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“Uh… hi. I figured I’d make a little something to say hi and introduce myself or whatever. So yeah. Uh, I’ve been thinking about doing this for a while, but I haven’t known what to say. I still don’t. I tried writing it out, like a script, but it didn’t feel right. It felt fake, you know? So, I figured I’d just turn on a camera and ramble. I’m an excellent rambler. If there were ramble Olympics, I’d win gold. No one can top the bullshit I spew. But, yeah… guess I should get to the point already,” he trailed off.
He was sitting cross legged on a couch, wearing a tee shirt and sweatpants. As he spoke, he wiggled his knees and held his feet. Dinosaur print socks peeked out from between his fingers. He looked nothing like his usual carefully manicured self. Sweats instead of a suit, a shaggy mope instead of smooth styled hair.
“So… Hi. I’m Dave. I’m a director. You probably already know that though. Or maybe you don’t, I don’t know. But I guess the more important slash relevant thing is that ‘Dirk, I am your father.’” He said, doing a poor impression of Darth Vader.
He grimaced, “Sorry, that was cringey. I hide behind humour when I’m nervous.” he said with a small, shy smile. “But yeah, I’m your dad. I guess? I don’t really know what I am to you. I’ve been thinking of you as my kid though.”
He rested a cheek on his fist and sighed. “Man, this whole thing fucking sucks. Like, I have to make a video so my own kid can ‘meet’ me. Its such a fucking bummer. I really wish I could have met you in person, but you know. What can you do, right? Oh well.” He mumbled, looking down and shifting in his seat.
“What would you want to know? What would I want to know? Hm… I don’t know. I guess I’ll just start saying shit and maybe you’ll find some of it interesting,” he said, almost to himself.
“Let’s see…” He said, tapping his knee with a finger while he thought. “I’m a Sagittarius?” he shrugged. “My birthday is December 3rd, 1975. It’s currently… April 13th, 2009, which makes me 33 years, 4 months, and 10 days old. I’ve always been good at math like that. Uh… My favourite subject in school was biology. I’ve been obsessed with dinosaurs ever since I was a little kid, like I seriously considered becoming a paleontologist. I really like music, both listening to it and playing it. Uh… what else?” He crossed his arms and sank further into the couch he was on, humming while he thought.
“I’ve read the entire Wheel of Time series because I’m a massive nerd. I’ve seen every episode of Star Trek and Doctor Who. The fourth doctor is the best, by the way. Uh, I play D&D at least once a month with some of my friends.
“I play a dwarf bard named Chuckle Fuck. First name Chuckle, last name Fuck. He’s level 35. He was supposed to be a joke character, but things got out of hand. I’m way too emotionally invested, it’s a problem. Like he started out just being a quirky horn dog and now he’s on a quest to try and rebuild his kingdom and find his scattered family members and bring them home and it’s just… I’m in too deep. Like if Chuckle Fuck dies, I’ll cry. I’d be devastated. You probably don’t really care about my D&D character though.
“Um… I had my first kiss at 13. I fell in love for the first time when I was 15. I got married at 23. Still married, still super happy. We just celebrated our 10th wedding anniversary,” He said, pulling a chain with a silver wedding band on it out of his shirt and holding it up for the camera.
“That’s something you wouldn’t know,” he said absently as he fiddled with his ring, rolling it between his fingers. “I try to keep my private life private cause I don’t really like the idea of everyone on the face of the fucking Earth being able to just google my personal shit. But yeah, I’m married. It’s kinda funny, I’ve been named Hollywood’s most eligible bachelor like three times, but I’m neither eligible nor a bachelor.
“I can go a little overboard about the whole privacy thing though,” he said guiltily. “Like, I own a house that I don’t live in. The ‘Media’ or whatever thinks I live there, but I don’t. I don’t want people knowing where I live, that feels creepy.
“A lot of shit that the media thinks it knows about me isn’t true actually, and that’s intentional.” He furrowed his brow in thought and said, “I guess that means a lot of the stuff you know about me is wrong then… hm. That’s kind of a bummer. I should probably tell you the real shit then.
“There’s so much fake crap because I’m really careful about my ‘brand’, you know?” he said with air quotes. “I figured out early on that people were more interested in me than my movies, that people would go see my movie simply because I was the one that made them, so, I used that. I would do weird, contradictory things because I knew it would add to the mythos of Dave Strider.
“I made a point of always being seen in nothing but expensive tailored suits, even just to go to the store, so that when I showed up to a red-carpet event in my P.J’s people would be baffled. I wore a dress once for similar reasons. And because I look hot as hell in dresses,” he said with a smirk.
“I throw massive parties at the house I own, but don’t live in, and then don’t show up. Nobody has noticed that I’m never actually there yet,” he said musingly. “I’m not a fan of parties or crowds, but I do like what they do for my ‘brand’.
“I market myself as this charismatic, outgoing playboy because that’s what people want me to be. They like the disparity between how I act and what I make. They see my movies because they like the character I play, and he is most definitely a character,” he said with a laugh in his voice.
“I’m a shy awkward dork. I’d much rather spend my nights at home watching romcoms with my partner or playing tabletop RPGs than go to galas or premiers. I’m not outgoing, I’m a mess of social anxiety. Playing the character of Dave Strider Superstar Director is the only way I can get through that shit,” he said, mocking himself. “It’s easier to be him than it is to be me. I hide behind him when I’m nervous, which is damn near always,” he mumbled.
