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Vermin/Autobiography
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This is a riveting tale of full-fledged autism wrapped in faggotry, written from the perspective of a dyslexic delusional retarded rat. -Cobaltcat |
Note: This page is the self-written biography about the online rat persona known as Vermin. For the article about the person behind the account authored by other users, see Vermin. Or read the revised and accurate version of this
Intro
Hey there! I'm Brian Vermin, though most refer to me simply as Vermin. I've decided to write a little piece about myself here for my own amusement, and also for anyone who actually has the time or the care to read it.
You see, I'm not your typical rodent. I've actually got a great story to tell! I've lived a rebellious youth, an experimental adolescence, and an interesting adult life, and I've still got plenty of years left to live it up. I've got plenty of photos from the family scrapbook to help illustrate it, too.
This tell-all autobiography will focus on those years mentioned above, as well as document some of the relationships I've had with others here on ED ever since I made it my lair.
The critics are already raving!
—Linkermann, aka OtterWhiskers | ||
—uberfukken, clearly not a fan of the "furry fanfic" genre | ||
—Cobalt, after editing it to read as a homoerotic tale of incest | ||
—Likeicare, stamping it with his doped-up face as a sign of approval | ||
—Lazarus Plus, "sort of want" | ||
— | ||
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Childhood
I was born an only child to a pair of wild parents. My father was a popular punk rock musician, and my mother was a bartender at some local hole-in-the-wall. My father had met my mother one night while his band was playing at the dive bar she was working at.
After ending the set with his band's most famous song, he approached her and rudely demanded the strongest drink the place carried, in his typical, testosterone-fueled fashion. I'm told my mother responded to his sharp demand by pouring the requested drink over his head, and at that moment my father had instantly fallen in love with her. They would end up sneaking out together to make love in the alley behind the bar, Brian Jr. would be begotten, and the rest of course is history.
I'm told I was a happy baby, and the constant exposure to loud punk rock music at such a tender age had already begun shaping my personality. I was also exposed to constant yelling and fighting, as my parents liked to get drunk and find any reason to curse and strike each other, apparently out of love. I swear the first words I ever spoke were "shit," "fuck," and "cunt."
My adolescence was spent skateboarding, headbanging to music, and smoking weed with my friends. I had a hard time fitting in at school, and only hung out with a few friends who I felt were worthy of my company. I had a few people bully me and call me a punk rock faggot, but what the hell did they know? I also had a few girlfriends, and even though the relationships didn't last long, they served their purpose of introducing me to the wonderful world of breeding.
Around this time, I discovered my father's musical talent had apparently been passed down to me. I would sing along to some of my favorite tunes, and people around me would tell me it actually wasn't half bad. I started singing in the shower, singing on the way home from school, and singing when I was bored at home, much to my mother's chagrin. My father approved of my talent, but warned me to never get into the music business, lest I turn out like him. I looked up to my father, so I was all for it!
Unfortunately for my father, though, music for him would come to a crashing halt. His band hated each other and couldn't get along, and had begun spending more time fighting than practicing. They couldn't share drugs, they couldn't share groupies, and accusations of gambling debts had suddenly arisen out of nowhere at an alarming rate.
The animosity eventually reached a breaking point during a live show when a flying beer bottle launched from the crowd struck the lead guitar player in the head. In an angry drunken stupor, he decided to take revenge for the unprovoked attack out on my father. Next thing you know, the ground had become a stage not for a punk rock act, but a mess of discarded instruments and sweaty brawling. The crowd decided to follow suit by bashing each other and throwing bottles and chairs all over the joint, and security was forced to put in a major effort to bring it all to a halt.
After disbanding, my dad decided to go solo, and released "Coming Up For Air," an uncharacteristically softer style of punk rock which reflected his current feelings of being without his friends and their band, which had been together off and on since their high school years.
Adolescence
Around this time, my parents' love life was also taking a turn for the worst. The fighting and hitting had always surpassed the love making, but now it had completely replaced it. My father would end up taking his belongings and moving into an apartment, leaving me to live with my heartbroken mum.
Now in my experimental teenage years and being directly affected by the split, I eventually discovered the wonderful world of getting high. This was soon followed by my first taste of alcohol. Suddenly I understood why my parents loved drinking so much. Every day was spent getting drunk, smoking weed, and smoking cigarettes, and of course I blamed these new hobbies on my parents for not being able to stick together for me during these important years of my life.
These friends who introduced me to this party life became my rat pack so to speak, and aside from getting intoxicated all the time, we also had a penchant for spraying graffiti all over the neighborhood, talking shit to random passersby, and degrading women. Only one of us actually had a mate, the rest weren't interested... except for me. I joined in on all the anti-girl jokes, but deep down inside, I wanted one badly.
One eventful visit, my dad's girlfriend's friend was over. She too was punk rock to the core, complete with blue hair, numerous body piercings, and covered in tattoos. I was instantly drawn to her, so much so that when she introduced herself to me, I flat out shied away. She was a lot older than me, and she seemed to like the fact that she was so intimidating to an inexperienced, intoxicated 19-year-old. Long story short, my dad and his girlfriend had snuck off to the bedroom to be alone, and this left me with the intimidating punky seductress. She wasted no time in turning me into a man.
