The Secret Life of the Duo

The Life of the Almighty Bunghole.

Chapter 1:
Beavis's POV // side of story. //

...

"There comes a time when the mind takes a higher plane of knowledge but can never prove how it got there."

I'm pretty sure a famous scientist said that.

My name's Beavis. Yeah, yeah, I'll just let you sit there in shock for a second at how smart I sound right now. What? You say. But you're that blond kid whose mind is always somewhere else and whose focus is always off, the decisions he makes judged only by whether or not his other half deems it good or bad. I am. I won't lie. And I can tell you that I'm not really an idiot.

It's already been made clear to you that I have schizophrenia. I've had it my entire life, the mad, whispering voices hidden inside my barely-empty skull acting as the soundtrack to my dysfunctional life. Ever since I was able to understand English, I've been haunted by them. I was put on mild antipsychotics when I was three since I had the childhood-onset kind, but they didn't help. I am still sluggish and hypersensitive and depressed. They are my cortex and I am merely their puppet shell.

But around the eighth grade, I realized that I am a part of them just as much as they are a part of me, meaning that I could harness them and get them to do what I want them to do. So, while Butthead and I were busy slapping each other with rulers and books the past couple years, I was controlling the voices. In place of them, I was absorbing information that the teachers were spewing, locking it all in before it could leave. Now, I am a junior with a complex memory, rightfully belonging in a gifted class but am not due to underestimation. Most of our reports are oral, and it's unfortunate, because for some reason my true, intelligent words can only be spoken through my hands. I can write – just like I am now – but it's as if there's a barricade between my voice box and mind. So, to everyone including Butthead, I am an idiot who is stealing oxygen from every other person on Earth who actually has a chance and isn't going to work at a fast food joint the rest of their life. Don't worry, though, I won't talk *this* smart this entire time, just so you can keep your image of me as a dummy. I don't mind it; I'm used to it.

Tell me: as you've watched me for the past twenty years (yes, I am aware that I am trapped in a loop, but mind that), have you wondered about what my childhood was like? Did you wonder where my parents were and what kind of parents they are, letting their son tear up their house just to kill a mere fly? I'd love to tell you. I haven't told anybody, ever. Butthead already knows because we practically share the same life. But anyways, I should probably begin with our parents.

...

My mama's name is Pamela and Butthead's mom is named Lydia. Our dad? We don't know his name. We only ever were around him when we were months old, so any memories we have of him were lost.

I know for sure that my mom was a popular girl – a cheerleader, with poofy, long blonde hair that fell at her calves and large curves, but always managed to get herself into trouble. That's why all the guys swooned over her – she was a sexy daredevil (I say that from their point of view; it most certainly isn't mine). She was best friends with Lydia, who was just about her opposite. She was a "nerd" (in seventies standards) who was always beat up, but she had the biggest crush on our dad, whom was a jock. Due to being a cheerleader, my mom knew him well and always laughed at Lydia, mocking her how she would never get even the attention of him. Lydia normally agreed but still had high hopes anyway.

Then one day when Lydia was going through her usual routine of being shoved against a locker and robbed of all the money in her wallet (since she was too tomboy-ish to carry a purse), our dad came up and scared them away, asking her if she was okay. Upon making eye contact, there was immediately a spark. Long story short, Lydia graduated as valedictorian, Mom and Dad graduated normally, and Lydia and Dad got married soon thereafter and moved into the house that Butthead and I live in now. It wasn't a dump then.