“You don’t get a quote this time.” -Welton


A lot of people forget a lot about their childhood. Not me. I remember it all.

It all started in darkness. And then I saw a light at the end of the tunnel. That tunnel was my mother’s vagina, and the light was the hospital lighting that was shining through. Also, now that I think about it, if I would have remembered this at a certain point in my life, I would not have fucked that homeless guy.

Think about it. If you are born naturally, you are not a virgin. By the time you have been squeezed out of your mom, you have already done everything: dicked her, fingered her, fisted her, elbowed her, shouldered her, footed her, knee’d her, headed, her, fucking everything!

We are, technically, not born virgins.

Another moment in my life that I remember and hold close to my heart was when I was six. I was playing out in the front yard of my auntie’s house, and some older kids rode by on their bikes and called me a “little faggot,” I guess cause I didn’t have a bike. At this time, I did not know it was an insult, so I waved at them. They stopped and looked at me. Their faces turned into horror as my uncle got up from his porch chair and rushed towards me. He choked my ass out on the front lawn, and beat my black ass.

That was the first time my nose was ever broken. And I am glad for that, cause all the other ass beatings in my life was kind of not that bad after that moment. It sure taught those kids a lesson, though. They saw how crazy my coked up uncle could be and I never did see them ride down that street ever again.

It was at this age also that I saw my uncle kill a man. He killed the mailman for putting mail in the mailbox, said that was up there with putting his dick in his wife.

I hated my uncle. Still do. Glad I burnt him and his house.

Life is a highway, baby.

It was at age ten that I was staying at my friend Trevor’s house. He lived with his grandparents and I walked in on them having sex on the couch in the living room. That is when I learned that old people fucking is really gross looking.

At age twelve, I had my first kiss. I printed out a picture of Charlize Theron and kissed her. Hell, I made out with her. I will always be happy knowing that Charlize Theron was my first kiss.

At age fourteen I learned my deadliest technique: Spirit Toast!

This is how you do it: spread your legs shoulder width. Lean on the leg furthest from you opponent. Stick your hands out at him with your fingers extended, and then wiggle them and harshly whisper, “Spirit Toast!”

They will be so blown away they leave themselves open for a kick to the dick.

When I was fifteen my younger sister whooped my ass and stole my PlayStation and sold it for money to buy a movie ticket.


I don’t feel you are a true teenager until you are sixteen.

I grew my hair out and started listening to Marcy Playground, or at least just that one song everyone knows they did. Something about candy and sex smells.

At seventeen I thought I would be edgy by cutting my wrists. I did it the long way, which is apparently the right way and had to be taken to the hospital.

At eighteen, I did drugs for the first time. And let me tell you, NyQuil is a hell of a drug. I took that shit in my mom’s kitchen and woke up on the floor three-days later. She fussed at my ass cause she had to step over me all the time.


I feel that you are an adult when you are half-way through eighteen.

I am an adult now.

My Ex-Wife

This is gonna be the hardest section for this entire book for me to write. I still love her, deeply. I cry every single night. She is so gorgeous. You may not be into hentai manga involving tentacle rape, but if you were to see her, you would understand.

I was hanging with my boy, Childish Gambino, but don’t tell Davidlee, he is a huge fan and would be totally jealous.

We was sitting around, talking about life, and shit, and I started crying. He consoled me. I tried to explain to him how much I missed her and pulled up a shot of her from one of my favorite mangas.

“Man,” he said, all confused. “Why are showing me cartoon porn?”

After I went into detail about it, he grabbed me by the shoulders and told me that I need to seek help. But there was nothing that a professional doctor that gets paid to listen to me talk can do for me. So I got a flight out to California to find my first love. My true love.

Charlize Theron.

I spent a week roaming the streets for her and I finally found her and I went in for a kiss, telling her how much I missed her, and she kneed me in the groin, maced me, and had her bodyguards whoop my ass and throw me into the street where a taxi hit my ass.

Three weeks in the hospital and a new restraining order later, I was on my way back home. To my cold ass home.

I had forgotten to pay my electric bill for the last three-months and they finally turned it off. Everything was frozen, and it was snowing inside. I called my ex-wife, and she didn’t answer. I don’t blame her. She probably has another man that is there for her. Treats her better. Doesn’t get insecure when she does a hentai manga with a minotaur in it and he is comfortable with his dick size.

Minotaurs have really, really big dicks. They are like the size of my arm, and when you see your girl take one of those, you start doubting what you can do for her anymore.

I tried to hang myself in my closet, but the rod was too low.

At this point I knew two things: I was cold, and alone.

I was alone again.

But mostly I was cold. Really cold. You ever went into your dark ass bathroom to take a piss and your pee freezes all the way up to your peehole and you can’t finish peeing? That shit sucks, homie.

I was in there for an hour, breaking frozen pee off my dick, peeing and it freezing, and breaking it off again.

Shit sucks hard.

