Chris Woodall: In His Own Words
Chris Woodall's Autobiography Of Chris Woodall

CHAPTER THE FIRST

It was never easy for me. I was born a poor black child. I remember the days, sitting on the porch with my family, singing and dancing down in Mississippi…

I was born during the rectification of the Vuldronaii, and I came as a large, moving Torb. Then, during the third reconciliation of the last of the McKetrick supplicants, they chose a new form for me: that of a giant Sloar. Many Shubs and Zuuls knew what it was to be roasted in the depths of the Sloar that day, I can tell you!

Oh, man, them was the days! Anywho, all was well, until I left my home and my kin to make my fortune in the crazy, frantic north. Of Kentucky. That's right, Kentucky… The City That Never Sleeps.

 

CHAPTER THE SECOND: The Boobies Story

Once upon a time, in the magical land called The 1980s, I was in Ms. Harris's class at Project ASCENT, which was a gifted student nerd ghetto, where all the geekiest and most socially awkward children in the region were bussed every Monday in order to hide them away from polite society. It was a time of innocence and wonder, a time of Optimus Prime and Stormshadow, where every boy wanted to be Snake Eyes, and every girl dressed like Punky Brewster. It was a time of men without hats, and girls who just wanted to have fun.

In those hallowed times, when the hot side was kept hot, and the Cold War kept cold, I was a lad happily unaware of the complications of sexual dynamics or sexual activity beyond kissing. I did not require such information; such information would not help me figure out how the kids from the Dungeons & Dragons cartoon were going to get back home, nor would it enable me to transform from a sleek jet fighter into a 30 foot tall robot bristling with weapons, so it was irrelevant. I simply did not care. However, in Project ASCENT, there came a thing into my life which would lead me to care. This thing was a concept called the "Venn diagram."

I cannot overstate how important Venn diagrams were to the teaching staff of Project ASCENT. They saw fit to reteach us everything they could about Venn diagrams approximately every other week. It was insane, I didn't understand the point of Venn diagrams, and, as will any child with a severe enough case of ADHD, I immediately rejected all information which could not be instantaneously assimilated. But it bothered me deeply that I didn't grasp what was clearly so important to these people, and so obviously simple for my classmates to comprehend. So I went to Ms. Harris for help.

This is where the boobies come in.

It should be noted at this point that I have absolutely no recollection of Ms. Harris's face. I only saw her once a week, for only part of the school year. I do not know what she looked like; I can only assume she was neither incredibly attractive, nor hideously malformed, because her appearance has made no lasting impression on me. However, on that day I went to her, I remember exactly what she was wearing.

She was dressed very sharply in a very dark suitcoat, a cream colored faux silk shirt with white opalescent buttons, and a plain but attractive gold necklace. The top two buttons of her shirt were undone. While the class was engaged in a project on the other side of the room, we went to a table by ourselves. All the chairs had been taken away by the other kids, so we had to stand. She stood opposite of me, with her back to the class. Then she got some paper, bent over the low table, and started to draw Venn diagrams. I watched intently while she drew, determined that I would understand these damn things once and for all, and when she explained what she was doing, I decided to look her right in the face to let her know I was serious about learning.

My eyes never made it that far.

As I looked up, I was stunned to see that her billowy silken shirt, which was much larger than it needed for a woman of her build, was hanging wonderfully agape, like an upside-down parachute, as she was bent over the table.

And there they were.

I don't know if she just liked loose clothing, or what the deal was, but she was wearing a plain white bra, sort of a Sears catalogue number. Like her shirt, her bra was far too large, and it hung there, not even touching her breasts. And what breasts they were!

They weren't the oversized breasts of some silicone pinup; they were natural, perfectly round, and very pert. Ms. Harris had freckles, and what made the experience so vivid and so real was to discover that she had freckles all over. It had never occurred to me that breasts could be freckled, but hers were. Not too dense, not too sparse, just perfect little freckles to highlight her perfect breasts. These were no airbrushed model's breasts from a magazine; there were incredibly, warmly, fantastically REAL. Her skin had a richness of color to it, but she was not so dark as to be tan. And even though I had never touched her, it was plain that her  skin was, very, very soft. Visibly so. It had also never occurred to me that it would be pleasurable to touch someone else's skin just for the sensation, but looking there at her breasts it became crystal clear to me that if I were to touch those breasts, the feel of her smooth skin under my fingers would be simply wonderful.

Something deep within the core of me was awoken, and stirred. As a man, I have made it my business to look at breasts whenever possible. Hers remain two of the best breasts I have ever seen in my entire life. But the best part is yet to come.

It was at this point that she spoke again. I couldn't possibly tell you what it was that she said because 99.9986% of my mental resources had been allocated to visual processing. Whatever remained somehow let me know that a sound had been made toward me. I remember a pause, and then hearing her say "Do you understand?" and I nodded, not quite ready or able to speak. That's when I had my first truly male thought in my life. It was this:

"If I just nod and keep staring right at her boobs while she's bent over like this, she might think I'm looking at her face, and I can keep getting away with this." So I didn't shift my eyes. I just nodded when it felt appropriate and every once in a while glanced at the Venn diagram paper for about 1/16th of a second. You know, to keep it from being so obvious.

