Jesse flipped the burgers onto the fryer. The grease flew up like sparks from a fire and were burning off the hairs on his forearm. “Damn it.” Jesse yelled and rubbed his arm. “Hey, watch the language Jess. Remember we have children out here.” “Fuck you” He mumbled to himself.

Reaching up he pulled the warm buns out of the container above the grill, laid the bottom on onto the burger, flipped it over and then put on the top one. This was his job now, he was a damn burger flipper or maybe he could call himself a culinary artist. He laughed to himself and thought _Oh how the mighty fall. _

“Order up” he yelled as he through the fries on the plate and placed it on the shelf between the counter area and the kitchen. He spun the wheel of orders around and picked one off of it and sighed. He remembers when people were making food for him, and it wasn’t these greasy ass burgers. He would dine on the finest steaks, seafood, and caviar. He felt like he was the king of the world. Again he thought oh how the mighty fall.

“Hey, what are you doing. Get going on that order or you will have more time on your hands than you want to daydream.” his boss Mike said. Grumbling inaudible words that he preferred Mike not here he worked on the newest order.

When he set the latest order up Mike looked at it and said “What are you doing? This isn’t what was on the ticket.”

Mike had enough he tore his apron off, threw it on the floor and headed for the back door. He didn’t get far though before he heard a voice from the front of the restaurant he recognized.

“Hey kid, come out here”, Jesse about ignored him until he heard the man call his name “Jesse Brock.”

No one had called him that in years, ever since he had run into troubles with drugs when he was the biggest Hollywood actor in the 90s. He turned and headed out to the front of the restaurant and saw who had called him. It was a director he had worked with, Brian Damon.

“I thought that was you Jesse. I would have recognized that voice anywhere.”

The two men sat at the table and asked how each other was doing, and what they had been up to. Jesse started to feel excited, maybe this was his way back into the game. He could be the comeback kid. The kid actor that came back stronger with bigger rolls, but unfortunately it wasn’t meant to be.

“He could I get a bacon cheeseburger with some curly fries?” Brian asked. With that Jesse dropped his head and started heading back to the kitchen when he heard Mike say “Where do you think you’re going?”, “Back to work” he replied. “Back to work? You’re fired.” Life just kept getting worse.

I am so glad that nobody recognizes me. I’m just a regular guy now. Just walking down the street is a pleasure now that nobody recognizes me. Nobody recognizes me. “Nobody recognizes me! Hallelujah!”

I look around me. A couple people stop to stare at me. But the rest go on as if nothing happened. Boy… I cannot believe I said that out loud. But it is so amazing. Nobody recognizes me.

Then again, it wasn’t really me they all recognized anyway, was it. It was my father. We would walk down the street and people would stare. A couple of people even spit on him. On me too! And I never did anything to deserve that. Just being my father’s son. That was enough to earn their ire. And it was enough for them to believe that I earned their hatred too.

I remember the papers, ha, newspapers, I remember them. And then the internet always commenting on my father. On what he had done. And they thought I was cut from the same cloth. Even though I was only a child. I had no idea what my father had done. I had barely been born when he was on trial. A mere babe when he went to prison.

I had no idea that he had bilked people out of millions of dollars. Not millionaires or billionaires. Not people who others thought could afford it. My father had cheated regular people out of their life savings.

Oh sure. He had paid his debt to society. He had spent all of my formative years in prison. Out of the spotlight. But when he and I walked down the sidewalk together after he got out, it was as if he was still cheating. Cheating not just those he cheated before, but everybody on the street. And it was like I was cheating them too.

That was years ago, but I still remember those feelings. I remember being humiliated by the stares and the jeers. Yes, and even the spit. I remember it finally dissipating as I grew older. And after we had moved from where I was raised.

It’s funny though. If I was going to place blame on anybody for the way I am now, I would blame all those people who jeered and stared and spit on us. I would blame their unforgiving hearts on who I have become. But I smile as I think about the truth. I smile because I know how to do what my father did much better than he ever did. And I can do it without anybody knowing who I am.

I am so glad nobody recognizes me.

