It Gets Worse

by Shane Dawson

  For some reason I thought this ad was a winner. Probably because I had already been through a night of getting caught by a friend and almost getting murdered by a guy whose body looked like it was a jar of old mayonnaise that started growing hair. I texted Greg and we started planning on where we were going to meet up. I hadn’t thought it through this far. I didn’t want to go to his place because what if he was secretly filming everything, and I didn’t want him to come to my place because what if he recognized it from my videos and told everyone he fucked Shane Dawson? Worse than that, what if he knew I was a YouTuber but didn’t remember my name and then after we had sex, said: “Oh, WAIT! Now I remember! You’re Fred!”

  I would kill myself. Right there. Right in front of him. Luckily I figured out a solid plan B. I would find a cheap motel, get a room, and wait for him with a knife under the bed just in case. Ya, that seemed like the perfect place to lose my butt virginity. Romance was in the air.

  DING.

  A text from Greg popped up on my phone.

  GREG: Hey. I’m on my way to the motel. You hungry? I was gonna stop by In-N-Out.

  Awwwww, he was offering to bring me food? This is third-date material! Maybe this would be the guy of my dreams?

  GREG: Also, are there water bottles in the room? I need to douche.

  And my dreams are over.

  GREG: If you already used one on yourself, that’s fine. I can just wash off the tip.

  Nightmare. Actual nightmare. Shit-covered nightmare.

  At the motel, I wanted to make sure he wasn’t a murderer, so I stood on the toilet and stared out the window. I stood there with the cold wind freezing my face for at least an hour. Why would he pick In-N-Out? Doesn’t everyone know those lines are ridiculous? And for what? A burger in a box instead of a bag? Get over yourself.

  Then I saw his car pull up. My heart started pounding so hard my body was shaking. I was more nervous than I’d ever been in my life, and I couldn’t think straight. As he got out of his car, I realized that he wasn’t really my type and I wasn’t even sure what my type was. I just knew it wasn’t a huge hairy dad with neck tattoos spelling out the names of his dead wives. Most likely that he killed. I started to panic. This was just like the Grindr experience but worse because I couldn’t just delete the app! The guy knew where I was and was walking up to my room! Even worse, he was holding a box of In-N-Out. Really, dude? You were gonna fuck me while the smell of pickles and onions filled the room? I know your ad said you were into “animal style,” but this was a little much.

  As he walked up the stairs I began to plan my escape. Maybe I could jump out the window? Maybe I could play a gunshot sound effect on my phone, and he would think I shot myself ? And that would be pretty normal for the neighbors. I’m sure someone killed himself in this motel at least twice a week.

  KNOCK KNOCK.

  Shit. It was too late. I walked up to the door and put my ear to it.

  ME: Hi.

  GREG: Hi! Can I come in now? My fries are leaking.

  His fries were leaking? What did that even mean?? You had sauce already on your fries before you were even at the table? What kind of person does that? A fucking sicko, that’s who.

  ME: I’m sorry. I can’t do this. Please don’t be mad.

  GREG: Let me in, man. Let’s talk about this.

  ME: I can’t. I’m too scared. And I just want to go home.

  I started to cry. I was so overwhelmed with emotion that I couldn’t hold it in any longer. Nobody else I knew had had to go through this. None of my friends had had to find a stranger to have anonymous sex with to figure out their sexuality. They just went to bars and met people like normal human beings. Not hide in the shadows while the smell of secret sauce filled the room.

  GREG: Hey, man. You really have never done anything with a guy?

  ME: No. That’s why I answered your ad. To see if I was gay. Or bi. Or whatever.

  GREG: Can I give you some advice?

  ME: Sure.

  GREG: I know you wanted to do this to see if you were interested in sex with men but . . . if you were looking for it in the first place . . . you were interested. You don’t need to have sex to realize that, man. Just live your life and do it when you’re ready.

  Of course he was right. I’d suppressed my attraction toward men for so long. For some reason I thought that since I was ready to try it out, I needed to just have sex with the first man I could find to make sure the feelings were real. But of course they were real. That’s why they’re feelings. My heart had known the truth all along, and I didn’t need to have sex to prove it.

