It was a mild July day in the year of 1978 as my pregnant mother was about to pop me out in the back of a yellow taxi cab, all by her lonesome. I was about to be her third child but the first to nearly be born amongst the sweet scent of pine tree air freshener, cracked pleather seats, and an immigrant named Ahmed. Ahmed was not too pleased that vaginal discharges were now covering the place mats where the vomit of many a late night passengers once rested.
Thanks to a crack staff at the local hospital, my mother was moved from the taxi to a delivery bed like they were working the pit at the Daytona 500. Once she was relaxed, I swiftly passed through the womb, careened towards the light, waved hi to my mom’s private parts on my way by and right into my mother’s loving arms.
We smiled at each other as if we’d known each other our whole lives. It was so overwhelming that I cried for what seemed like days. But a day back then could have been more like 30 seconds or maybe I didn’t even cry at all and just imagined the whole thing. It’s just impossible to tell really.
The one thing I do know is that my sweet, lovely mother’s heart quickly shifted from joy to an infinite sadness once the door to the delivery room swung open and I was introduced to my father for the very first time. It pretty much played out like the scene from the epic film ‘The Empire Strikes Back.’ Remember when Luke gets told that his actual father is Darth Vader, the 2nd biggest narcissist in the whole entire galaxy. Anyway, the only difference was that my father was wearing a really nice Italian suit when I found out.
Another similarity occurs in the Star Wars Prequels when we discover that Darth Vader didn’t have a dad, which just so happens to be the case with my dear father. So, either they were just born this way, or, and this is just an assumption with no actual psychological proof, or when you’re an only child, you transform into a narcissist because everything just always seems to be about you.
My father didn’t know it yet, but when he was introduced to me, he was being introduced to his greatest life long foe. I was a warrior not just for myself, but ‘FOR ALL’ that were taught to bend to the narcissist’s wants, needs, and worldly desires. I was a warrior for those that turned to the dark side, not by any fault of their own, but by inheriting their caregiver’s traits by the simple yet very complex process of osmosis.
At that very moment in the hospital, with my small baby fist defiantly raised into the air, while simultaneously shitting all over my mother’s chest, I vowed to see this fight through until the bitter, bloody end. I would do it for people like my mom, for step-children everywhere, and other minorities with a high percentage of being around narcissists, like gingers and executive assistants, etc.
On this day I became the narcissist’s worst living nightmare.
Unfortunately, I did get a little sidetracked for a solid thirty or more years due to being beaten down pretty hard by a flock of them. As it turns out, I also had three sisters, and as it turns out, they were also infected with this mutated gene as well. All most likely through osmosis.
So for awhile, I became Zoloft the Narciwarrior. Those were some lonely days. I lost many a battle and incurred a plethora of life threatening wounds. However, I lived to soldier on and have since learned to cope without the use of Primo pharmaceuticals. I have since rebranded myself as Chad the Impaler. I wanted to use the name Angel of Death really bad, but Chad the Impaler’s Angel of Death just didn’t flow off the tongue very well. But I digress.
I’ve taken my wealth of knowledge and narcissist experience to another level in the past few years with some significant help from my sidekick Dr. Jonas Van, who just so happens to be my fourth psychiatrist. We’ve pinpointed all the different types of narcissist’s in existence, and let me tell you, there are tons. Like upwards of 10. We’ve created a vast array of weapons and field tested our war strategies to fuck these assholes up permanently.
Let’s just hope we all don’t get infected while trying to end this war for good. You see, the narcissist gene lies dormant in all of us and it’s just waiting for the right piece of stimuli to create the chemical reaction for reactivation.
With the dawn of Social Media, Narcissist’s are now taking over the earth at a rapid pace, and we’re now in a race for time. So follow my words! Create your warrior! Give it a name! Become the Narcissist Killers aka Angels of Death you were meant to be! Warriors Unite!!
Yours Truly and Best Regards,
Chad the Impaler
SIDENOTE: Please do not choose the name Chad the Impaler as it took me a very long time to think of it and that would be a really huge dick move on your part. Kind of like how Voldemort thinks that Professor Snaipe is a bad guy, just like him, but he’s actually working for Harry Potter. Not kind of like that, but exactly like that, and only losers do stuff like that, so please don’t be a loser.