That Boy Ain't Right: An Unauthorized Autobiography

By Patrick D. Williams

Have you ever wondered where all of those class clowns, office cut-ups, and stand-up comics come from? Well, the answer may lie in this "unauthorized autobiography" of comedic music performer, Patrick D. Williams. His newest book walks you through his life which he describes as a "Far Side" comic. Follow him through a hilarious, absurd, and silly stretch of facts about his life thus far. You'll begin with a childhood where a father was so strict that his children referred to him as "Mr. Father." Then you'll wind your way through an adolescence where a band called The Beatitudes played Beatles songs with Christianese lyrics and titles such as "Hey Judas" and "Evolution No.9." Finally, you'll make your way to the middle age period where we begin to miss the good old days of toys that had the potential to maim us. The author of "The Gospel According to Cletus: A Southerner's Comedic Guide to Christianity" has put another one through the uprights with this uproariously funny and bold look into what goes into creating a very silly person.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patrick D. Williams
• Release date: Oct 30, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466015180

Patrick D. Williams

Patrick D. Williams is a contemporary Christian and comedic music performer who has performed throughout North Carolina over the last several years. "The Gospel According to Cletus: A Southerner's Comedic Guide to Practical Christianity" marks his debut as an author. The book, like his music, is Patrick's way of letting everyone know that God loves them, and that there isn't very much that grace, love, compassion, and laughter can't get us through.

Book preview

That Boy Ain’t Right:

An Unauthorized Autobiography

By

Patrick D. Williams

Copyright 2011 Patrick D. Williams

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is dedicated to my incredible circle of family and friends who not only helped to shape this book, but my life as a whole. My humble thanks go to God for each and every one of you. You all are truly a blessing.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Legal Aliens

Chapter 2: Son of a Gun

Chapter 3: Turnabout is Fur Play

Chapter 4: Catchin’ a Buzz

Chapter 5: I Got the Music in Me

Chapter 6: Advice to the Lovelorn

Chapter 7: Shake Well Before Using

Chapter 8: Aw Crap, It’s Christmas Time

Chapter 9: Throne of Wonder

Chapter 10: Wax On, Eyebrows Off

Chapter 11: Howdy, Neighbor

Chapter 12: What’s Up, Doc?

Chapter 13: I Can Only Imagine

Chapter 14: Unenjoyable and Unemployable

Chapter 15: Time, Tide, and Bedbugs

Chapter 16: Night of the Piñata

Chapter 17: There! There! A Polar Bear!

Chapter 18: I’m King of the World, Ma!

Chapter 19: Songs of Our Sisters

Chapter 20: What It Was, Was Football, Mon

Chapter 21: Handi- Dandy

Chapter 22: Real Deal Steel

Chapter 23: Machine Gun Barbie

Chapter 24: White Lace and Proms

Chapter 25: The Next Real Thing

Chapter 26: Monkey Bait

Chapter 27: Just Call Me Crazy

Chapter 28: Hail to the Chiefs

Chapter 29: Millard Mooney

Chapter 30: It Can Always Get Worse

Epilogue

Chapter 1

Legal Aliens

Even at the tender age of seven, I was an unusually compassionate child with a strong and innate sense of justice. These attributes revealed themselves in earnest one warm September morning when I sensed that my classmates were not giving the newest addition to Mrs. Miller’s second grade class a chance at acceptance. Their disdainful attitude was guided by the knowledge that the new student had come to our country from a distant land. According to the other kids, the new child was an alien.

At first, even I had to admit to a palpable uneasiness when the new boy—the alien—took the desk directly in front of mine. Zandor seemed pleasant enough, but his two large heads with their twitching antennae blocked my view of the chalkboard, and his bright metallic suit often created a harsh glare. Still, I secretly resolved to make my new classmate feel welcome in his new surroundings.

Giddy with good intentions, I anxiously waited until lunchtime to begin my efforts to befriend Zandor. I nervously approached Zandor, as he was sitting alone in the school cafeteria. Apparently, Zandor’s radioactive force field had sickened the other children at the table, and they had to be whisked away to the infirmary for a stringent delousing to kill the radioactive isotopes. Warmed by my sincere and friendly smile, Zandor lowered his force field and allowed me to sit with him.

It was a bit awkward for me to converse with my new friend because he could only speak in clicks and low guttural growls. Undaunted by the language barrier, I pressed on with my attempts at kindness. Hoping to introduce him to some American cuisine, I offered Zandor half of the ham and cheese sandwich my mother had lovingly prepared for me. Zandor, though seemingly grateful, politely declined and instead greedily devoured several, large, squealing, purple worms from his own lunch box.

Later that day, in an attempt to include him in a fun cultural activity, I made sure to select Zandor first for my dodge ball team at recess. Although a bit hesitant at first, Zandor eventually agreed to join in. I was happily encouraged by Zandor’s efforts to play with the other children, until he vaporized a boy who had struck him in one of his oversized heads with the ball. Sensing the inappropriateness of his actions, Zandor became embarrassed and began to sulk. I gently assured my new friend that we all make mistakes, and to simply let the whole silly misunderstanding pass. Unfortunately, neither the principal, Mrs. Miller, nor the vaporized boy’s shocked and grief-stricken parents were willing to be as gracious. So it was a heavy heart that I waved goodbye to poor Zandor, as several men in paramilitary gear quickly and cautiously led him away to an unmarked government van.

Through teary eyes that had just witnessed their first gross social injustice, I vowed to forever stand up for those who are judged harshly simply because they look, act, or speak differently from my fellow countrymen. And so, to this day, I stand firmly and proudly with those whom the ignorant, suspicious, narrow-minded, and fearful cruelly refer to as aliens.

Chapter 2

Son of a Gun

How many of you were fathered? That many, huh? Please know that you are not alone. There are more of us out here than you think. I’d like to talk a bit about the man who fathered me.

My father was a difficult man to love. Raised during the Great Depression, he was hardened by adversity. He was one of 17 children, an unusually large number made all the more impressive by the fact that his parents were neither Catholic, Mormon, nor West Virginian. Food was very scarce in those days, so he and his family were forced to subsist on a diet of pinecones and saliva, most of which was their own. When he turned 15, in a desperate attempt to escape his life of poverty and despair, my father lied about his age and joined the Army. He waged a fierce battle on the outskirts of Dusseldorf, Germany in which he single-handedly killed, or severely injured, several soldiers. Unfortunately, they were soldiers from his own company. Unable to convince him to defect, the Army issued him a pair of glasses, along with an A for effort, and discharged him on the grounds of national security.

In addition to learning the importance of having his facts straight before acting, my father acquired another component from the military that is essential to the complete man: discipline. A stickler for protocol, my father insisted that my siblings and I refer to him as Mr. Father. Ever the professional, he always made it a point never to fraternize with us children, as he felt it might make it difficult for him to remain objective should he ever have to return one of us. Though his logic was inarguable, this mindset made it harder for him to connect with us children. For example, until I was ten years old he referred to me as, Hemorrhoid with a Haircut. I used to think it was a noble, Indian warrior type of name until I was set straight by my older brother, Spam For Brains and my sister, Lil’ Miss Thang.

My father also struggled to fully understand the concept of fun. He faced several counts of cruelty to animal charges until we were finally able to help him understand that the popular lawn game was called Badminton, and not Bad Kitten. He also had a great disdain for religion—any religion. To this end, I have a vivid memory of him returning from the local hardware store with a bug