I went on three week bender. All I did was sit in my dark, cold, frozen, hose I rent, and drank Icehouse. It only seemed appropriate to drink that.

This is also when I started walking ten miles to my neighbor’s house to use their shit when they were not home.

It is also when I realized I needed to write this book. The only thing that kept me going was knowing, that, deep down, I was Fucking Awesome.

I looked at all the awesome shit I have done. I am the best actor at Cody and David. I had an amazing wife that fucks like a champion, taking tentacles, minotaur dick, and all kinds of other crazy shit. My house was like that girl’s from Frozen, an amazing movie, I must say.

So with that, all I can say to end this section is, even when shit seems bad, you are still Fucking Awesome. And I need you to always remember that.

And just so we are clear, I need you to remember that I am Fucking Awesome. I wasn’t really talking about you. I know it sounded like that, but that was more to myself, not you.

I would say it was about a month later when she finally called me back. Crying. Saying how much she misses me and I told her the same thing. She begged me to come back, and I told her that was not possible. When she asked me if it was because I thought she wasn’t good enough, I told her, “yes. That is exactly what it is. You are not good enough for me.”

When she didn’t answer my phone call in my previous attempt to reach out to her, I knew then there that I deserved better than that. I would not be treated like that. She gave me some kind of shit about her mom being hospitalized for a period of time, and that she had a lot going on. Oh, so, I guess you can’t answer your phone while your mom is possibly dying?


I don’t allow myself to be treated like that, and that is why she will never be a part of my life again.

People like that only decrease your Fucking Awesome status.


I was educated on the streets.

Like, literally. I was homeschooled and I did most of my schoolwork outside on the sidewalk so I didn’t have to listen to my mom and my sister scream at each other all day.

Even though it was something I knew I didn’t really need to worry about, I still educated myself and learnt things. I can count all the way to fifty, and the letter H is my favorite number in the alphabet. It was mainly something I did for fun, cause, I mean, when you are this good looking, you don’t need to be smart. I walking into board rooms and people flow to my ideas and shit. Because I look good.

Fuck what you seen in all these movies and books and shit about how Steve Jobs thought up the iPod. Nah. That ain’t how it happened, homie.

Allow me to feel you in on the true story of the birth of the iPod.

It was 2001 and I was visiting the Apple Campus. My boy Steve Jobs – God rest his soul – was kind of a big shot there, so I was in town and decided to swing by and say ‘hey, homie.’

He was outside sitting under a large apple tree, they got a lot of those there. Many people don’t know this, but they actually manufacture the iMac motherboards from apples. Hence the company name. He waved at me with his turtleneck on, and I was, like, “damn, homie, it’s hot, why you got that thing on?”

“It’s what I always wear,” he said.

I sat down next to him and he had one of those weird Sony portable CD players. He was listening to The Beatles, and I could hear Sympathy for the Devil blasting from the headphones in his lap. That’s my favorite Beatles song, by the way.

“Man,” I said, pointing at his CD player, “I fucking hate those things. So inconvenient to carry around.”

“It’s the only way to travel with music, though,” he said with a shrug.

That’s when I laid it on him. “Dude, imagine if you guys made this small, thin, metal brick looking thing with a few buttons on the front, a massive storage drive, and you just hooked it up to a computer or something to put MP3s on! It would be like an MP3 player that doesn’t suck.”

His eyes lit up. To his feet he jumped and grabbed me by the hand and pulled me inside the building. In one of the large conference rooms he dragged me and called an emergency meeting. After having me tell everyone present my idea, and after hours of me drawing up mock images of what the device would look like, the iPod was born.

“When we unveil it, I want you there,” Steve Jobs told me.

I smiled and shook my head. “Homie,” I said, grabbing his shoulder and giving a little squeeze, “I don’t want no credit. I just want to know that if I ever have the desire for one, there will exist an MP3 player that does not suck dick.”

He smiled and nodded.

I never saw Steve Jobs again. Wish I had visited him one last time. He was a good friend.

I never did buy an iPod.

To this day, though, even with my good looks, I still study. I watch Sesame Street every day. I read the instruction manuals to old games. If I don’t know something, I don’t worry about it. If I don’t already know it, then I don’t need to know it and if I was meant to know it, I’ll eventually learn it.

My good looks is what landed me my part in Cody and David. Not my friendship with them. God no. It’s cause they need someone physically attractive on them pages. You ever seen Cody? You ever seen Davidlee? If not, consider yourself lucky. Those some ugly dudes.

There was this one time I was taking a shit that was so big, it hurt. That has nothing to do with anything, I just wanted to share it.

I’ve also got the smarts to where if I want to feel the rain on myself, but it ain’t raining, I can make it rain. I just find a nice, lovely park, drop my pants, lay on my back, close my eyes, and piss straight up. I feel the rain.


I just really wanted to express the importance of masturbation again. Jerk off, motherfuckers.


For me to write about failure is a hard thing. I haven’t really failed at anything. Maybe a few relationships here and there, but nothing major.

