HYATTE'S GUIDE TO LIFE
- Chris Hyatte
Rhode Island, everyone is a tough guy.
This is how we deal with being the littlest state (called the
“Biggest Little”, don’tcha know) in the Union.
Everyone can beat the little shit out of everyone else, and their
friends, without breaking a sweat.
get into the act too. Their
brothers/cousins/boyfriends can beat the living shit out of anyone and
their family/friends. Don’t
mess with my family, they’ll say, you don’t want that.
I was twenty, I was just like that.
Only I had a little game to me, so I could almost back it up,
almost in a sort of - kind of way.
I was twenty-five, I was still like that but learned to respect others.
Not to say I was anyone’s bitch, but I wasn’t so quick to run
off at the mouth when someone else ran off at the mouth.
that I’m thirty… and a wee bit over, I no longer think I’m the
toughest motherfucker there is. Now
I’m at the point where I know I can’t beat the shit out of everyone,
but I also know that if I’m going to lose, the person who took me down
will NOT walk away from the fight untouched.
He will earn every single ounce of toughness he has.
I’m going to hurt him. I
don’t brag about it anymore. I
just listen to the kids run their mouth and, should there be someone my
age in the immediate area, just roll my eyes at him and have myself a
private little moment with him. The
fun part of this move is when the young tough guy wannabe (and in Rhode
Island, we are ALL wannabes… the local media tailors their news on
that very premise) catches me in eye roll, he makes the inevitable
threat. How you react to it
is a good way to rate just how much the Rhode Island culture makes up
Nothing more annoying than a Rhode Island Italian, but man are their buttons fun to push – easy too.
the questions. Another fine
selection. Keep it up.
Anonymity is guaranteed and no question is too dumb.
Well, yes it is but you’ll never know unless you try.
You “fell in love
Dude; come on -
let’s be honest here. Three
years ago you got horny and she got horny and neither one of you made
the other one want to puke so you hooked up and it was good so you did
it a few more times and one night, you bobbed when you should have
weaved and WHOOPSIE her oven is suddenly baking something.
There was no love
here… there was lust. That
damn penis’ll get you every time… and that vag… NOTHING but
trouble. Kind of what makes
life fun, to be honest.
So, for the sake of
the kid, you two gave it a go. Didn’t
work because you weren’t in love.
Maybe you LOVED her, but you weren’t IN LOVE (and if anyone
reading doesn’t know the difference, you REALLY need to leave your
home every so often and… you know… socialize with those strange
creatures known as the opposite sex.) and you both became annoyed with
each other’s little quirks and imperfections that become as obvious as
zits in a long term relationship.
You stuck together as
friends and you made it a point to become a Father.
Good going. Seriously.
No better definition of the word “man” than the one who guts
it out and raises the kid, no matter what the situation is.
Now, three years
later, you’ve maintained a relationship with her, got to KNOW the
girl, got to LIKE the girl – imperfections, quirks, and all – and
said, “Hell, this gal ain’t bad at all” and she said the
Well gee whiz…
looks like you fell in love with her after all!
Go for it, bro’.
She’s into it and you’re into it.
You already have a family. You’re
doing exactly what God and Country intended.
And unless your letter is knee high in bullshit, you’ve behaved
as a responsible man. Totally
stand-up. You should make a
damn fine Father.
Now go live happily
First of all, 11 is
much too young for dating… WAAAAAY too young.
In my time (back in the Reagan administration), we didn’t start
dating until we were 13. Really,
tell the kid that there’s no need to rush into things; she’ll have
lots of time to date a thousand boys.
Second, interest from
boys helps build a girl’s self-esteem more than anything else in her
life. Self-esteem =
confidence = a full, healthy, more or less happy life.
Just so you know.
So, if and when you
and the missus decide that the kid can start seeing boys, here’s what
you can do to ease your mind, if not her own:
Watch Bad Boys II and
take notes during the scene where Martin Lawrence and Will Smith scare
the crap out of Lawrence’s daughter’s first date.
Sorry man, but she will ignore any advice that an old fart like
you may give. As an added
bonus, she will lie to you two and sneak out of her window if you try to
ground her or put up any obstacle.
She’s growing up. Happens
to everyone. Can’t be
stopped. Plus, there’s
only so much you can do when her friends, her PEERS, are about to be
about 100 times more influential than you and the wife ever could
On the plus side,
girls are MUCH more mature than boys, she’ll learn very quickly that
her sexuality can make boys do some amazing things.
If she’s developing into a hottie (and really, at 11, who can
tell?), she’ll have those boys so wrapped around her finger she be
able to make them jump through flaming hoops for nothing more than her
tongue in their mouth for ten seconds.
That’s what you should try to encourage; try to teach her that
she is the boss, she makes the rules, and she controls the relationship.
Make those horndogs SING for their goddam supper.
And just for fun,
either you or your wife tell her that boys get boners in the middle of
class for no reason, and it’s totally embarrassing.
