every day gets just a little bit harder you wake up, sweaty. the haziness of the previous day has mixed into a dark blur with the dream you had just forgetten. the dream you never had. and yet, somehow, this moment is the best part of your day, because you never know if the sweat you woke up in is cold or not. cold, because you have no one to hold you, no one to truly hear or perceive you, no one to recognize the ever changing perfections and imperfections of your malleable being. hot, because you wrapped yourself in 3 blankets like a cheap, haphazardly made burrito you used to throw together when your father came back angry from his 'business meetings' late every night. it reminds you of him. you try to tell yourself that it resembles his warm, loving hugs, but you've never experienced a hug. you don't have a reference point. no, it reminds you of the heavy, numbing, alcohol ridden breath mixed with the stench of 4 day old tomatoes and lettuce that would fill the air once he passed out on the couch, mouth agape and foaming. you unravel yourself from that steamy, yet frigid, collection of never washed bed covers and sheets. it takes you some time to recognize your feet as your own. its become a ritual at this point. one fingernail, half broken, getting caught on the sheet fabric, and giving you the first physical sensation of the day. pain, but enjoyable. almost playful. right foot down. left foot down. deep breath. knees. you are standing up now. no, you aren't even allowed that triumph. some imperceptible forced knocked you back onto the bad. its your old friend, the iron deficiency combined with a smidge of low blood pressure. you curse your father under your breath, thinking these are genetic conditions. are they? you never bothered to learn. ignorance is more comforting. blame is more bearable. you try to think back on the previous three days. trying to form an image of the last meal you had had. but even that is too much effort for you. instead, you slowly unfurl yourself back into the bad. supine. the second physical sensation of the day meets you in waves. its the everlasting kidney problem you have and never bothered to have checked. that slight, uncomfortable pain that sometimes wakes you up at night and forces you to get out of bed and urinate and slightly remedy the pain. you try to massage that spot right next to your spine on your back now, but it doesnt help, and you cannot urinate because you havent even drank anything you could expell from your body. your hand moves from one fruitless effort onto the next, now desperately searching for your phone in a snakelike fashion. you thought you felt it vibrate for a second, but that was your stomach consuming the spit you swallowed a moment ago. and just when you're on the verge of giving up, you find it tucked away in between your drooping leftover leg fat and the bed. huh, two notifications. it did vibrate after all. well, the first is a low battery percentage warning. you might have time to watch one video if you're lucky. not that they do anything for you. the last time you felt jky watching a cat bonk its head on a table was over three or four years ago. the second notification peaks your interest. it's from youtube. titled 'Howard the Duck', from a youtube channel called 'Chip Zdarsky'. for a second you're weirded out, you don't remember ever subscribing to this mysterious channel, let alone turning on the notifications for it. but the shock quickly wears off once you start watching the video. a glittery intro, and you know it will blend into the forgettable mesh of so called content youve racked up in your watch history. but wait. now there's a man. a bearded man with a weird bird-like nose. just like your father. but somehow even more reeking of alcohol than him, even though a screen separates you and this lumpy, hairy visage. and he's telling a story. and what a story it is. of true love and companionship. oh, were it true. were it not just a fantasy. imagine that. a talking duck with sex appeal. your mind wanders off for a second. it seems like inspiration hit you once again. look at that, you're starting to remember your job again. you were a writer. and a pretty good one at that. you had a voice. a real, unique voice you can only get through repressed daddy issues and sweating through 5 pairs of clothing on that one winter night when Paula from the class asked if she could borrow the phone from you so she could call her mother. but, as quickly as it came, your hopeful