I don’t want to come off as an egotistical maniac, but my morning ritual does include checking the website of my alma mater to see if they have added me to their list of notable alum. And it is with utter confusion that I still do not see my name.

What will it take?

Artistic abilities? If you’re seeking the kind of high brow art that nobody understands, you will find that my skill in ambiguity is unsurpassed. In one figure drawing class, I drew a man wearing a hat, which the professor then mistook for a dog delivering pizza.

Writing abilities? My blog is so well read that, at its current pace, it will receive more than 1.5 million page views within 90 years. Most blogs would take at least 92 years.

Money-making abilities? By utilizing my strategy of never leaving any tips, I have increased my spending power by at least 15%.

Scientific abilities? I have discovered that one can be vaccinated against multiple diseases simply by unintentionally consuming the saliva of countless waiters.

What will it take, huh? Must I chug saliva by the buck loads?

How about this. Surely, having only one notable graduate in the last 23 years does not look great for a school. But I can make you this guarantee: by adding me to your list, you will have two notable graduates in the last 23 years. I can already see the college applications pouring in.

So.. deal?

I was in line at the movie theater when a young boy walked up to a Terminator poster, widened his eyes, and shouted, “Look, dad! Transformers!”

“That’s Terminator,” his dad said, calmly.

“Why does it say Transformers?”

And then as if the entire moment was scripted, his younger brother walked up, and said, “Wow, Transformers!”

This lack of basic comprehension can clearly be attributed to the new generation’s unwillingness to communicate in whole words, preferring instead to substitute them with only a few key letters. But this can get confusing. For example, I received a text message last week that only said “U SCK”. Immediately, I started thinking how kind this stranger was to ask if I was sick.

I wrote back, saying, “FU”. Trying to be hip and all, I had taken out the L in FLU.

His reply: “FU too.” Alas, it seemed we were both stricken by the virus.

This morning, in furthering our conversation, I was unable to continue these juvenile games, so I typed out my words in whole, saying, “How unfortunate. So it seems that influenza does not discriminate in selecting its victims.”

He must’ve understood my cue, because he too gave up the ridiculous spellings, and wrote out, “What the fuck you talking about, gay wad, influnez and shit. What’s this about discrimate, you fuking racist?”

Confusing, to say the least. You may think I was hurt by such an outburst, but if in my conversations with young people, I can bestow the gift of eloquence upon just one of them, just as I did here, I do not mind the reputation of a homosexual collection of sperm who also happens to hate minorities. In taking on this mission of mine, I have long understood the risks.

Imagine my surprise this morning when I received an email notifying me that Big Tara, bane of my childhood, has added me on Facebook. Memories came rushing back, and I hesitated to click into her profile. In the end, I managed to do so only after consulting Wikipedia and reassuring myself that internet cables are much too thin for her gargantuan thighs to fit through.

Holy mother of—

She’s hot!

Wait, is this the same Tara of almost 20 years ago? The one who was given special treatment on our school trip to the national museum because their biologists thought she predated homo sapiens?

Gone are the hair, the fat, the possible tail. In their place, a toned, tanned body worthy of a supermodel. Indeed, in looking at her info, it seems she did go through a brief modeling stint in the late 90’s before giving it up to have children. And her children! They’re friggin’ gorgeous.

What happened, Tara? Through what portal did you crawl through, dragging your knuckles across the ground, only to strut out back again, hands on your shapely hips? What form of dark magic is this?

I don’t even know what to say to her. I had thought maybe she added me to apologize for her wrongdoings, but we’re way past that. I want to see her naked.

Oh god, I want to see Big Tara naked. What is wrong with me?!

Okay, calm down, Sir Kevin. Play it cool. Maybe send her a poke. Maybe send her a free gift. Then maybe visit her on Pet Society so you can scrub her down.

Oh god, I’m turned on by Pet Society.

My guidance counselor once told me that my penchant for schoolyard gossip and rumors would be detrimental to my own personal development, but my curiosity for secrets of all kinds has led me directly to my career in international intelligence and surveillance.

“North Korea doesn’t just like nuclear weapons,” I once wrote in an 800-page report on the motivations behind the actions of the communist state. “North Korea likes likes them.”

In a footnote, I added, “They would totally snog.”

When my supervisor, a balding middle-aged man, learned about my history, he confided in me that he too shared the same habits in school. From then on, our correspondence took on a more casual turn. When I reported to him that terrorists were sacrificing themselves believing that 72 virgins awaited them in heaven, he remarked on the page, “OMG that’s so pervy!”

And when I showed him a photo of said terrorist, he exclaimed, “Ew, he’s like 40!”

Even I would say he took things a bit too far. For one thing, he was at least 55 himself. And there was something unsettling about the way he would hold his fists to his chin, hopping, whenever he got excited. See, my child-like expressions were subtle and classy. His were a 55-year-old man hopping with his fists to his chin.

After a couple weeks, I began distancing myself from him. He, however, did not make it easy for me. One day, he tried to give me a homemade bracelet. The next day, he tried to lend me his diary. I rejected both items, unable to see myself following down the same path as him. Finally, I told him we had to stop hanging out together. Enough was enough. The last straw came when he presented to me a poem in which the beginning letter of each line spelled out FRIENDSHIP.

It has been many years and I have not seen him since. I suppose I can admit that on some days, I miss the times we shared, the innocence of those moments. I no longer keep in touch with him, but from what my friends tell me, he’s in some punk rock phase now. I think he’s dating a black dude.

Before the arrival of gods, before the existence of matter and energy, in that abstract fluid of nothingness, there existed a figure who stood as tall as galaxies, and whose strength burst forth with the power of supernovas. As mere human beings, it is impossible for us to exaggerate his vigor. Indeed, as human beings, our very existence resulted from one of his bursts, which today we call the Big Bang.

The figure, whom I will refer to as Doug, was always proud of the name Big Bang, but it was not the way his wife remembered it. To her, it was an uneventful affair, marked by disappointment and regret that maybe she should’ve gone with someone else when her youth still afforded her such opportunities. As things stood, or rather as they didn’t, she found herself worried.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, “Is it me?”

“No,” Doug replied. “I don’t know. Stress from work, maybe.”

“Work? What work? We live in a perpetual vacuum.”

She then added, “There’s somebody else, isn’t there.”

“Gosh, how many times have I told you. Sal is just a friend. Just leave me alone.”

“Well, maybe you can at least finish yourself off.”

Her comments were hurtful, but Doug knew this was a fight he could not win. He dragged himself over to a little corner of darkness, shamefully accepted that this occasion would be one of solitude. As he began, he could only think that he had been honest about work. He had been trying to create worlds, build life. As he continued, he thought that if only he could complete his project, his wife would understand what he was doing all along. Then something happened that had never happened before. His success arrived like poetry.

In his research regarding world creation, he had come across works detailing the physical elements of the universe, heavy texts describing the optimal placement of planets, and mechanical sketches regarding the construction of living beings. But this time, time having not existed until this very moment, he came across the stars.