She and her friends can have lots of fun trying to figure out
who’s popping wood during Mr. Finklestein’s Lecture on
Dispel the myths and
be open about the facts of life. Make
it no big deal and it won’t be. Give
the girl knowledge and trust her. Most
girls wait until they hit college anyway.
Let’s jump off
sexual topics for a minute and tackle another aspect of relationships.
Avoid it at all
costs? Are we being a
are who we are. Once you
hit your mid-twenties, the temple that is you has been built.
The cement has hardened, the base has settled, and nothing in
this reality can re-construct your foundation.
Not one essential brick can be moved… and moving non-essential
bricks takes more energy than many people are capable of (try kicking
that smoking habit if you don’t believe me)
I’m saying is that a leopard can’t change its spots, and neither can
humans. The only difference
is that humans have the first 24 years of their lives to get those spots
exactly where we want them to go (and sadly, no one gives us a blueprint
to where they should go… and parents are usually never any help, so we
have to take our best guess). No
matter what this person tells you, it won’t help.
You’ll listen, you’ll consider, and you’ll try to change
but you will always fall back to your old habits… because they are
firmly set in your genetic stone. Only
now there will be that “thing” between you and the person who
pointed out your flaw. You’re
relationship with that person will be changed.
it’s not lying, it’s not necessary, it will change nothing about
you, and it might potentially change your relationship with Mr. or Miss
Honesty. In short, it’ll
probably do more harm than good.
is bliss, so keep your frigging mouth shut.
Hmm… how to review
soft-core porn films with actors who are only slightly better thespians
than porn sluts and nowhere near as good as your standard soap opera
I say, keep it simple
and to the point. I doubt
any “fan” of these flicks is there for the plot.
They are there because they want something to rub one off to (and
that includes you too, girls… both of you) when they are bumming
around watching Cinemax at 2 a.m.… usually dead drunk.
Make the plot summary
no more than three sentences long and go right to the bad hump scenes.
Rate the length; rate the ridiculous, slow-motion, over-the-top,
how-come-no-girl-I’ve-ever-been-with-moves-like-that gyrating that the
actress is wont to do; count and rate the position changes; rate the
sweat factor; rate the tongue action; rate her hair; rate her facial
expressions; and rate the odds of how much actual penetration going on.
Calculate everything into one nifty spank rating and post that
Then listen very
carefully for the sound of Gene Siskel’s ghost… for he is
I put this in
here and not in the Midnight News because… well… umm…
There are so
many thing wrong with this letter that I… I’m not sure where to
I am NOT Chris fucking Williams. Chris Williams is NOT me… a couple of years ago, he tried his darndest to BE me, more than anyone else, but couldn’t do it for the simple reason that he hadn’t a spark of imagination in that silly little moronic brain of his.
I have never
mopped a floor, other than my own, in my life.
Never cleaned bedpan, never wore scrubs and never polished a
floor. I have never been a
Yet, I never
addressed it because fuck you. Janitors
own homes, lease cars, start families, put their kids through college.
They bust their asses to do the best with what they have to work
with. It’s called an
HONEST LIVING. Who the FUCK
is Chris Williams, a fucking cumstain who snuck into the chooch because
his mother never bothers to hose down after some loser squirts on her,
to announce that being a Janitor is something to be mocked.
What tree has that clown planted?
All I see is aborted column after aborted column until he just
got tired of failing and went away.
I hear he joined the army… but since his entire existence at
411 consisted of making-up bullshit stories to Widro, who knows.
once worshipped me and did Mop-Up-like recaps for 411 before I came
aboard… he was bad at it. Then
he tried to inject some “And Another Thing”-like material into his
columns, another joke. Finally,
he was the first… the VERY FIRST person to do news columns using the
exact template that I built for the Midnight News – another
clusterfuck. Then he went
away and the site is 100% better for it.
He did everything he could to knock me out but couldn’t.
The only reason why I didn’t dedicate my life to squishing him
was because I had real life things going on that took up most of my
attention. I hope he comes
back and tries again… oh please, let him try again.
Get a clue,
Rusty, you dumb ass.
I had the
address for that other site posted on my AIM profile for all to see for
months. You don’t have
AIM or didn’t bother to check out the profile?
Not my problem, because it’s gone now.
Tough titty, said the kitty.
Well now… that was fun. Let’s jump back to troubled relationships with a nice, long backstory!
is one of these instances where I really need to hear her side of this
story in order to give an opinion, because what you’ve just told me is
so unbelievably one-sided that it reeks of utter bullshit.
all things being equal and since I’m sure I have a better chance at
playing Hi-Lo Jack with Allah than I have with hearing from her, I’ll
just have to make do with the info I have.
your friends are friends and you didn’t pluralize a single friend into
many just for the sake of making me think you have a lot of friends, and
if they have been with you through this whole situation, than don’t
sweat the charge of rape. You
have plenty of character witnesses… unless you DID rape her, then
shame on you and off to jail with your worthless ass.
said, from this story, it sounds like she’s bullshitting… sounds
like she does that a lot. Blow
it off. Ignore it.
girl clearly craves attention, probably has major esteem issues.
