To Make Matters Worse

By Danny Marianino

If you like Pina Colada’s and getting caught in the rain, this book is probably not for you.
Danny Marianino's constant quest to find a comfortable place to poop as a youngster will have you in tears as you laugh (and groan) with him in this enlightening look into the enigmatic author and musician's childhood. Readers of his previous books, Don't Ever Punch a Rock Star: A Collection of Hate Mail and Other Crazy Rumors (2012) and The Mega Book of Revenge Films Volume 1: The Big Payback (2014) will enjoy returning to Marianino’s unique voice as he takes you through his trials and tribulations as a rambunctious youth with a seemingly spastic colon.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Danny Marianino
• Release date: Jul 18, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311043870

Danny Marianino

New Jersey native, Danny Marianino, lives in Scottsdale, Arizona with his wife Krista and their three wacky dogs. He authored his first book, Don't Ever Punch a Rockstar: A Collection of Hate Mail and Other Crazy Rumors, in 2012. Currently, Danny is finishing up his next book due out in March of 2015. Danny is also a horror programmer for both the Phoenix Film Festival and The International Horror and Sci-Fi Festival and he owned the always entertaining website, I Can Smell Your Brains.com, with his good buddy Brandon Kinchen. While it's painfully obvious he has an affinity for all things cinema, Danny has a huge bobble head collection, is addicted to buying old MAD Magazines, and avidly collects horror magazines. While he often spends his evenings glued to The El Rey Network, changing the order on his Netflix queue, or barbecuing with friends, he also has a dude room dedicated to an overwhelming amount of nonsense. The multifaceted Marianino is more than just a movie buff, though, as he has had a well-chronicled music career. Danny has sang and played guitar in a number of punk bands and released albums worldwide. Some would call him a Renaissance man, but this king of movies, music, and barbecue is just a down-to-earth, very cool guy.

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Copyright © 2016 Total Gavone LLC

All rights reserved.

All characters appearing in this works names have been changed to protect their identity. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any matter whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotation embodiment in reviews and critical articles.

www.dannymarianino.com

To Make Matters Worse is available digitally for all devices. You can also listen to the book, unabridged and with a bonus chapter titled The Clubhouse on CD and for download through ITunes, Amazon and Audible. The book is read by the author.

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to the underdogs, the serial ballbusters, and the ones that know how to be the butt of their own joke.

Also here is a shout out to my buddy, Jeff, cause he wanted one!

My mother did my hair for this picture. I’m doing my best Beau Arthur about to play tennis on Golden Girls imitation.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Written By: Danny Marianino

Promo Photo Credits : Josh Friedman @ EyePhoto Photography

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Cover Design: Jay Fotos

Interior and ebook Design: Lori Michelle

www.TheAuthorsAlley.com

Edited: Tom Reardon

Back Cover Description: Tom Reardon

Special Thanks: Krista Marianino, Tommy Quiet, Jay Fotos, Eero Dominick, Dan Stone, Brandon Kinchen, Mark Kidwell, Kamal Ahmed, Andrea The Midnite Movie Mamacita, Monte Yazzie, Dustin LaValley, The Phoenix Film Bar, Heavy Metal Television .Com, The Phoenix New Times, Josh Schafer and Lunchmeat Magazine, Marc and Blood Bound Books, Rue Morgue Magazine and to the rest of my family and friends that listened to these stories and laughed enough for me to write them down!

Also thanks to my friends that helped contribute pictures. I lost most of my middle and high school pictures in a fire years ago and these fine folks got tired of my relentless begging and sent me a few that I used: Denise Favre, Jason Shevchuk, John Pangia, Matt Sellner, Jill Manley and Ambrose Oliver.

Many of the names of people and identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals mentioned in this book. I may have also changed some identifying characteristics and details. I have tried to recreate events, locales and conversations from my memories of them.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION:

My First Steps Towards Idiocy

CHAPTER ONE:

I Shit My Pants at Summer Camp in 1982

CHAPTER TWO:

The Terror of Gym Class 1987

CHAPTER THREE:

Maytag and Being Scared Straight

CHAPTER FOUR:

Blowing Up the Toilets

CHAPTER FIVE:

The 8th Grade Orientation

CHAPTER SIX:

Hunterdon Central High School 1990-1994 Part One

CHAPTER SEVEN:

The Greatest Party Ever

CHAPTER EIGHT:

Hunterdon Central High School 1990-1994 Part Two

CHAPTER NINE:

Going on Tour 97/98

CHAPTER TEN:

Brooklyn Boobs and my friend, Joey The Face

CHAPTER ELEVEN:

Attack of the Poo Flu

CHAPTER TWELVE:

Winning Isn’t Everything, Unless You Are The Winner.