“I’d like a a Carmel macchiato with three pumps of caramel and only one pump of hazelnut.” He spoke quickly as his eyes scanned the menu. “And a piece of chocolate cake.” She watched him evenly, her expression neutral. It was five minutes until they closed. No one else was here. Who ordered a coffee at 4:55? “Will that be all sir?” She questioned politely. He nodded curtly. “Yes.” He paid, and she started his order. His chocolate cake came first, they didn’t offer warming services so she just scooped it up and put in in a small brown bag. “Chocolate cake.” She called, despite the fact that he was still standing in front of her. He didn’t say thank you. Who was this guy? She started on his drink, and resisted the urge to only add two pumps of caramel. As she worked, he received a phone call. He didn’t like the news he received. She didn’t mean to evesdrop, but they were the only ones in the shop. “If you knew who I was, you wouldn’t say no.” He spoke angrily into his phone, then slammed his finger down on the End Call Button. She didn’t recognize him, and he didn’t seem to be wearing expensive clothes. Maybe he was just delusional. “Your drink is ready,” she called after a moment, making sure the lid was firmly clasped. He took it without thanks. She regarded him evenly. He received another call, and loitered in the doorway as he took it. She gritted her teeth, and started the process of cleaning the machines. He finished his call a few minutes later, and left. He was back the next day at the same time. And the next. Always brusque and bordering on rude. Always receiving calls. One day, she had been having a particularly rough shift. She wasn’t in the mood for him. He opened the door, and started walking toward her. “I’m sorry sir, but we are closed.” She gritted out. He scoffed. “You’re open till five. I still have four minutes.” “Not today,” she told him. “We are closed.” He ignored her. “I’d like…” She slammed her cleaning tools down on the counter. “Sir.” She met his gaze evenly. “Leave.” Their gazes locked for a moment. Then he nodded silently and left.
He didn’t come back the next day. In fact, it was almost a month before he returned. She couldn’t say she welcomed his prescence. But he made a point to be polite. He even came earlier, almost a half hour before they closed instead of five minutes. Something was different about his demeanor too. He was polite. Quiet. His visits were shorter, and he didn’t take any calls. She didn’t mind the changes, though she wondered what had caused them. A few months after the change, she spotted a poster for an upcoming movie: The Villain, being produced by a prestigious, popular, and well-known company. People whispered about the leading man. Apparently he had been a child actor, but this was his first big role since he was in his teens. When she saw his face, her mouth fell open. It was him. Back again.

25 years ago, most everybody knew the name Elena F. Crooke.

_A Shining Star!, the headlines read. Teen Broadway Star Elena Felisha Crooke Shatters the Glass Ceiling. __ __ No _one knew but her back then that she wasn’t destined for the spotlight. Any other 15-year-old girl dreamed of being rich and famous with a handsome, doting husband every single night. But Elena? She hated the thought of the entire world knowing her name, her face, her voice, even. It gave her feelings of dead in her stomach, and she felt woozy at the slightest notion of it.

Besides, she hadn’t even liked her Rhythm of the Rebels days. Sure, she could act fine, and her singing voice was like smooth butter, and the way she moved through air challenged the grace of only a swan, but her heart belonged to something else: art.

Elena was only truly happy in her studio, painting s portrait or sketching a bowl of fruit.

Everyone was surprised when Elena quit acting to go to a prestigious art school. But Elena knew she would all along.

Elena spends her days painting in her studio along with her girlfriend, Amelia. Even though she works as a pediatrician, she’s still active in her church’s choir.

But best of all: no one recognizes her on the streets, begs her for autographs and selfies. She doesn’t need bodyguards, just Amelia and Baby, her lab.

Sitting in a coffee shop one day, reading a newspaper, someone came up to her.

“Excuse me?” He said, calmly, Elena looked up from the article she was reading. “But I feel like I recognize you. Were you an actor when you were younger? Like a movie star?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Elena lied with a smile and a shrug. Wearing a perplexed expression, the man walked away when he heard his order being called out.

Secretly, though, Elena smiled.

Do you hear that? That, dear friend, is the sound of the ocean, in all its crystal blue beauty, slapping up against pure white sand. No shutter sounds from cameras. No paparazzi yelling for me to “give me something they can print”. It’s delightful.

Do you know that I actually heard people calling my name so much that it didn’t even stop when I slept? “Kate! Over here! What’s really going on between you and Oliver Whitley?” “Kate! Why did you hire your ex as your personal security?” Sometimes that’s the only way I could tell it was a dream. There is no chance I would ever pay that piece of crap to come anywhere near me.