  GREG: Good luck, man. You’re gonna be fine. Just look how I turned out!

  Not a great example, but I was still appreciative. As he walked away, I sat on the motel bed and considered how far I’d come. And it was far. I used to be a kid who was terrified to admit that he liked boys, and here I was a guy who had been just about to have sex with a guy he met online. As creepy as it sounds, I was proud of myself. I knew that the first time I hooked up with a man I actually cared about would be just as amazing as the first time it had been with a woman I cared about. After I came out all bets were off, and it was time to go out and live my life. And without getting too graphic, I did find a guy to be with, and it was amazing. Definitely more amazing than it would have been with Greg from Craigslist. No offense, Greg.

  The White Bus

  About the Artist

  PAIGE RHOADS is an aspiring artist from Topeka, Kansas, and is currently attending school at Emporia State University. She has known art was her calling since she was very young. She mainly sticks with paintings, but dabbles in other mediums, too. To see her collection of work, visit paigerhoads.weebly.com.

  There’s nothing harder than having to move to a different school and start all over again. You put so much time and energy into making friends, building a routine, learning which teachers are easiest to emotionally break, and then one day you are forced to go to another school and start all over again. It’s what I assume dating on Tinder is like. You talk to a stranger for a few days and then they just stop replying after all that effort you put into the relationship. That’s why I would much rather be alone forever and occasionally bump into strangers in a crowded department store so I can get a sense of human touch. Ya, way healthier.

  Anyways, the summer after fourth grade we moved to a different town and into a much smaller house. It was the hottest summer in ten years, and I tried everything in my power to stay cool. In the past, I had just gone over to my neighbor’s house to swim, but now that I didn’t live next door anymore, I had to get creative. One scorching hot day I decided to pull the big trash can from the front of my house to my backyard and fill it with hose water. I got a step ladder and then jumped inside. Not only did I barely fit, but all the dried-up sludge and dead bugs splashed into my mouth. It was pretty much the opposite of refreshing. Even sadder, I stayed in it for two hours.

  It was during hour two that my brother zoomed into the backyard on his bike, saw me floating in a city trash can filled with sewage, and busted up laughing.

  ME: I was just cleaning it!

  JERID: In your swim trunks?

  I tried to jump out but caught my leg on the side of the can, and the whole thing tipped over and tidal waved onto the driveway. I tumbled out covered in brown slime and slapped my head pretty hard on the ground. My brother laughed so hard I’m pretty sure he popped a blood vessel in his head. That or he had been smoking a lot of weed, which now that I think about it actually makes sense. I can’t imagine being high and then seeing your fat little brother sitting in a trash can full of water looking like a pig in a Crock-Pot. I bet it was comedy gold. After I got up and spit garbage juice out of my mouth, my brother sat down on the patio and told me to come join him for a talk. Our talks were usually father-son type chats. My dad wasn’t really around much, so Jerid was who I would go to for advice. Usually it was bad advice, and sometimes he would just ask me to cover for something ba
d he had done, but I still treasured these moments.

  JERID: So, you nervous about the new school?

  ME: A little bit. I’m more nervous about people thinking I’m deaf.

  My new elementary school was Helen Keller Elementary. I completely understand why a school would be named after her. She was a true hero and deserves to be honored. But is it really fair to the kids who go there? Every time someone would ask my mom what school I was transferring into they would respond with a look of deep sympathy and concern. She had a conversation with her boss once that took a pretty dark turn.

  MOM’S BOSS: Which school does he go to?

  MOM: Helen Keller Elementary.

  MOM’S BOSS: Oh, you poor, poor thing. I can’t imagine how hard it is to have a child with disabilities.

  MOM: Oh, no, it’s not—

  MOM’S BOSS: And to top it off, he’s overweight? You deserve a gift for how much you have to put up with.

  MOM: Actually—

  MOM’S BOSS: When was the last time we talked about giving you a raise?

  My mom paused and put on a fake sad face.

