Doug: All super hero pairings have origin stories...

Some years ago a very young version of me walked into Mrs. Dooly's 6th grade social studies class. I was small, I was not cool and was not adjusting well to middle school. I sat down next to a funny looking kid with glasses and a jewfro.

Now, I can't remember clearly what happend after that. But I do remember it involved the exchange of precious little balls of joy known to this world as gobstoppers, which will always be my favorite candy simply because of this memory. The kid I sat down next to and I both enjoyed these little wonders, and soon made a pact to share them. I don't remember how the exchange worked, but it worked well until he was moved out of the class and into some other one.

This was sad. For the first time in a while, I had made a friend. Now he was gone.

But this was not the last time we would see each other. Oh no.

Soon enough we were meeting at lunch to play perhaps the most awesome of all card games. "Magic: The Gathering". I'm sure me getting into this game, and subsequently "Dungeons and Dragons" absolutely terrified my mother, who at that time thought playing D&D would lead to ritual sacrifices and other unmentionables. While I eventually lost interest in both games, memories of playing them with my friends are among the most cherished of my pubescent years. One friend in particular will always stick out.

Life went one, some friends came and went. One remained the same. 8th grade rolled around and the short kid with the Jewfro had become one of my best friends. We shared everything, hung out almost every day, did things to torque each other off, but mostly did things to piss other people off. We were "those guys" in junior high. The troublemakers that somehow all the teachers loved. The things we got away with are still unmentionable... because the statute of limitations has not yet run out.

I still remember the only time I've ever been mad enough to not talk to this kid on purpose. The day he and another friend broke into my house and watched my cable tv without permission. Nothing bad really happened, but when mom came home and discovered them without me it was a really big deal. I didn't speak to him for like three days, sat away from him in class, and refused to let him over again.

For about three days.

It's lonely being pissed at your best friend. Forgiveness came eventually, and we went into high school on a high note, ready to take on what we considred to be the world. Still troublemaking, still best friends.

The first couple years of high school were grand. We certainly weren't there for the school, and were basically the ultimate pair ever. People feared and loved us. The unstoppable duo. Damage and Control. Watching movies, wrestling, lighting off ridiculous amounts of fireworks, visiting middleschool, girls, games, everything was grand.

Then, all of a sudden, my best friend was taken from me.

Sent to the wilds of Utah, a dark place filled with people that would "Help" him. Monsters dressed up in suits and ties. Sent there by an unloving and frigid homeland. Hardship, depravation, and bitterness ruled in the wilds of the North.

And I? I was not alone, but deprived of my strong right arm. The young man who helped me make sense of my life, the one I could always turn to when I needed to just get away. My Best Friend.

My Brother.

That year was cold. The winter was harsh. My brother was gone, enduring hardship untold of in the North. It was as if my world had gone slightly grey, and flat.

Spring came. My Brother returned, haggared, but alive. As they say, any fight you can walk away from is a victory.

Light returned to the world. My brother had returned. Again we were a team. Damage Control. Doing what we did best, wrecking shit. Finishing out senior year with a bang, we stepped out into the world.

I will always remember our pilgrimage to Arizona, to that desolate hell of a world to find the Jewel of Paramore, the great and beautiful Goddess Haylee. We worshiped at her alter for a night, and returned, Triumphant. Victorious.

Later we sought the fabled Heron Lake, with it's terrifying bug island. On that trip, we brought others, friends and lovers we'd aquired along the journey called life. Again, the memories will follow me for the rest of my life. Driving through the Great Southwest, admiring the great beauty of our land together, Paddling in the canoe, conquering the island. Sizzling hot wilderness bacon. Campfires.

The very best of memories.

Our last trip before I went off to College, the strange land of fabled knowledge and great boredom, was a phisical challenge greater that we had ever attempted before. A grueling yet beautiful journey across the wilderness to our state capital. As it was in the beginning, so it was again. Just us and the open road.

Hours later, Victorious, we entered a church together, to pay our respects, and observe the beauty we had worked so hard to reach. There I felt such kinship with my brother as I had never felt before.

Then I left.

Again, there is a hole where my right arm should be. My brother, my best friend, here with me. Alas, he left this venture to me, as I knew he would. Time passes, it is the sad fact of life.

No matter what though. This man, nay, this Kinsman and I share a bond unbreakable by distance or time. And when together none stand in our way. NONE. I cannot wait to see him again.

In conclusion. I wish you the happiest of birthdays.

Abe. My brother. I will always. ALWAYS. Have your back. I love you man.

-Doug

"You miss him a lot, don't you?"
Laura

"You haven't even met the real Doug, the real Doug is standing right next to Abe right now, laughing his head off at how much of an idiot I look without my better half. Abe isn't laughing though, Abe is kicking my ass for moping around like some kind of communist dicksuck pussy."
-Me

P.S. I know this is up about an hour early, but who gives a shit?