Easy Fiend

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Denis Faye

Denis Faye
Location
Redondo Beach, California, USA
Birthday
April 27
Bio
I'm a screenwriter, comic book writer, journalist and dad living a hellish existence in Redondo Beach, California. My blog, www.easyfiend.com, has a small, passionate and occasionally stress-inducing cult following. I have the magical ability to do the wrong thing in almost any situation. Come on in and enjoy the magic.

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SEPTEMBER 12, 2009 2:14PM

The Black Cloud over the Black Hills

Rate: 3 Flag



The kid and I got back recently from a week in the Black Hills with my parents and my sister's family. All-and-all, it was a good time, but unfortunately, I discovered I'm not as together as I thought I was. It turns out I've got quite a robust reservoir of anger bubbling below the surface. Here at my beach shack, in control of my environment, I didn't notice it, but throw me into a two-bedroom cabin with 7 family members, 1200 miles away from the mighty Pacific, with no access to organic produce and, well, kaboom!

While the Faye herd is admittedly a handful, I was over-the-top livid, bursting into blind rages several times over the smallest of infractions, including:
  • My dad eating too many Fig Newtons.
  • My nephew throwing a half-eaten apple into the woods.
  • My sister daring to critique my ability to properly drain garbanzo beans.
  • My brother-in-law making fun of me for getting mad at his son for throwing a half-eaten apple into the woods.
And my personal favorite:
  • My mom accidentally melting my daughter's toothbrush over an open flame.
Anyway, I suppose it's good to know that's there so that I can work on it.

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Being right ain't all it's cut out to be. I once wrecked a brand new suit chasing a couple of nephews around a parking lot because they wouldn't get in a picture, as my mother had requested. I slipped on the gravel in by dress shoes and scraped off the whole right side of the suit. Had to get my pic taken like that and of course there wasn't time to do anything about it so I wore it into the wedding. Little bastards!
My, you are a delicate hothouse flower.