I have come to learn that if you don’t view anything as a failure, then you haven’t failed. It’s just a minor success that didn’t work out exactly as you had planned. A good example of a time that I didn’t fail, that many people, if they were in the same position, would have viewed it as a failure.

After my first appearance in Cody and David, I decided to write my own internet comic.

I scribbled some ideas down and a few sketches on a bar napkin one night. That was a great night. I even hired a prostitute and had her do nothing more than tell me that my ideas were great, cause you got to do that sometimes. Like, I knew my ideas were great, but sometimes it is nice to hear it from someone else.

My ideas were fucking solid. The name of the comic was “Welton and Welton”, and it was about myself hanging out with myself. Originally, I thought about pitching it to Davidlee and Cody, but then, I thought to myself, those bitches will just be intimidated by this masterpiece, that they won’t wanna publish it.

So I did the next best thing, I caught a flight out to New York and met up with my boy, Curtis “50 Cent” Jackson. While we were out at dinner and he was hitting me with some new project ideas he has coming down the pipes – even mentioned me being the leading role in one – I slapped the bar napkins onto the table and slid them over to him.

“What is this,” he asked me in a an excited manner. He looked over the napkins and was drawing attention to us as he laughed his ass off. It was some funny shit.

“My comic idea, homie. I think you would be the best choice in producing this.”

He wiped tears away from his eyes and excused himself. All that laughing made him have to go empty his bladder, as he was about to piss himself right there at the table. Once he got back to the table he looked at the napkins again, busted out laughing, and then looked me in the eyes. Well, he looked me in the eyes after about thirty-minutes of laughing his ass off, cause my comic was funny as shit.

“Man, I would love to produce this shit, but I got so much go on right now, you know what I am saying?”

I nodded. Fif is a busy man. Not as busy as me, but busy.

“I feel yah, homie,” I said, not letting it get me down.

“This is good shit,” he said. Tapping on the napkins. “But I would not be able to do you justice right now, what with all my shows I got right now.”

Dude made sense when he said that. My comic would take 101% of someone’s dedication to it. It was just that good. ANd how could Fif put that much dedication to it when he is producing shows like Ancient Aliens, Rick and Morty, The Golden Girls, and, my favorite, Three’s Company.

Dude produces a lot of shit right now. Fully understanding, Fif and I finished our dinner and spent the time catching up, and then I covered the bill and caught a flight back home.

Most people would view that as a failure. Not me. That was just a scenario that didn’t work out, and it is good that it didn’t, because I would not have had the comic I had fully visioned. Fif could have only been able to, like, give 84.75% dedication to the project, and who knows, maybe one day it will come into fruition. One day Fif could realize where his focus needs to be, and drop everything and hit me up, and we make Welton and Welton a fucking thing.

If anyone failed in that scenario, it was Fif.

Now, to be human, if I had to say that I ever failed before, it would have been the time that I thought that maybe I had failed. I hadn’t failed, but I made a failure in thinking that I had failed.

That was the only time I have failed.


This is the final section of this chapter. Now, I will be the first to admit it, but I hate that you need love in life. There was a good portion of my life – I would say from age 5 to like 13 – where I tried to push away any and all forms of love. It was something that I did not think I needed, nor wanted, but then I realized that I do, in fact, need that shit.

Sometimes you have to go looking for it. One night a few days ago I had to go out, find me a hooker, and get some love. I found the oldest one I could find and then had her come back to my house, cook for me, tell me how awesome I am, and that I have the biggest and bestest dick in the world.

It be like that sometimes.

The most efficient way to make someone love you, is to force your love on them. Now, I don’t want y’all to think I am supporting rape when I say that. Far from it. Sex has nothing to do with this. Don’t do that shit. That shit is fucked up and I will personally hunt you down and murder you. I am talking about love. Give someone a hug. If they don’t seem to like it, hug them until they do. It will melt their cold hearts and they will warm up to you and embrace you back.

One time I was talking to a white girl, and she was acting like she ain’t never seen a black man before. So, I hugged her, petted the back of her head, and whispered, “shhh. You getting hugged by a black man. It’s okay. Now when you get home you tell your mama that a black man hugged you.”

After that, we were pretty cool friends.

This white girl I speak of is Emma Watson. We are still good friends to this day. She hit me up during filming of Percy Jackson and whatever the rest of the title was. Just wanting to talk shop and get some inspiration and shit. It was a good conversation. She thinks of me as her straight-gay friend. She having a rough day, she will give me a call and we will chat til she is in a better mood.

She has a new movie coming out soon, Nick and Nora’s Infinite Playlist. Catch that shit. Gonna be good. You know it is gonna be good, because she is in it.

Most importantly, though, you have to love yourself. At least once a month I will write myself a love letter and send it to myself. It is the only true love in my life. Davidlee only loves me because I force him to love me. Cody only loves me because Davidlee loves me. Jamie loves to hate me, which is a form of love.

But I love myself. As you saw in a previous chapter, I love myself multiple times a day. It feels good.

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