CONCLUSION:

Story Telling

OTHER TITLES BY THE AUTHOR

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

INTRODUCTION:

My First Steps Towards Idiocy

My mother brushed my teeth until I was eleven years old. I’m not kidding. She literally put me in a headlock and scrubbed my teeth to perfection. I can attest that her technique was solid because my childhood was cavity free.

Finally, when I was in my teens and old enough to do the job myself, my mother turned into an investigator. If I skipped brushing my teeth, she knew. Even if I ran my toothbrush under the water, she still was able to figure it out that I didn’t brush. You would think after going through the time to run my toothbrush under the faucet, I would just brush my teeth.

I would leave the house and within minutes she would yell out the window, Dannyboy, get back here and brush your teeth.

It was a great feeling to have all the neighborhood kids know I was lazy. Once or twice she actually drove to the bus stop and forced me into the car to go home and brush. Her strategy ended up working and I eventually became an adult in the oral hygiene department.

I always found it amusing that my parents were so strict with certain things and so lenient in others. For example, my mother didn’t like me watching horror movies but she let me go terrorize our peaceful neighborhood of Whitehouse Station, New Jersey for Mischief Night.

Mischief Night was what some call Devil’s Night depending where you live in the U.S. It fell on the night before Halloween. Armed with toilet paper and eggs, my friends and I destroyed our neighborhood and made the biggest mess. We toilet papered trees and hosed them down. We threw dog shit at moving cars, spray painted horrible things on street signs, and caused a fair amount of damage to local property. It didn’t matter if it was public or private property, we were equal opportunity vandals.

My mom and my friend’s parents actually encouraged this behavior. Maybe not to the extreme we took it, of course, but it was my mother that gave us the eggs. The spray paint and dog shit was our little addition.

If a kid tried to pull that sort of hooligan behavior today, he would be up a creek without a paddle. Can you imagine what kind of trouble a kid in this day and age would get into if he lit a dumpster on fire or got caught throwing glass bottles at trains?

I was lucky to grow up with amazing parents, a typical pain in the ass little sister, and the most loving and generous extended family. My parents spoiled me, but to their credit, they also taught me humility. My mother was sort of a hippy and my father was a straight-up badass.

While my mother was dragging me to anti-incinerator protests and teaching me how to question what I thought was right and wrong in the world around me, my pop was teaching me how to field dress a deer. It was survival of the fittest, smartest, and those with the cleanest teeth.

They were complete opposites, but they wanted us to grow up the right way. My parents provided a great life for my sister and myself, and did a great job raising us.

So please, whatever you do, don’t blame them for what you are about to read.

CHAPTER ONE:

I Shit My Pants at Summer Camp in 1982

When I was born my mother said I filled up diapers like no other child she had ever seen. She thought I had a medical condition. Sometime before my first birthday, I ate a ribbon off of a teddy bear and my mom found it sticking out of my butthole as she was changing my diaper. She literally had to pull it out of my ass. A banner moment for any mother and son.

I shit so much, on more than one occasion, I would fill up my onesies. You know, the little outfit for toddlers that keeps them all warm and snuggly from head to toe. I would be up to my neck with shit and to get anywhere close to being clean, I would have to be hosed down.

Going number two is something I have had issues with since day one. As far back as I can remember, I have never really had luck when it came to taking, or leaving, a dump. There have been bathrooms, for example, that I have had no choice but to use that were literally traumatizing to me. Bathrooms I would not wish on my worst enemy, but due to my bodacious bowels, I know all too well.

I have shit my pants on dates, at weddings, and sometimes, I didn’t even know I had to go. Miraculous evacuation, if you will.

In the 80s, there was this event called Hands Across America. It was a fundraiser to help raise money to fight poverty and homelessness and people held hands across a designated path from coast to coast. This guy, Ken Kragen, who put together the We Are the World fundraiser the year prior founded it, except the song for Hands Across America really sucked. Even though I had to take a shit as soon as we got there, my mom had me holding hands with some stranger for the longest fifteen minutes of my life.

It’s really crazy; as I get older you would think I would have figured some sort of working solution out but as expression states, When you gotta go, you gotta go.

It started as a fear