For seventeen years I lived in the eye of the public and it happened so quickly that I didn’t have a moments peace from the debut of ‘Clap Back’ which happened to be my first leading role in a feature film. I was nominated for best actress for my first film. Can you believe that? For my first movie. Of course, Lana Shane took home the statue, which she totally won fair and square. But it’s true, being nominated is incredible all on its own.

Three years ago I walked off set after the final shooting for my character and decided I was done. I walked to my car, drove to the security entrance and tossed my credentials to them. I sent an email to my agent, my publicist and my manager and told them all I had my fill. Then I shut off my phone, jumped on my laptop to reserve an Airbnb, a flight and to hire I crew to clear out my house in the Hollywood Hills. I put it on the market and it sold in 3 days. The sense of freedom I had when my realtor told me it sold was euphoric. I was no longer tied to that life. I did have a lawsuit for backing out of the rest of the 4 year contract I had with my agent, but we settled out of court and that was that.

I now live half the world away from the life I wasn’t allowed to live. People recognize me sometimes but they give me the space to maintain my peace.

Would I start at the beginning and do it all again? Not a chance, sister!

No cameras. No spotlight. No fame. The absences that make me overjoyed. Every time I step outside, I can still hear the camera shutters click, the reporters and so called “fans”. But they’re not there. There’s nobody waiting. Nothing to see. Only what once was.

There’s an indescribable liberty in this average way of living. A newfound freedom which I had desired for so long. For once, I am normal. Treated like anyone else. Away from all attentive eyes. I’m only left with… what once was.

Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there. Welcome to The Superseum! Here you will find all kinds of artifacts from the days where those with powers ruled the earth, ocean, space, and sky. This venue? Only the former lair of prominent superhero, Magigal. As you surely know, Magigal parished after being fed to supervillain, ReelDeal‘s lazer sharks, a nod to the classic movie franchise, of course. And you can’t miss this artifact over here, perhaps one of the greatest in existence. This is the garden hedge of FrondlyFire, who meticulously snipped out every target of their’s in this comically large bush. Just adjacent to it, you’ll see the supersuit of Silica, an ensemble made entirely out of Silica Jel™️ and Silicaon™️. Silica was far more successful as a businessperson than a hero, but it is still one cool-looking suit. Today, Silica’s husband has taken over production of Silica™️ products, so feel free to stop by our gift shop to get some of your own! You can also purchase your own pet lazer sharkette there. Moving on. This massive ship belonged to Pyroate, the fieriest and fiercest pirate on the seas. It is truly a wonder it is able to float, given that the whole thing is made out of pure obsidian from her own personal underwater volcano… Yes, you’d be surprised, but even the sail! Pyroate was a true trailblazer (literally, she set every trail on fire) in rock technology and has made so much more possible with the materials we have here on Earth. Speaking of fire, this exhibit’s something out of this world. This is the original can of rocket fuel that The Star Stealer used to light the moon on fire 42 years ago! That was one heck of a New Year’s party! Yes, yes, I’m that old. While we’re on that topic, this staff right here was mine! Ha! I got you, didn’t I? This is the Staff of Caara, or more lovingly referred to as the Staff of Friends. This big ol’ stick is beautifully carved out of mahogany from the tree that the last remaining supervillain became upon his death; he was Ogany. The world celebrated the sunset of the last day they’d have to worry about villains. But one hero, Caara, was upset with how little people cared for the life of another. Ogany and she had been friends growing up, but Ogany had gotten involved in some bad crowds. However, he swore to her he would never kill anyone, and he kept that vow the rest of his life. He was one of the lesser villains, really just stealing a little here and there to fund his science projects. That was his true passion, not crime. Caara, furious, felt she needed to make a point. So, as a reminder to all, on live television, she took her butterfly knives to the tree; she chiseled the likeness of his face, twisted in agony, on its trunk. Also from the tree, she whittled this very staff with a fern-like texture and a fiddlehead figurehead on the upward end, for his favorite plant. She forever kept this by her side so that history would not repeat itself and she would always have a piece of him with her. There’s more though. The part I don’t tell on tours. My biggest secret. On her deathbed, Caara gave the staff to me, their daughter. I swore that the earth hadn’t gotten rid of the last supervillain. I became it. I couldn’t let those who had killed my father have the satisfaction. But back to the program! That’s all behind me now, and I opened this place! This way, I can immortalize both sides of superhistory. A super big thank you to you all for joining me on this journey through time! Please check out the gift shop (we have capes!) and come to the Superseum again soon! We rotate through exhibits, so there’s always something new and interesting to explore!