daydreaming vanishes. broken by the sudden end to the video. your phone finally died. you will not let it happen. you will not let that high you just felt just float away. no. the charger is on the table. if you could quickly dart to grab it, and bring it back to bed where you can plug it in, maybe, just maybe, you could finish the video where the smelly man talked about duck fucking, and maybe you can feel the joy of dreaming again. right leg down. left leg down. knees. you got it. you did it faster, and more alive this time. life is filling your veins again. dreams fuel your room-length expedition. you did it. the charger. it is in your hand. hah. you're laughing. you're really laughing again. but suddenly, darkness starts to fill your vision again. the last thing you see is a dusty half-done script sitting on the table. almost angry at you. no, worse. that's judgemental disappointment. you don't feel yourself fall, but you find yourself on the floor the very next moment. except, it's no longer the morning. a whole day passed? maybe more? while you were on the floor? your vision can't quite seem to adapt. feathery white spots seem to be flying across your field of view. you strain yourself harder this time, trying to comprehend what' s happening in front of you. it isn't long before you start thinking you heard footsteps. but not normal footsteps. freaky footsteps, liks the ones your father had when drunk on white wine. "Hey, buddy", a voice called out to you. What is that, Hugh Laurie mixed with a bad Fergie impression? "Hey, buddy, what got your dick all twirled up in a spiral, you know what i'm saying? Heh heh heh" That laugh. Oh my god that laugh. That broken up, breathy, nasal, almost chirpy laugh that also sounds like an old car honking. You'd know it everywhere. Of course you do. That's the default sound of your brain buffering. The sound of youe father's drunken cackling. Oh my hod father, is that really you? "Father? Heh. In some ways yes. I am The Father, buddy. I come to give you one more chance at life. You just died, buddy. Your hunger spiced up with some iron deficiency knocked your ass down, and the dehydration finally caused your kidney to fail. Howevee, I am a generous God. I'll Let you find your flock, spread your wings, whatever song your hearts seeks, I'll give you one more chance to sing it" Song? There is no song, father. The rhythm of your heart is a dead-ass disco beat. Your vision is starting to come back, faster, and by god, what is this creature "Uhh you said it yourself. God" It's a duck. A white duck standing on two legs, drinking white wine and waxing poetic about life and its beauty. For a second you find it funny. Resurrected by a white bird god? What are you? Moon Knight? No, no, you are letting your brain muffle your logic, that's your father standing right there. His short stature, his beaky nose, his smelly unshowered body that somehow always seemed to decline whatever fluid wanted to touch and clean it, hell everything down to his weird webbed feet. You'd recognize it anywhere. Anytime. Father, I love you. I Forgive you, Father. Father, I'd do anything to have you back in my life again. Anything. I realize now how hard you worked to keep us both happy after Mother died. I miss every moment with you. I miss her even more. It was so hard. It was so hard what you had to do to try to dig us out of that dark hole we fell into when we lost her. It took time for you to get back on your feet. I understand that now, and I'm sorry it took so long. You saceificed so much to buy us back just a tiny piece of happiness we used to have. I wish I had your strength. I know I disappoint you, Father. My life is a confusing mess of inambition and inhibition. I never learned to be free like you father. I lost everything. I lost my dreams, and that's my biggest regret. I promise you, Father, I'll get back on my feet and be strong again. For you. For her. For me. For my dreams. "I'm kidding dude, I'm just a duck and I'm like super fucked up on white wine. Welp, nice meeting you, but I gotta go back to fucking bang some human chicks or something I dont fucking know I never fucking read a Howard the Duck comic in my life. Peace out sucka. " My eyes open again. The script is in my hand. I must have grabbed it when I fell. It's morning again. The sun giving life to my room once more, almlst blinding me with its bright brilliance Father, I promise to make you proud, from now on, each day shall be better than the one before.