How is her family life? Did
her Father leave her? Did
her Mom raise her to hate all men?
Is she a complete idiot? (Put
a big check in the YES box on that last one)
is partially your fault, you know.
You allowed this to continue as long as you did and kept her –
for lack of a better word- obsession
going for as long as it has. Can’t
kill a fire if you keep giving it air to breathe.
what you do… run. Run
away as fast as your little feet can take you.
Change phone numbers, dye your hair, grow a beard, gain weight or
lose weight. Fuck it; move
to a new place if you must. Just
get the silly girl out of your life… no, better yet, make it
impossible to keep you in hers.
you bastard. No matter what
your penis (it all comes back to the pecker) tells you… get the holy
hell out of there. She
already cost you one job and one other relationship.
That’s more than enough.
if you want to ease any possible guilt, give her a number for a good
shrink before you vanish.
isn’t worth it, big dog. Few
girls are. (And just to
keep this balanced, very few
guys are worth this sort of hassle either)
if it weren’t for the fact that you are from Australia, I’d wonder
if I didn’t write this letter to myself while I was sleepwalking in a
Tyler Durden sort of scenario…
the deal: half the people in the world – we’ll call them Group A -
know exactly what they want to be when they are twenty and go directly
through all the steps needed to become that person without even a glance
in some alternate direction. Those
are the people who sit in the same seat in the same bar in the same town
today, tomorrow and fifty years from now – for the most part.
other half of the world – Group B - has no clue what they want to do
at twenty, so they take their time, sniff around, and keep their options
open. Those people will be
sitting in the same seat in the same bar in the same town today,
tomorrow, and fifty years from now – for the most part.
The difference is, they will be more depressed than the other
half. Not by much, tho’.
95% of the world hates what they do for a living and is
completely miserable over the hand that fate dealt them.
for some of those in Group B, because they kept their eyes open and
their ears to the ground, they are doing something that they didn’t
expect, they love doing it, do it well, and has given them a life that
is too good to be true. It
happens in America all the time, just ask the guy who owns this very
site. You should move over
here… to the winning team. We’ll
it out yet? Nothing excites
you yet, then just wait and explore every opportunity that comes your
way… which is what college is for, anyway.
You’re only twenty, don’t sweat the future yet.
Keep those eyes open.
If you get lucky, then be sure to buy a round for the lifers sitting in your friendly, neighborhood pub day after day.
you don’t get lucky… well, there’s a stool with your name on it
waiting for you.
and bang the skanks… ‘cause one of them might be a princess with too
much eyeshadow and a bad dye job.
wrap things up with a question from the children.
Because when it comes to children, Hyatte is for the children, I
teach the children.
name… just another snot nose PUNK
is just an excuse. High
school needs to have a hierarchy… a chaste system in place so kids can
feel superior to other kids and feel individual even among peers.
I’d tell you not to take it personally but, being a teenager,
you can’t help but take it personally.
High School groups are based on class.
Upper, Lower, Middle and the small sub-groups in between.
Really, it’s all about the neighborhood you live in and the car
you drive and the clothes you wear.
People, and especially teenagers who have enough anxiety as it is
just figuring out who they are, naturally gravitate to those who they
can relate to, whom they feel most comfortable with.
That’s it. Show me
the fully integrated, “we are all equal” High School and I’ll show
you a fucking Leprechaun sitting on top of a Unicorn with a pot of gold
on his lap at the end of a rainbow.
It’s a piece of bullshit.
some reason, maybe because your small town essentially is one giant
community - perhaps one of those “one factory where everyone works”
towns so everyone is in the same financial area – a student’s
musical preference decides where he or she stands in the High School
infra-structure. On the
other hand, maybe the taste in music is just a unique branch of a larger
class measurement. Who
knows? Well, you do, but
whatever. The fact is, who
cares. High School
hierarchy is as old as education itself.
It’ll never go away. Hell,
I say it’s just as important to character development as parental
Here’s the good news. It lasts roughly one second after you graduate. I mean, the very instant you toss your cap in the air, it ends. By the end of that summer before you go to college or work, you realize just how silly and stupid High School Politics is. Those High School friends who you can’t imagine you’ll ever be without. They mean nothing. They are history. You move on. The best years of your life begin at 18 and end at around 26. Everything before 18 was just a primer and everything after 26 more or less blows. Welcome to a sneak preview of the future, kid.
don’t worry about it. It’ll
means diddly shit four years from now.
enough from me.
I almost had a minor scare last week and didn’t get too many questions
until a decent weekend rush, so please, if you like this column, don’t
just tell me you like it, contribute.
As you can see, I won’t necessarily bash you.
me anything, I’ll answer them all.
send feedback to Hyatte - GLORYDOG@COX.NET