She knew it was my first time, but she didn't go easy on me. In fact, to prevent me from ruining the moment, she tied my wrists and ankles and knotted both ends to the ground, leaving me on my back, defenseless and vulnerable. I was petrified with an instant hard-on. Luckily from me, she took it easy from there, as I'm sure she wanted the moment to last more than 5 seconds. It only lasted about 5 minutes, but being young, dumb, and full of cum, I was able to give her a second, and even third round. My dad never found out about what happened, and sadly I never saw her again after that night, even though I swore I wouldn't tell.
Adulthood
Fast forward to when I'm all grown up and ready to move out of my mother's lair. My parents never re-found that spark they once had, so they stayed divorced, my mother remaining strong and single, and my father continuing to see his new girlfriend when he wasn't recording new music and touring.
I needed a place to go in life. A place for a filthy rodent like myself, where my personality would be both accepted and ridiculed, and there would be others around to befriend and be outcasts of modern society with together. People who could both handle my cruel yet playful sense of humor, and return my playful jabs with a humorous sense of style of their own. After shopping around a little, I ultimately decided that place would be Encyclopedia Dramatica.
I met with the site's landlord, Mantequilla. He seemed like a good guy, very welcoming and protective of his home. As it turned out, the building I was now living in also operated as a business, which specialized in documenting drama and preserving what they referred to as "lulz." I came to realize my cruel sense of humor fit right in along the lines of what "lulz" were, so I decided to apply for the job. I was more or less a janitor and a writer for the joint. In exchange for working for him, I was allowed to reside on ED for free, so that was a super sweet deal, even if I wasn't getting paid for the gig. I live off the bare essentials anyway!
Time passed, and then came the day I met the owner of ED, a hooded cat named Zaiger. After continued hard work and dedication, he eventually promoted me to an assistant manager, and empowered me with the means to take care of door-to-door salesmen and self-promoting entertainers who tried leaving spam, and edgy kids and individuals upset with the biting satire of my new home who came by to vandalize and protest the place.
Personal Relationships
Once I established residence at ED, I met a few others who would become my friends. One of them was a fellow animal who invited me over to his burrow to tell me about the place from his perspective and educate me on how to move up in my job and become an administrator. He was a purple weasel named Schnookums, and he almost always appeared to be in an intoxicated state. At this point in my life, my drinking days were behind me, but I didn't want to come as off a square to my new friend, so I accepted his offer of downing a couple whiskey shots with him.
Big mistake. It had been a while since I had drank any alcohol, so it went straight to my head. Schnookums's friend hipcrime happened to be present during this time, and had taken an immediate liking to me on account of my physical features. Hipcrime playfully enticed me into getting naked for him in exchange for acceptance in the "cool kids club," so I ended up getting wild and stripping all my clothes off, and began parading around ED in an entirely butt-naked state for his amusement. Other residents and administrators began egging me on and insulting me, some even threatening me and telling me to get the fuck out of the place for good. Schnookums was laughing his ass off and snapping photos of me, and ended up posting them all over ED for me to be ridiculed and pleasured to.
The landlord caught wind of the circus and kicked me out of ED for my wolfish behavior, and after an ensuing exchange the two of us had regarding it went sour. On my way out the door, hipcrime invited me to get together with him sometime for "coffee and AIDS." Being heterosexual, I politely declined the second part of the offer, but took him up on the coffee since I definitely could have used it to sober up at that point. Hipcrime instructed me to give it a little time and then return, so after about a month I snuck back in and promised to *never* drink again.
After that drama subsided, my curiosity took me into the forums of ED, which was its own offshoot building on the property. While there, I met another furry friend named snæk. As the name implies, he was a snake. He was a young Canadian who was busy and rarely on the property, but when he was, he was a lot of fun to hang out with.
After a few private exchanges where we opened up to each other, he went on to have a pin custom made just for me as a symbol of our friendship. But with me being a rat and him being a snake, he would sometimes instinctively find himself coiling around me in an attempt to asphyxiate me to death. I forgave him since it was only natural for him and because he would never actually kill me, and also because I was conveniently into that sort of thing.
Unfortunately, despite my friendships, I also had a few enemies on my radar. Apparently some people were disgusted by the types of things I chose to document while employed here, and the same individuals weren't amused with my personality, so they sought to remove me from the property by way of social conditioning. A campaign was launched, which I aggressively defended myself against, and suddenly I found myself the target of an orchestrated attack which left me homeless again.
The Return
With no place to go, I found myself drinking myself into oblivion. I had lost contact with my friends, and I no longer had a job as a result of the planned hit on me. All seemed lost, when suddenly I stumbled into my old weasel pal in passing. We struck up a conversation, and I relayed how I had been living since my eviction. He understood, and unbeknownst to me at the time, he began planning to right the wrong that had occurred.
The next thing I know, Schnookums was inviting me back to ED. This was confirmed when the landlord ripped up my eviction notice, effectively forgiving and forgetting the drama that had happened in the past. Schnookums even got my administrative job back, but this was met with outrage by those who had orchestrated the attack against me, and as a result, I was again demoted to a basic writer. This didn't discourage me, because I was a rat journalist who still had plenty to write about!
Just when everything seemed to be going well, I was hit with another shock. Schnookums, my friend and mentor at ED, was retiring. After so many years, he simply couldn't find an interest anymore, and one day, after a minor disagreement with the landlord, he left without looking back. He had been trying to find a reason to stick around, but with one foot already out the door, the disagreement gave him the final push, and he was gone.
So here I sit, writing at a desk for ED, with history, friendships, enemies, and memories all swimming through my head. What will the future hold? We can't predict that, but we can make it the best that it can be by being ourselves and giving it everything we've got!