Why I'm The Way I Am

As of late, I've been in a very introspective kinda way.
Human behavior has always interested me, though not enough to actually pursue any real understanding of it as dictated by textbooks and degrees. To some degree, I've always had a decent handle on what drives most people...there's always a curve ball here and there, but for the most part, you can understand someone just by watching them for a short amount of time.
Lately though, I tend to try to figure out my own behavior and what the catalysts to a lot of them are.

One of the first things I find perhaps odd about myself, is my sense of humor. I tend to find things funny that many other people might find horrifying or incredibly embarrassing to laugh at. Now however, I find that I can't find anything shockingly funny anymore. I feel like it's all been done in some shape or form before, and I'm even at the point that when I see someone trying to be over the top shocking, I find them hacky and pathetic.

During one of my introspective dalliances, I attempted to figure out why I was never entertained by "comedy" unless it was something just....well....awful.
And then I traced back to the source.

Now, I could describe to you the individual that I hold responsible for me not being able to be entertained by Jeff Foxworthy or Judy Tenuta, but just so you have a nice visual, I give you....Billy:


When I was 14 years old, I began working Summers and Weekends for my Step-Father's company. Billy was his employee, and when I would go in to work, nine times out of ten I was paired with him. As you can see, he was a typical contractor type, but that is exactly where Billy stopped being typical in any way, shape, or form.
Whenever I was paired with him, I would step in to his van and be greeted with a borderline sinister "Hello, Boooooyyyy". The tone always supplied a "just wait til you see what I have in store for you." atmosphere to the morning.
Billy seemed to have no gauge for what you thought in your head, versus what was appropriate for audible broadcast. And it wasn't just what he said, but how he said it. For instance, I can recall many times where we would arrive at a customer's home and they would do the obligatory "Is there anything you need from me before I head out?", and Billy would respond with "It wouldn't hurt ya to throw a pot of coffee on, now would it?" Then there would be the stare down between him and the home owner.
Them with their "Did he just say that to me like that?" look, and Billy with his hands rested on his ,very much accurate in my drawing, protruding gut..rolling his fingers on it like he was playing a bloated piano, and smiling back at them as if to say "Yes, motherfucker...I DID just talk to you like that."
All of this became very commonplace for me...so much so that I even reached a point where I didn't even get embarrassed by it anymore.

But this time...here today...I'm gonna tell you one of the first memories I have of working with this guy that let me know that there was something very wrong going on here.

On October 30 1985 a woman named Sylvia Seegrist carried out a killing spree at the Springfield Mall in Springfield, PA. When it was over, 3 people were dead, and seven wounded. It horrified the nation, because it was a time when things like that didn't happen as often as they do now.
At the entrance in front of the mall, an ATM was embeded into it's brick facade. As Seegrist entered the mall, she shot at a person who was using the ATM, which luckily missed them, but left a bullet hole in the brick.

A few days later, Billy needed cash in the morning before work.

As we pulled up to the front of the mall, we could see a local news van positioned near the ATM.
We approaced the curb, and Billy looked at the cameraman and newscaster, then turned to me and smiled in a way that resembled The Grinch when he was about to steal Christmas.
I thought to myself "OH FUCK, OH FUCK...Dude don't do this!!!"
But there really was no stopping him once he had this look, and I never even bothered actually speaking the thoughts in my head.

As he turned away from the ATM after completing the transaction, the newscaster set in.

"Sir, can I ask you some questions?"
The smile once again set in on his face and the fingers began playing the belly piano in preparation for his response.
"Why.....you sure can!" he responded in an almost Ward Cleaver-ish tone.

"Sir, how do you feel coming here after the events of the last week?"

"Why.....what do you mean by the events of the last week?

Now I knew something bad was about to happen, and I just wanted to be any place but where I was.

"Well....sir....you DO realize that a woman named Sylvia Seegrist shot and killed a bunch of shoppers in the mall the other day, don't you?"

Billy then began screaming!
"WHAAAAAT?!?!? HERE?!?!? OH GOD, YOU'RE NOT SAFE ANYWHERE!!!!"
At this point he began running back to the van, arms flailing "START THE VAN, KID!!! START THE VAN!!!!! LET'S GET THE HELL OUTTA HERE...PEOPLE ARE KILLING PEOPLE AROUND HERE!!!!"

He jumped in the driver's seat and turned to look at the reporter as she was lowering her microphone with a look on her face as if she smelled something awful.
With all the energy she could muster while being completely appalled at what she had just witnessed, she muttered the most simple "Asshole", that I have ever heard.

Billy ERUPTED in laughter at the utterance, and we drove off.

"What is the MATTER with you, dude?" I asked him.

"Wha...oh....hey, FUCK that bitch, booooyyyy. She's a fuckin' parasite. She don't care about what happened there the other day...this is a big payday for her kind! FUCK EM'!" he responded.
"You gotta lotta growin' up to do, kid. The world isn't the way it appears. But don't worry, ole Uncle Billy is here to show you the light, spider!
Say...did you ever give a girl some qualudes?"

This would be my harsh introduction into his world of entertainment, but certainly not the last thing I would ever witness.
His brand of "comedy" though, has apparently stuck with me all this time.