  MOM: You don’t know pain until you’ve come home to see your fat deaf blind son floating in a trash can full of water because he thinks it’s a swimming pool.

  MOM’S BOSS: You poor thing!

  Ya, after that exchange, every time I saw that boss I had to pretend to bump into walls. My mom bought me a Furby with her bonus check, so I guess it was worth it.

  Day one at my new school was pretty terrifying, but what was even more terrifying was that it was the first time I had to walk to get there. I lived close enough that I didn’t need my mom to drop me off, but I had never done it before, and I was scared that someone might try to kidnap me. Then I remembered I wasn’t really kidnapping material. Why would a child molester want a two-hundred-pound ten-year-old who had more armpit hair than he did? So I guess I was pretty safe. As I walked into the gates I saw kids playing four square and girls jumping rope like professionals. I even saw a teacher bandaging up a student’s scraped knee. It was like I had walked into a 1950s commercial for the perfect elementary school. Then a ball flew at my face, and all the kids screamed, “Ten points for the whale hit!” Commercial over. Reality checked.

  The bell rang, and I walked into my new classroom. I looked around the room and found a seat close to the back. I never liked to be near the front because I was afraid the teacher would call on me. I had a huge fear of public speaking, and the last thing I wanted to do was have people hear what my voice sounded like. Sometimes I wished it really was a school for the deaf and blind because then I would feel WAY more comfortable.

  The teacher introduced herself, and I should have known this year was going to be a weird one. She had bloodshot eyes, and her face looked red and puffy like she had been up all night crying.

  MRS. COLDWATER: Hello, students, I’m Mrs. Coldwater. Well, not anymore technically. After last week I guess I should change it back to my maiden name. So THAT’S WHAT I’M GOING TO DO TODAY.

  She grabbed a piece of chalk and pressed it deep and hard into the chalkboard and crossed out her name and wrote MISS FLETCHER over it.

  MISS FLETCHER: PERFECT! Let’s get started!

  Ya, it was going to be a rough year. Lunchtime rolled around, and it was time to find a place to sit and eat my tuna salad sandwich. I don’t know why my mom thought it was a good idea to pack a tuna sandwich into my backpack so it could get hot and stinky for half the day. Maybe she thought it would be a good conversation starter? Maybe I would open up my backpack, and a kid would smell the wretched stench that came from it and ask me what it was. Unfortunately that didn’t happen. When I opened up my bag, everybody just looked disgusted and moved to another table. As I sat alone eating my Fancy Feast a girl came up to me and asked if she could join. She was an overweight Cambodian girl named Saksa, and she had the kindest eyes I had ever seen.

  SAKSA: Hi. My name is Saksa.

  ME: My name is Shane. You new here too?

  SAKSA: Ya. What are you eating? It smells good.

  ME: You think so? Most people think it smells like a prostitute’s nail bed.

  SAKSA: Well, my family usually cooks up a bowl of fish heads and blends them into a smoothie, so I’m not the best judge of smell.

  ME: You drink that?

  SAKSA: No, I usually drink chocolate milk. My grandma’s a fan of things that smell like the dump.

  ME: My grandma’s a fan of taking dumps that look like chocolate milk, so I guess we have a lot in common!

  After school I said good-bye to my new friend and started my walk home. It was then I saw a big white bus parked in front of the school. I saw a few kids going in, and they looked so excited. I overheard one kid say, “I hope they have Airheads today!” That was all I needed. I joined the line and pretended like I was a part of this mystery candy club. I stepped onto the large white bus and saw three men in their thirties walking around giving the kids hugs. The first thing I noticed was how fake their smiles looked. It was almost like they were robots and they were set on “way too touchy mode.” The next thing I noticed was how long their neck hair was. It was literally long enough to comb. If they had put gel in it they probably could have spiked it. I wasn’t sure who these guys were, but they smelled like Reese’s, so I was in.

  NECK-HAIR GUY 1: Welcome, kids, to the Lord’s Bus!

  Fuck. Wrong choice. Must find exit.