I don’t get recognized much. I keep my hair long, down past my ears, and I’ve grown my beard out. All that time in hair and makeup as a kid … I don’t want to go back to that. What you see is what you get. When they recognize me, people like to ask if I miss it, the spotlight and the glamor, the fans and the autograph, shooting schedules and craft services. I don’t; it was just a job, and I grew up and don’t have to do it anymore. Most folks can’t be retired at 42; I’m lucky that way. The residuals from syndication keep a roof over my head and let me buy food for my dogs. I don’t need a lot. I gave up partying a long time ago; I want to remember everything I can. The friends I still have are the ones I want to keep. When the dogs are quiet, I sit in silence in my respectable middle class house. I’ll pick up a magazine and read a few articles, cook dinner for myself, work on my landscape paintings. I don’t watch television and movies; when you know how the sausage is made, you’re not so hungry for it. My suspension of disbelief is too weak, and I just see what they could have done differently. It’s artificial, false. The Germans have a word, head cinema, that I like. I read books and listen to music. The stories are in my mind, realer than real, better than anything I could see on a screen. I’m not lonely. I don’t have a partner or kids; I don’t need them. Too many tabloids when I was young, running stories about who I was dating or hanging out with, made it feel like it was part of the job. I’m enough without any of that. I stay off social media; no need to get my ego involved with who remembers “Your Boy” and whether they’re going to reboot it or not. Nothing good can come from me getting into that drama again. At the end of the day, I’m not that guy anymore, not the famous actor or celebrity. I’m me, and that’s enough.

I wake up to the sound of thunder rumbling the entire ground around me. Then a flash, as bright as headlights in the middle of the night, immediately comes right after. Which ensues another round of grumbling from the sky. The wind picks up and starts to rip at the walls of the tent.

Next thing I know I'm laying in a hospital bed, waking up with a groggy feeling in my whole body. As I begin to open my eyes the nurse comes in and notices that I'm awake and rushes to get the doctor. The doctor then proceeds to tell me that I am lucky to be alive. They continue saying how the man who helped me had found four other people. He was being called "The Hero of Great Falls NH." He continues explaining how I had been whipped into the tornado at the same time as the trees and I was basically the ping pong ball being swatted between the two. I adjust myself more the more the doctor keeps talking to me like I'm no body. Doesn't he know who I am? Doesn't he know what I've done for this town?

I was about 8 years old when I had first started to stop fights. It may sound stupid, but this old town of ours had some major drinking issues. With my dad always taking me there while he drank and played pool with his buddies, I had seen my fair share of arguments turn into fist fights many times. Most of them involving my dad who is a famous MMA fighter. Which meant he was one of the deadliest guys to pick a fight with. There were countless guys I had somehow dragged to the front door of the hospital (I was tall for 8 but not that tall!) I had become known somewhat as "The Hero." That's what all the guys I brought to the hospital started saying and the nurses absolutely loved that I cared so much about helping others at such a young age. And my doctor just so happens to be the guy I saved last.

My dad had beat him to a pulp and I had been at work but was on my way home when I saw a brawl had started at the bar and pulled in to see the commotion. Once I saw what was happening and could see how badly the doctor was hurt, I jumped in and started beating my dad. All the while yelling at him that he can't keep doing this or he's gonna end up dead! Anyways long story short the doctor clearly didn't recognize me and honestly it's a bit frustrating, but I am the one who asked for it. I honestly would choose the same path 100 times over. I love the care free lifestyle I live now and just getting to experience all the Earth has to give to us.

Mike Jones is known for his song singing about how dey didn’t even want him back when he was smaller, not taller, but now that he’s sipping on some syrup, tipping Vols, chopped, and screwed….dey all up on his jock like chiggers nestling in a campers groin, hoping their host is a soul snatching ginger, that way they’ll be able to evade detection, but if we’re talking about Methuselah, you know that shit would look like someone went on a shooting spree on a ski slalom…. So anyways the once famous now living life as a normal person seems very much like child stars who fell off the map or maybe did something smart….branch out their skills and abilities to better ensure their ability to survive and thrive. Jones Mike is the name of the once famous who has moved onto bigger better things…..reminds me of BABYMETAL, they’re a Japanese kawaii (cute) metal I was under the impression that they were younger and took a longer break for other reasons but it seems that their hiatus was due to a members failing health.

