Eddie’s innards

Eddie Slain was harvested from the loins of his father by his mother’s womb, which, in spewing him forth on the cold, wet morning of December 13th, 1979, took her existence just as Eddie took his first breath.

 

He did the K through 12 stint like all other pure bred Americans in the 80s and early 90s, living the dream, avoiding bad hair, and blowing his ears out to screaming guitars, all while fantasizing of true freedom.

 

He collected the prerequisite points and scores, GPAs, gold stars, and credits required to escape the monotony of his everyday existence on the cold, wet, north-west coast of the good ole US of A, for the more exciting, baking hot climes of Southern Arizona, where he spent more time stoned out of his head and staring at the stars, or breasts and stars, or stars with breasts, than actually going to lectures or doing any work.

 

It was during his time in collegiate jail that he realised what he really wanted to do was to freely express himself for the rest of his life, no holds barred, while hopefully getting paid for the pleasure.

 

So he took a giant leap, and wrote his first book.  That didn’t take.  So he wrote another.  And another.  And little by little, his writing took hold.  First of his own mind.  Then of his friends’ minds, and finally, kapow!  A real, honest-to-goodness audience appeared, trickling in from the various dark corners of the real and digital worlds, slipping in between the fresh sheets of Eddie’s stories like guilty old men disappearing into the shady doorway of the local porn shop.

 

And so on it goes into…

• Eddie’s brain
• Eddie’s shorts