  NECK-HAIR GUY 2: Who’s ready for a game of “Who Wants to be a Blessingaire?” John, grab the bowl of Snickers!

  I guessed I could stay for one round. The three neck-hair brothers started asking us kids questions about the Bible, and whoever got it right got a candy bar and a blessing. I grew up religious and I definitely loved me some Jesus, but “church people” really freaked me out. There was something so phony to me about people who quoted Bible verses as if they were rap lyrics. I could imagine Jesus is up there going, “Whoa. Too much, guys. Chill.”

  It was my turn to answer a question and I was ready. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t get the answer right, but I’m sure if I looked sad enough they would still throw me a Snickers. Kinda like how when a whale at SeaWorld doesn’t do the trick right but the trainer still throws him a fish.

  NECK-HAIR GUY 3: Ok! How many of each animal did Noah bring into the ark?

  ME: Oh! I know this one! Two!

  NECK-HAIR GUY 3: That’s correct!!

  He threw me a Snickers, which I caught in my mouth.

  NECK-HAIR GUY 3: Aren’t you going to unwrap that?

  ME: Nah, I can do it with my teeth.

  What can I say, I was a talented whale. At the end of the game they sent us on our way, and I felt full of sugar and even more full of bullshit. Some of the things these hairy-necked nerds were saying were so out of touch I couldn’t believe nobody was calling them out on it. I understood that a lot of people believe every word of the Bible, but from my point of view some of it was clearly outdated. I mean, it was written thousands of years ago. Some of my tweets from two months ago are outdated and need to be deleted. Imagine if Jesus was on Twitter. Do you think he would follow people? Or would we have to only follow him? Ugh, Twitter is SO confusing.

  The next day after school I went into the bus again, and this time we were given an assignment.

  NECK-HAIR GUY 1: When you go home today, try and make someone smile. Tomorrow come back and tell us what you did and how good it felt to make someone happy!

  A sad-looking kid raised his hand.

  NECK-HAIR GUY 1: Yes, Keith?

  KEITH: If I don’t go home that would make my mom smile. Does that count?

  NECK-HAIR GUY 1: No. And also, you should stay quiet when you come to the white bus. You make us sad.

  We all nodded in agreement. Later that night I went home and tried to think of something that would make my mom smile. It wasn’t hard to do, but I wanted to make sure it was something good that would get me extra candy. I decided to draw her a picture and give it to h
er when she got home from her date. I tried my hardest to make it look just like her. I wanted to capture her essence. I wasn’t the best artist, but it wasn’t about that. It was about the effort and thought I was putting into it. Then my mom got home.

  MOM: Why is every man on earth an asshole?!

  I ran up to her with my picture, hoping it would cheer her up and turn her frown upside down.

  ME: Mom! I drew you!

  She looked at my drawing and started to cry.

  MOM: THAT’S WHAT I LOOK LIKE?! No wonder no man wants me!!!

  She ran into her room and slammed the door. I looked down at the picture, and after taking a second look I guess it did kind of look like a gremlin having a panic attack. I threw my picture in the trash, and as I headed to her room to comfort her I heard my brother run down the hallway.

  JERID: OPEN NUTS!

  He PUNCHED me in the dick, and I fell to my knees and screamed. He laughed hysterically and then continued on to the kitchen. It hurt like hell, but hey, I made him smile! And I also got hurt in the process. That must be worth a few extra fun dips!

  The next day at lunch I told Saksa about the white bus.

  SAKSA: So it’s a big white bus full of grown men that give you candy?

  ME: Yep!

  SAKSA: You are aware of how creepy that sounds, right?

  ME: Yep!

  SAKSA: Right . . . so why do you go?

  ME: Um, what part of it did you not understand? There’s CANDY. My mom doesn’t keep candy in the house, so usually if I get a craving for sugar I just have to eat pancake batter.

  SAKSA: Eww, doesn’t that hurt your stomach?

  ME: Saksa, when you got a stomach as strong as mine, nothing can hurt you. Last week I got a craving for something salty, so I ate a brick.