“I never wanted to be famous. I never thought I would be,” He said sadly. “SBaHJ started as a stupid webcomic I made as a kid, I never expected it to go anywhere. It was just my escapism. It was my way of telling people about my fucked-up life without getting caught.” He shrugged dismissively.
“When I was a kid, nothing I did was private. All of my online activity was monitored, even my chatlogs with friends were looked over. I couldn’t tell anyone about the bullshit I was going through because my only friends were online, so I started SBaHJ.
“SBaHJ was intentionally inscrutable. I made it surreal and stupid on purpose so that no one would know that it was about the shit I was going through.
“The ‘art style’ if you can call it that, came from the fact that I started it when my left arm was broken so I had to draw with my nondominant hand. I’m a lefty, in case you didn’t know,” he said, wiggling his hand, doing jazz hands with only his left. “The first comic was about how I broke my arm.
“Basically, my piece of shit foster brother said, ‘If you don’t stop being such a pussy, I’m going to throw you down the stairs.’ He said, imitating his voice mockingly. I apparently kept on being a pussy because he did in fact push me down the stairs. I broke my arm in the fall. And while I was lying there in the worst pain I’d ever experienced up until that point he said, “I told you bro, I warned you about the stairs.’ That’s where that line came from.
“The reason the shot of Hella Jeff falling down the stairs lasted five straight minutes- an eternity in film- was because that’s what it felt like. It felt like I was falling forever. It was almost a relief when I hit the ground. Not really though cause it hurt like hell.” It was like he forgot he was talking to a camera. His voice was quiet, and his mind seemed far away.
“But yeah… sorry about that.” He said, snapping out of his apparent trance. That got way heavier than I meant it to. Once I start rambling I never know where I’ll end up. Sometimes I just make long, unintelligible mixed metaphors, other times I spill my guts like a dishonoured samurai committing seppuku. It’s Dave roulette.” he said with forced enthusiasm.
“Not all of SBaHJ is about my personal baggage though,” he said, holding his hands up in a placating gesture, “some of it was just stupid shit I found funny. You know, people always think that I’m on drugs when I make my movies, but I’m not, I just have a terrible sense of humour,” he shrugged.
“I don’t know if you give a shit about SBaHJ though, so I think I’ll change the subject now. A lot of people hate my shit, I wouldn’t hold it against you if you did too. It’s definitely an acquired taste.
“What else would you want to hear about? Hm… oh!” he exclaimed. “You’re probably curious about these, huh?” he asked, tapping the frame of his shades. “Everyone is. People assume it’s because I think I’m a ‘cool guy’ or that it’s works with my brand, but these predate my career in show biz by a fuck ton. I’ve been wearing shades since I was a kid.
I don’t wear them to look cool, even though I do look cool as hell,” he said with finger-guns, contradicting his statement. “I wear them cause I’ve got myself a pair of creepy peepers. These shits are fucked. I should probably show you what I mean though...” he trailed off.
He stood up off the couch and walked towards the camera. He crouched in front of it and lowered his shades. His eyes were a shocking shade of bright, blood red. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot and his pupils were the size of pinpricks.
“There you have it. Creepy right?” he said, pushing his shades back up before dropping back on the couch. “People tried to exorcize me on three different occasions when I was a kid. But nope, not a demon, just a genetic freak. Not actually cool either, I just have albinism and a light sensitivity,” he shrugged.
“So yeah… I don’t know what else to say,” he mumbled. “I’m not actually cool, SBaHJ, my fucked-up childhood, the shades…” he said, counting on his fingers. “I’m not sure what else you’d like to know. I guess I should probably impart some fatherly wisdom or whatever.
“Don’t do drugs. Measure twice, cut once. Be yourself. Don’t forget to wash behind you ears,” he said sternly, wagging a finger at the camera. “I’m avoiding being vulnerable by hiding behind humour again. It’s a bad habit of mine.” He sighed.
“Okay, sincerity time,” he said, cracking his knuckles. “If you’re anything like me, which you probably are, you might have a hard time being genuine too. It sucks and it’s uncomfortable, but it’s important be honest. If you never tell anyone that something’s wrong, then nothing will ever change. It’ll just get worse and worse until you can’t take it anymore. If you bottle everything up and push it down, then you’re going to explode one day and it’s going to be messy.
“If that does happen though and you do blow up on someone you need to apologize. Don’t make excuses and don’t avoid them. Nothing good will come from that. As soon as you calm down, make amends. The longer you wait the worse it’ll be.
“What else…? I don’t know. Be compassionate, be patient. Don’t take people for granted. Relationships, including friendships, take work. People are only human; they’ll fuck up sometimes. Forgive them when they do. Forgive yourself when you fuck up too. And you will fuck up. It’s inevitable. It doesn’t matter how hard you try to do the right thing; you’re going to get it wrong sometimes. Everybody does. Just make sure to learn from your mistakes and don’t repeat them.
“I think that all the wisdom I have. Sorry I don’t have more. Maybe I’ll make another one of these when I get wiser. Until then though I think this is it.
“Bye, I guess? Uh… I love you kid. I hope you’re doing okay.” He clenched his jaw and his brows furrowed for a moment before smoothing back out. “I’m gonna leave it at that cause if I keep going, I’m definitely going to cry, and we don’t need that. So yeah… bye.”