"Bubble Toes" by Jack Johnson
My name is Valentin Yggdrasil Vinokurov, at least at the time of this writing. My middle name, you may note, is very peculiar, and is probably hard to pronounce. This is probably because that is not really my middle name. The truth is that Yggdrasil is simply a very interesting word. In Norse mythology, Yggdrasil was the tree upon whose roots the three worlds were affixed: one for the gods and elves, one for mortal men and giants and dwarves, and one for the spirits of the damned. Yggdrasil means "The Terrible One's Horse." In Norse mythology, Odin the Allfather was the terrible one, because since he was the king of the gods, he could do anything he wanted, which included mercilessly and inexplicably killing mortals on earth. The truth about this situation was simply that he was mightier than anyone else, which left everyone on earth pretty much fucked. The truth about my middle name is actually that there are two of them: Not and Applicable. However, this must not have been deemed a valid name by the Ukranian government into which I was born, so they left that out of my birth certificate. However, I am certain that Valentin Not Applicable Vinokurov is my full name because every time someone asks me my middle name, I am by law forced to admit that it is Not Applicable.
I have a girlfriend at the time of this writing. This is a very strange and peculiar thing as well, because both my luck and experience with women has been slim to nil up to this point in my life. In case anyone has been wondering, the same applies for men as well. My girlfriend's name is Mary Ruth Kellar, and I will be a damned man if it's hit me that we're together yet. I am constantly apprehensive about our situation together, because I never know if we will still be together after ten years, ten months, or ten minutes. This is not to say that our relationship is in upheaval, because it is not, but simply because I am never sure what anyone else is thinking, so I like to pretend my own scenarios. This is only a problem if I expect reality to behave in a like fashion, which is always. Because of this lamentable fact, in the course of my life I have attempted suicide a record number of fifty-eight times, of which all have been successful, and of which all have been metaphorical. Mary Ruth Kellar is nineteen years old, and I know for a fact that in approximately three months from the time of this writing, I will no longer be together with her. This is because in July, she will be turning twenty years old, and by definition, she will be a completely different person by then, simply because she will be a year older, wiser, and more delusioned.