every day gets just a little bit harder
you wake up, sweaty. the haziness of the previous day has mixed into a dark blur with the dream you had just forgetten. the dream you never had. and yet, somehow, this moment is the best part of your day, because you never know if the sweat you woke up in is cold or not. cold, because you have no one to hold you, no one to truly hear or perceive you, no one to recognize the ever changing perfections and imperfections of your malleable being. hot, because you wrapped yourself in 3 blankets like a cheap, haphazardly made burrito you used to throw together when your father came back angry from his 'business meetings' late every night. it reminds you of him. you try to tell yourself that it resembles his warm, loving hugs, but you've never experienced a hug. you don't have a reference point. no, it reminds you of the heavy, numbing, alcohol ridden breath mixed with the stench of 4 day old tomatoes and lettuce that would fill the air once he passed out on the couch, mouth agape and foaming.
you unravel yourself from that steamy, yet frigid, collection of never washed bed covers and sheets. it takes you some time to recognize your feet as your own. its become a ritual at this point. one fingernail, half broken, getting caught on the sheet fabric, and giving you the first physical sensation of the day. pain, but enjoyable. almost playful.
right foot down. left foot down. deep breath. knees.
you are standing up now.
no, you aren't even allowed that triumph. some imperceptible forced knocked you back onto the bad. its your old friend, the iron deficiency combined with a smidge of low blood pressure. you curse your father under your breath, thinking these are genetic conditions. are they? you never bothered to learn. ignorance is more comforting. blame is more bearable.
you try to think back on the previous three days. trying to form an image of the last meal you had had. but even that is too much effort for you. instead, you slowly unfurl yourself back into the bad. supine. the second physical sensation of the day meets you in waves. its the everlasting kidney problem you have and never bothered to have checked. that slight, uncomfortable pain that sometimes wakes you up at night and forces you to get out of bed and urinate and slightly remedy the pain. you try to massage that spot right next to your spine on your back now, but it doesnt help, and you cannot urinate because you havent even drank anything you could expell from your body. your hand moves from one fruitless effort onto the next, now desperately searching for your phone in a snakelike fashion. you thought you felt it vibrate for a second, but that was your stomach consuming the spit you swallowed a moment ago. and just when you're on the verge of giving up, you find it tucked away in between your drooping leftover leg fat and the bed.
huh, two notifications. it did vibrate after all.
well, the first is a low battery percentage warning. you might have time to watch one video if you're lucky. not that they do anything for you. the last time you felt jky watching a cat bonk its head on a table was over three or four years ago.
the second notification peaks your interest. it's from youtube. titled 'Howard the Duck', from a youtube channel called 'Chip Zdarsky'. for a second you're weirded out, you don't remember ever subscribing to this mysterious channel, let alone turning on the notifications for it. but the shock quickly wears off once you start watching the video. a glittery intro, and you know it will blend into the forgettable mesh of so called content youve racked up in your watch history.
but wait. now there's a man. a bearded man with a weird bird-like nose. just like your father. but somehow even more reeking of alcohol than him, even though a screen separates you and this lumpy, hairy visage.
and he's telling a story. and what a story it is. of true love and companionship. oh, were it true. were it not just a fantasy. imagine that. a talking duck with sex appeal.
your mind wanders off for a second. it seems like inspiration hit you once again. look at that, you're starting to remember your job again. you were a writer. and a pretty good one at that. you had a voice. a real, unique voice you can only get through repressed daddy issues and sweating through 5 pairs of clothing on that one winter night when Paula from the class asked if she could borrow the phone from you so she could call her mother.
but, as quickly as it came, your hopeful daydreaming vanishes. broken by the sudden end to the video. your phone finally died. you will not let it happen. you will not let that high you just felt just float away. no. the charger is on the table. if you could quickly dart to grab it, and bring it back to bed where you can plug it in, maybe, just maybe, you could finish the video where the smelly man talked about duck fucking, and maybe you can feel the joy of dreaming again.
right leg down. left leg down. knees. you got it. you did it faster, and more alive this time. life is filling your veins again. dreams fuel your room-length expedition.
you did it. the charger. it is in your hand. hah. you're laughing. you're really laughing again.
but suddenly, darkness starts to fill your vision again. the last thing you see is a dusty half-done script sitting on the table. almost angry at you. no, worse. that's judgemental disappointment.
you don't feel yourself fall, but you find yourself on the floor the very next moment. except, it's no longer the morning. a whole day passed? maybe more? while you were on the floor?
your vision can't quite seem to adapt. feathery white spots seem to be flying across your field of view. you strain yourself harder this time, trying to comprehend what' s happening in front of you.
it isn't long before you start thinking you heard footsteps. but not normal footsteps. freaky footsteps, liks the ones your father had when drunk on white wine.