Fame, stardom, financial abundance, adoring fans, practicing your craft whatever it might be- doing it well enough to find financial success. All these things surely sound astounding, desirable, and would definitely be a great way to start your week, stumbling forward catching your pinky toe on a stubborn piece of furniture and instead of a shooting pain meeting us, we fall into this “lap of luxury” create a high point that almost surely cannot be beat and any efforts towards being better, reliving the wonder of it’s initial impression is more probable for a junkie, chasing that original high, trying to get that buzz that cannot be replicated. This individual who has had all that they’ve ever wanted, any woman/man they want, drive a new car every day, wear high end name brand clothing once and donate/discard, bank account with enoufh zeroes to make someone with carpal tunnel cringe when thinking about typing/writing out this number. And instead of listing off things that one might have, it’s best handled by saying they’re pretty unfamiliar with wanting for things, being as they’ve lived in a lap of luxury, wiping their baby buttocks with crisp $500 dollar bills, born with a platinum and diamond encrusted spoon, fork, knife, and even spork…..can you imagine how bad life would suck if one reached such a high point in life only to find everything else that they seek out might leave them confused as to why they’ve been unable to attain a sense of happiness or contentment. Spending ridiculous amounts of money on the best mental health services, gurus, Ayhuaaca retreats, and etc…..still trying to buy it, becoming even more frustrated bc of its seeming proximity, the effort put into reaching this goal not matching in results. This can often lead to one seeking out joy in other things such as addiction whether drugs, gambling, shopping, or whatever your poison might be. This in itself is problematic bc of the tendency for these actions to create hormone issues….. it’s like Pavlov’s dog….. the bell ringing causes the animal to salivate because the bell is aligned with feeding, but this bell cannot create the same effect that comes with the animal seeing/smelling food. So what we do is salivate more bc of the drug creating.a much stronger effect through synapses and receptors, so when we do something we enjoy, we don’t get the same effect because of a much stronger reaction than naturally produced. Keep in mind that we are able to return to a semblance of normal, although the degree in which opiates change the pleasure center of the brain reprograms reward systems which is what makes opiate addiction so problematic. Regardless of where you’ve been, where you are, or what others might think of you, you can always strive for a better you…..but of course the best you is the one you currently are, but where you’ve been and where you are do not determine your future and potential.

I feel that I should have felt somewhat famous…..although notoriety seems to be more irrritating than anything…..my reputation used to precede itself. I’d meet people for the first time who would just gush over stories they’ve been told, all hyped up about getting to finally meet me LOL…. I don’t think I would have fared well being an actual famous person. I would prefer mediocrity over fame, although rising to fame under a pseudonym outselling Chicken Soup For The Soul -my reinstatement of the Illuminati, a tome describing the reason for things, revealing the mass manipulation of people via entities/institutions/marketing through religion, culture, political parties, and the reality of the world being designed for extroverts despite approximately half of the population being introverts. This extroverted world adds stressors to individuals to conform out of a desire to be accepted, denying self individuality by allowing a source of information to exist beyond suspicion. Confirmation bias and all the other biases that plague these “ideologies” results in a clusterfuck of idiocy which would make it idiology or would it be idiotology…. Not sure but I’ve been a member of this idiotology for the longest…..not yard….. but everything is a goddamn distraction WMD are abundant….weapons of mass distraction are being deployed onto us on a daily basis. NASA is nothing more than a branch off of the military industrial complex using space exploration and advancement in propulsion systems is nothing more than a stage having long been set for shit like 1984 to take place. Did you know that satellite technology can allow one to see anything and everything they want? Using spectrometry frequencies on the EMF scale are able to take the collected information that is gained from scanning all frequencies, being able to understand the layout, materials, and other information that basically gives the user an image that can be captured without ever having physically seen the location. Freedom is nothing more than a hype word…..just like justice and liberty, they don’t mean shit in the US anymore unfortunately…..Patriot Act made the constitution null and void…..not to mention opened the flood gates for misappropriation of funding, taking advantage of a devastating attack on American soil, destroying due process, freedom of speech, and the right to life and liberty….. FUSION centers popped up all over the place which is partially funded by DHS that brings in private business into the mix…..creating incentive for law enforcement to abuse the Patriot Act through domestic espionage. FUSION centers = US sleeper cells waiting to make use of any information they’re able to gain to send in their infiltrators into their clique playing bull in a china shop.