The night started off fairly normal. Heh. "Normal." Such a safe and precious word to me now. One that I fear I may never truly understand again. Odd how we take for granted the small things in life: normalcy, being average, unnoticed in the eyes of the wicked. But I'm getting off track. Yes, the night was every bit as average as a thousand nights before it. My two sons sat peacefully in front of the television, occasionally giggling at a Spongebob Squarepants joke that they wouldn't truly understand for years to come. My wife lay stretched across our couch, reading her autographed copy of "Schizophrenia: Dealing with an Unbalanced Spouse," while I ate tacos and played a relaxing game of Starcraft.

As Carrie neared the end of a chapter in her book, she dog-eared the page and got up to check on the boys. They were fine... content in front of the warm glow of the television, occasionally sipping from their glasses of milk and finishing their nighttime snacks. Satisfied with their serenity, she made her way to the bathroom. Because she had to take and enormous crap. I know she'll probably be mad that I wrote that out, but honestly, that woman can fuck a toilet right on up. I mean, if the Olympics had a sport of shitting, she would win at least a silver medal on turd-girth alone.

As she stepped over the baby-gate to get to the bathroom, I glanced over my shoulder at the TV. In that split second that my eyes weren't locked onto the game screen, I heard an agonizing scream, and my blood ran cold. I knew that scream, and I knew what it meant. My mind went into a horrified panic, and for a moment, I considered not turning back to my computer at all. Against my better judgment, I did, and what I saw made my stomach sink. My eyes began to well up, and my bottom lip trembled. I didn't know what to feel, but my voice responded despite my mind's efforts to block out the torturous vision before me.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

The boys jumped in shock, and Carrie sprinted back over the baby gate, pulling her pants up along the way. Standing up, I shot the computer chair backwards with the bends of my knees, and I threw my head back, screaming to the heavens.

"NNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

"What?! What's wrong," yelled my panicked wife.

Falling to my knees in a fit of angry tears, I sobbed into my left hand and pointed at the screen with my right.

"Those sons of bitches," I choked out. "They took his life, Carrie! They took his life without remorse!"

"Who? What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the soulless, heartless bastards who claimed the life of Crazy Legs O'Hoolie," I yelled as I brought my finger closer to the screen, pointing to the bloody remains of one of my Marines.

"WHAT? You almost gave me a damned heart attack, you dumbass! I thought one of the boys were hurt! It's just a stupid computer image of a single soldier. You have well over a hundred of them on the screen."

Slowly, I looked up into her unfeeling eyes as my face contorted into an angry scowl.

"Oh, there's a hundred of them, woman. A hundred men. A hundred men with names... and stories, and families, and lives, Carrie! You see, to you, he was just a 'stupid computer image' meant to die for his participation in such a brutal war. But to me, he was Crazy Legs O'Hoolie. Father of two. Husband, and part-time substitute teacher for Parkview Jr. High in Bridgeport, Connecticut. Volunteer at a local homeless shelter. And most recently... war hero. He gave his life so that others may live, Carrie. How can you look at that act of violence and not feel anger and grief down to your very core?"

Ten seconds of silence passed as my wife and two sons stared at me in confusion and disbelief.

"That's it. I'm making an appointment for you tomorrow."

"I ain't goin' to no shrink."

"Whatever, I'm taking a crap. And I'm not listening to you anymore tonight. If you cut off both of your arms while I'm in there, you'd better dial 911 with your nose because I'm not coming back in here. Now put the boys to bed and stop acting stupid."

"Pfft. Heartless wench."

After Carrie again crossed the baby gate, I turned back towards my fallen comrade. Bowing my head, my boys and I stood in a moment of silence to honor his valiant sacrifice. With tears in our eyes, I took a drink of my beer as Jason and Drew tipped back their milk, and with a forced swallow, we each poured a little extra onto the carpet for Crazy Legs O'Hoolie.

"I SAID GET THEM IN BED, NOW," screamed Carrie from the toilet.

Both boys sprinted for their rooms, leaving me to finish my game.

"Shit," I exclaimed as I pulled the chair back to it's normal position.

In the middle of my grieving, I had somehow knocked over my plate of tacos, scattering hamburger all over the floor. With a stuttered sigh, I bent down and began scooping up the filling.

"I dedicate this cleanup... to O'Hoolie."

Five minutes later, the floor was once again spotless, and satisfied with the cleaning, I pulled out my contact case and readied myself for bed. The second my fingers hit my right eye to remove my contact lens, I knew I had made a poor decision. My fingers still had taco juice all over them, and once it connected with the white of my eye, my body jerked in a bolt of sheer agony.

"AAAAGGGHHHHH!"

The scream left my mouth in the same tone and pitch as a 12 year old girl seeing her first horror movie. Only much, much longer. Quickly, I pulled my fingers away from my face and stood up, continuing to scream as if I had been stabbed in the eye with a cactus.

"AAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGHHHH!"

My head was a blur of thoughts, begging my body to do something... anything to take my mind off of the pain. I guess in times of panic, you do what comes the most natural because before I knew it, my hands had made the decision to pull out my penis and begin violently masturbating. To my surprise, I was already erect, but stroke my cock as I might, it simply wasn't working.

"AAAAAAAAAAGGGGGHHHH," I continued to scream as my left hand abandoned my schlong and connected with my jaw, while my right hand continued to furiously pump away. "Yes," I thought, "why didn't I think of that earlier! Punching myself in the face is sure to make me forget about my taco eye!"

But it was too late. Thinking that sentence reminded me that I did indeed have a case of burning taco-eye, and immediately, the pain sprung back to life, forcing me to up the pitch of my still-unbroken scream.

"AAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!"

"I'M NOT COMING IN THERE," yelled Carrie from the bathroom as I made my way to the front door.

Pulling the lock back, I flung the front door open and sprinted towards the snow, screaming, masturbating, and punching myself in the face the whole way. Catching a glimpse of the snow with my one good eye between punches, I dove headfirst towards the pile and landed perfectly with my eye open. The snow felt wonderful as it packed around my damaged iris, and the pain began to deaden itself to a slow throb. The punches slowed, and the masturbation released its desired effect. Slowly standing, I took in the world around me. It was different now. Things had changed... I had changed. I would have been in some sort of shock from this realization, but I knew that this would one day happen... just as grandma had told me it would happen so many years ago. I had finally found my powers. Yes, that night, I left my front porch as "John Cheese." But I returned as "Taco-Eye Jeff: Defender of Justice." And make no mistake, from this point on, I will not rest until evil subsides.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Note from the Editor: This story was never continued. At least not online. John did, however, write a book called 300 Pages of Crap, and in that book he published a part two of the article. It is the only place it can be found.

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