"Hey, buddy", a voice called out to you. What is that, Hugh Laurie mixed with a bad Fergie impression?
"Hey, buddy, what got your dick all twirled up in a spiral, you know what i'm saying? Heh heh heh"
That laugh. Oh my god that laugh. That broken up, breathy, nasal, almost chirpy laugh that also sounds like an old car honking. You'd know it everywhere. Of course you do. That's the default sound of your brain buffering. The sound of youe father's drunken cackling. Oh my hod father, is that really you?
"Father? Heh. In some ways yes. I am The Father, buddy. I come to give you one more chance at life. You just died, buddy. Your hunger spiced up with some iron deficiency knocked your ass down, and the dehydration finally caused your kidney to fail. Howevee, I am a generous God. I'll Let you find your flock, spread your wings, whatever song your hearts seeks, I'll give you one more chance to sing it"
Song? There is no song, father.
The rhythm of your heart is a dead-ass disco beat.
Your vision is starting to come back, faster, and by god, what is this creature
"Uhh you said it yourself. God"
It's a duck. A white duck standing on two legs, drinking white wine and waxing poetic about life and its beauty. For a second you find it funny. Resurrected by a white bird god? What are you? Moon Knight?
No, no, you are letting your brain muffle your logic, that's your father standing right there.
His short stature, his beaky nose, his smelly unshowered body that somehow always seemed to decline whatever fluid wanted to touch and clean it, hell everything down to his weird webbed feet. You'd recognize it anywhere. Anytime.
Father, I love you. I Forgive you, Father. Father, I'd do anything to have you back in my life again. Anything. I realize now how hard you worked to keep us both happy after Mother died. I miss every moment with you. I miss her even more. It was so hard. It was so hard what you had to do to try to dig us out of that dark hole we fell into when we lost her. It took time for you to get back on your feet. I understand that now, and I'm sorry it took so long. You saceificed so much to buy us back just a tiny piece of happiness we used to have. I wish I had your strength. I know I disappoint you, Father. My life is a confusing mess of inambition and inhibition. I never learned to be free like you father. I lost everything. I lost my dreams, and that's my biggest regret. I promise you, Father, I'll get back on my feet and be strong again. For you. For her. For me. For my dreams.
"I'm kidding dude, I'm just a duck and I'm like super fucked up on white wine. Welp, nice meeting you, but I gotta go back to fucking bang some human chicks or something I dont fucking know I never fucking read a Howard the Duck comic in my life. Peace out sucka. "
My eyes open again. The script is in my hand. I must have grabbed it when I fell. It's morning again. The sun giving life to my room once more, almlst blinding me with its bright brilliance
Father, I promise to make you proud, from now on, each day shall be better than the one before.
tl;dr
The on screen actor really conveys the writer's intent. BRILLIANT!!!
I will forever pronounce it as ho-ward now. Thank you.
The camera man should be fired from not doing his JOB
he died in a mysterious car crash coming back from the shoot! weird!!
Ordered the omnibus today! One day I hope we see your Spectacular Spider-Man and Daredevil in omnis
Just ordered your Howard the Duck Omnibus and now I’m even more excited ha
Aaaannnnnnd read and reviewed, outstanding run sir! Loved it 🦆💯
The creator of Spidey life story people
Lol, this is a masterpiece.
What a beautiful boy
I love this
My first actual lol of the day 🙂
How he said Rico’s name was hilarious