16 May 2026

My name is The Scary Guy. It's my legal name. It's on two passports. I changed my name 28 years ago in a court of law in Tucson, Arizona. I rode my Harley-Davidson to work at about 10 or 11 o'clock in the morning. I opened up my door, I turned up my rock and roll, and if you didn't laugh at my jokes, I'd tell you where the sun didn't shine. And that's my life. And I thought I would do that the rest of my life until one day someone I don't know and I've never met to this day ran a full a full-page ad in the newspaper that said, "Are you tired of dealing with Scary Guys with war paint facial tattoos?" And in those days, I was the only person in Tucson, Arizona that had facial tattoos. Well, he ran the ad in the newspaper, and when I actually physically saw it, I became angry and I slammed it down on the counter, and the first thought that came to my mind was, "What am I gonna do to get that guy back?" You know, revenge. And I thought I'd jump in my hot rod Lincoln, find out where that guy lives, go over to his house and run over his dog. I thought a flat dog ought to get him back. And then I thought, no, no, no, I gotta take my baseball bat over to his house and I'll just whack off his kneecaps. And then I thought, no, no, that's not me. I'm a good guy. He's the bad guy. Look what he said about me in the newspaper. And then I started standing up on my pedestal and I started bragging and gloating about how great I was as a human being and my life my life started to flash in front of me. And that's when I realized at that exact moment in time, I was a name-caller, a hater, I could stereotype and categorize people at will. How did I get away with that? I masked my whole life in sarcasm and humor. In other words, I made my negative look good. I realized at that moment I was just like him. I just didn't use newspapers yet.