pic where you stare at the screen till
sumpthin’ scares you scares the fuck outta me.

I know he lost most of his jaw to cancer but
Roger Ebert’s “new face” scares the fuck outta me.

The earth just scares the fuck outta me.

Melissa Dettwiller: This chick scares the fuck outta me...
but I'm still strangely compelled to plow her in the dirthole.

This new automatic Febreze sprayer we got
scares the fuck outta me.

I hate when something scares me
when I’m trying to drink something.
My hands and feet go cold, I get pale,
like seeing a life-size Barbie the Malibu
Climatologist giving birth to a classic
50’s Barbie in a c-section hootenanny dress.

The cost of a baby is roughly the same
as the cost of having your arm fat siphoned
but twice as much as a full-price rhinoplasty.
It’s cheaper to be circumcised in the Midwest
than on the east coast, cheaper to buy than to rent
a national park. (Give her a birthday she’ll never forget!)
These indelible images of our glorious history
will last forever unless one of us drinks enough.
Child birth scares the fuck outta me.

De ja vu scares the fuck outta me so I try and stop it
on purpose, like if I feel it happening I try and not do
what I did in the vision, if I can help it.

That zipper scares the fuck outta me.
who says we have to give up our innocence?
I heart the beach.
I wanna live somewhere that snows.
And when I do, I think it's a damn shame that we just
don’t all call Charles Lee Ray and ask him nicely why
so Lee Harvey James Earl Sirhan Serious?

Look, I may have been 14 when The Lion King came out,
but the hyenas are obvious Nazis at the one minute, forty-six
second mark, no matter what people say. Those are Nazis.
And Nazis scare the fuck out of me. I blame the copious
amount of Nazi Germany documentaries I’ve watched.
I don't fear the Reaper, but Christopher Walken
scares the fuck outta me.

De ja vu scares the fuck outta me so I try and stop it
on purpose, like if I feel it happening I try and not do
what I did in the vision, if I can help it.

Meanwhile, at Burger King...Burger King scares the fuck outta me.
What can I say, I'm an all consuming vortex of homosexuality.
Big shit still scares the fuck outta me.

I like lots of different kinds of movies, that’s why I started
this fever resistant strain of the virus, sweating and loss of
caramel color, the scare spread quickly, virally, cancer
in the public interest. A laugh-riot egregious attempt
to blindfold the testers and switch their selections. I love love
stories the best but love's hair scares the fuck outta me.

AHHH, I see a giant yellow frog
who constantly says its name,
and forcing kids to have fun
on a sunny, constantly-happy island...
does this island make my fat look like an ass?
It’s got Elias Koteas in it and he always
scares the fuck outta me.

Space scares the fuck outta me.

The thought of getting old, living alone and possibly
never having sex again scares the fuck outta me.
So I try to enjoy what time I have by talkin to people
like Kirk in a transporter mishap talking with Lumpy Branum.
Or one of his minor lady-loves. He asks her will you make
America a Sanctuary City? The nineteenth century or
the stone age? Is this the way to Simi Valley or a hole
in Pismo Beach? Plato’s stepchildren sired by Bold Ruler
out of Somethingroyal.

Shatner scares the fuck outta me.

They’ve been storing the hunks of twisted building
and half crushed fire trucks in a hangar at JFK. Maybe
we'll find out it was totally acceptable for a lady to
envision all the critical elements of her wedding day;
long before she meets the person she will marry.
Maybe she’ll take a wrong turn and marry a half
crushed fire truck, thinking it human remains.
For a young woman to dream that she is preparing
vegetables for dinner, foretells that she will lose
the man she desired through pique, but she will win
The Super Bowl, The World Series, A Championship Fight,
The Masters, Wimbledon, The US Open, The Stanley Cup,
The World Cup, and a pair of purple acetate sunglasses
fused to a pair of traditional wire aviators in green
just moments before she utters her final words,

“I ask that you please stop sitting
on the wall, it scares the fuck outta me
when I come outside and you keep setting
my motion detectors off.”

Cleverbot Chertoff Fat Girls Laughing Leftist Whispering
scares the whatever out of whomever you see making it
all look easy. Like Betty Crocker said, (in the pan) “I never
existed in your active chamber, but in a corner of the gun
closet behind the minks the ghosts of a once vital industry,
the pulse of America’s collective neck, scares the fuck outta me.”

I dont wanna die knowing that you’ll cry over me but
if death means watching The Biggest Loser or reruns
of terror bloopers replacing destinationless circling tourist
monomonuments with his-n-hers depressions and a urinal
or never getting over being with you, I might as well take
my own life letting a structure jump out from under me
just for the caloric boost. Death scares the hell outta me.
Hell scares the fuck outta me.

So I’m all good.

This is my favorite sweater because it scares the fuck outta me.

It’s homemade, like if an alien were to fall to Earth, meet a girl,
pick up a guitar, and retreat to a cabin in the woods, it’s possible
his first record would sound a lot like MY HAIR FUCKING SCARES ME
by Tool and I ALWAYS THINK THERE’S SOMETHING HORRIBLE
CRAWLING ON MY ARM by Tool, too. I’d be being tea-bagged
by the Muse and strangely at peace with my lot.
The Muse no longer fucking scares me.
And when I say “Sharks are my biggest fear” I mean the words
“sharks” and “milk” and “are” and “my” and “biggest” and “fear”
and “I” and “mean” are my biggest fear. No wonder it scares me
if I don’t wake up! Or if I wake up without you in my phone.

p.s.
I hate the sweater you re-regifted me on our last Xmas together
because it used to scare the fuck outta me but now I just think
it’s warm. And that scares the fuck outta me.

p.p.s.
Call me, Brad.