This went on for what seemed like a glorious, heavenly month or two. I swear to god, it was like Disneyland, summer vacation, Christmas, and Halloween all rolled into one. I have no idea how long I studied those beautiful, perfect breasts. Time had no meaning there. But then I had my second truly male thought in my entire life: "I wonder if she notices me doing this?" So I looked up at her.

BUSTED! She had been looking directly in my eyes the entire time. When she saw me glance up to look her in the face, it was clear where my attention had been. She looked a little confused for a second, then glanced down and saw her shirt hanging off of her body, and looked back up at me. I don't know what I expected to happen next; this was my first trip to The Land of the Soft Mountains, and I think it was probably pretty clear I was a first time tourist. I remember vaguely expecting to get in trouble. But instead, something absolutely magical happened.

She didn't move.

She smiled at me out of the corner of her mouth, one of those grins that you ladies give us that says "I know what you're up to… but I don't mind." At that point in my life, I didn't know what to make of that smile, so my 4th grade brain thought, "She's not mad or moving. I can't believe that she doesn't realize I'm doing this. Awesome!" I just kept looking, and she just stayed there, bent over the table, exposed for me and only me, until she had explained all she knew about Mr. Venn and his little diagrams. And I didn't hear a word.

I never mentioned it. She never mentioned it. I saw my first breasts that day, and she knew it, I think. But I was also introduced to the world of sexual interaction and politics. Something unspoken, perhaps even residing in my own mind, told me that as long as I didn't ruin it with too much talking or analysis, this was mine to treasure for as long as I wanted. So I never said a word about it to anyone, not for twenty years.

Looking back now, its clear that she DID know what I was doing, and was in some way okay with it. I have known many women since then, and I am familiar with the unfortunately common feminine lack of esteem that would lead an attractive woman to take flattery in having her body admired by a boy who hasn't yet even come near to puberty. But my memory of this event remains unfettered by these more worldly interpretations; what remains is that I was there, she was there, and in that one brief shining moment, it was Camelot.

And I still don't know what the hell a Venn diagram is.

 

CHAPTER THE THIRD: Chuck Norris

In the spirit of stealing ideas from others, here are 95 interesting facts about myself that I was not at all inspired to write as a result of reading similar things about Chuck Norris. Not at ALL.

1: The moon has four distinct phases: First Quarter, Full Moon, Last Quarter, and Hiding From Chris Woodall

2: Chris Woodall's ejaculations are so powerful that they have been classified as weapons of mass destruction under the Geneva Conventions.

3: Red giant stars often collapse into tiny neutron stars because they know that Chris Woodall don't like it when stars get uppity.

4: There were never any lions in ancient Rome. Chris Woodall was so pissed at the Christians for using his name for their religion that he would dress up like a lion and go to the Colisseum and eat them himself.

5: The secret to Chris Woodall's popularity with the ladies is that he has a 10 inch tongue and he knows how to breathe through his ears.

6: Chris Woodall can snort 2 pounds of iron filings and then sneeze out $10 in exact change in the currency of your choice.

7: "Chris Woodall" is Middle Latin for "y'all bitches betta RECOGNIZE."

8: DVDs are not mass manufactured. Chris Woodall is the only one who knows the secret of making a DVD, and etches the data on each disc himself with his razor sharp teeth.

9: Chris Woodall invented the Half Nelson after performing a full Nelson on the Biblical giant Goliath, and accidentally ripping him in half. Later, King David took credit for killing Goliath, and as punishment Chris scattered the 12 tribes of Israel. The Jews have had it rough ever since.

10: There is no square root of -1. A long time ago it pissed Chris Woodall off and he ate it.

11: Most humans expel flammable methane gas when they fart, but Chris Woodall expels deuterium-rich hydrogen which scientists collect to power nuclear fusion experiments.

12: Chris Woodall's favorite comedy? Schindler's List.

49: Chris Woodall won the 1983 World Series of Poker while holding a 2 of clubs, 7 of spades, a "Get Out Of Jail Free" Monopoloy card, and a green "Draw Two" card from UNO, and an empty condom wrapper.

59: Bruce Lee died when Chris Woodall punched him so hard that his soul split into two pieces. The resulting soul halves are known as Jet Li and Jackie Chan.

60: Once Chris Woodall brought a stillborn baby lamb back to life by presenting to its lifeless corpse so flawless an argument for its continued existence that it had no choice but to return from the dead. Shortly after the farm animal sprang back to life and a crowd had gathered, Chris Woodall ripped out the lamb's fragile little spine with his teeth. The lesson? The good Chris giveth, and the good Chris taketh away.

80: The only unsolved mathematical paradox: The cube root of Chris Woodall is Chris Woodall, and Chris Woodall > 1.

95: The last person who dared to make eye contact with Chris Woodall was a young Ray Charles.

 

CHAPTER THE FOURTH: The Case For My Guitar