• My name is Jerry Bacon and I have incurred the wrath of Poseidon.

    Whatever event prompted this must have happened long ago in my troubled childhood. I have apparently repressed that memory so well that it is all but out of reach of modern psychiatric science. Or, perhaps, it simply never existed to begin with. This would explain my frustratingly fruitless and obscenely expensive therapy sessions, which themselves explained why the “wrestlers” in Uncle Regis' video collection never had any clothes on. Oh, what subtleties escape the youthful mind!

    I would assume that the natural question for the Reader now would be- “if you can't remember it, how do you know that you've incurred the wrath of Poseidon?” Well, the reason is baffling to even me, but it's what people have been telling me for years.

    * * *

    “Tell me Mr. Bacon, where do you see yourself in 5 years?”

    “Hopefully with a nice job at Analtech, paying off my student loans.” I answered the interviewer in her native language of bull.

    “Ah, I see.” She said, biting down on her inkpen. “Were you aware that you have incurred the wrath of Poseidon?”

    “Excuse me?”

    “I just asked what flavor of cookie you would be, if you could be a cookie.”

    “Oh,” I paused. “I've always been partial to brownies.”

    “Ah, I see.”

    * * *

    Reader, I am aware that this explanation does not satisfy you. So what if I was getting interviewed by the largest butt-plug firm in the United States and I happed to mishear an innocent question as an invocation of the sea-god's wrath? Lots of people do it, right? Wrong. This is something that's been happening all my life.

    * * *

    “Alright Misses Bacon,” began the teacher to my mother, “your son is very bright, and very good at finger-painting, but were you aware that he has incurred the wrath of Poseidon?”

    “What?!” My mother screamed out loud, just as I was doing in my head.

    “That's right, while little Susie was on the slide he was looking right up her skirt!”

    * * *

    “Okay, okay!” You say to yourself. “You're probably just linking two things together because you're desperately seeking to connect two disparate yet embarrassing events in order to creating meaning in that hopeless vacuum that is your life. So what? Everybody does it.”

    That may be right. However, that's just one of countless times somebody has told me this. No, they never remember after, but if you hear something enough it starts to sink in.

    * * *

    “Today class,” Began our English teacher, Miss Pussywillow, “we will be talking about the three main gods of Greek mythology.”

    This was my favorite subject in middle school. The Greeks were badass. This was, of course, before the sausagefest that was 300 (my favorite movie ever!), but I had other reasons. For instance, our textbook had pictures of NAKED TITTIES AND PECKERS... even if they were just statues.

    “The chief god on Mount Olympus was Zeus, ruler of the sky. The next in command was Poseidon, the king of the sea. Jerry, incidentally, has incurred the wrath of this god. Hades was the youngest, so he got stuck ruling the underworld.”

    * * *

    Now I can feel you Reader, playing off my dilemma as a manifestation some repressed homo-erotic fantasy about Greek mythology. I can assure you that this isn't the case. I fulfilled those fantasies long ago in highschool when I got to role-play a coach at the original Olympics. Let me tell you, olive oil wasn't just for pita bread in those days.

    Consider one last example.

    * * *

    Booty bumpin' bass blared from my stereo as I rolled down the street. Yeah, I was the cool guy. You could hear my beats a'thumpin' blocks away. It was the nineties and I was always riding dirty.

    “Just back up sir, I'm bound to infer,” spit the rapper “the someone's wrath has just been incurred! I smack my hos with bolts of lightnin', so don't you step to my thug Poseidon!”

    That's when I crashed into a tree.

    * * *

    Now you think I'm just making excuses for being a bad driver. Bite me, Reader. I'm going to continue this story with our without your confidence. It picks up with my job at Analtech.