Alt-Dwight.com started as a "joke" between two "friends." Malcolm and Dwight dabbled in the conspiracy theory and political scene in tucked-away online forums that only self-absorbed losers frequented. Dwight cared only about his right to be right all of the time.

When he was 23 he left his parent's house to go train-hopping for as long as he could. He lasted a year and along the way, he was exposed to radical and anti-intellectual propaganda meant to put your brain to sleep.

His friend, Malcolm, has lived right down the street from him since he was in middle school. Together they've made horror movies about marionettes, started a cannabis-centric punk band, and spraypainted an esoteric logo named after a mashup of 70s deathrock bands across town.

Now, Malcolm is entrenched in the harsh political divide between the misguided and the uninformed. Malcolm chose the alt-right largely because most of his friends and online commentators he related to declared themselves alt-right.

Dwight had been searching his whole life for a clear identity, someone who had firm beliefs and stood by them at all costs. Dwight and Malcolm shared an affinity for riling up trouble with guerilla marketing techniques and outright controversy.

In the age of attention, Dwight and Malcolm thought they had a winning formula on their hands as they attempted to become widely recognized and highly respected players in the political arena. The problem was that both had no jobs and no money after chasing this farfetched idea.

On their first foray into developing a successful hate operation was when they put up posters around their community college touting that there are only 2.14 genders. The surrealism coupled with the bold type confused many students and teachers but led them to visit their website, Alt-Dwight.com.

Their first few posts railed against third-wave feminism going so far as to say that, "Alt-Dwight will be like garbage to an ocean to any wave of feminism." Surprisingly, they both had steady girlfriends they'd been seeing for over a year ever since deriving notoriety for their inflammatory posts.

Angelica, was a soft-spoken and good-natured teenager until her parents got divorced and seemed like neither wanted her. Ever since she's been making it on her own going from music scenes to political scenes trying to find meaning in her Nietzche-inspired reality.

She liked Dwight because he stood for something, even to the detriment of his socioeconomic status. He was on unemployment and couldn't keep a job for longer than six months. He was always reading music fanzines and historical non-fiction books, including biographies of famous world leaders.

His voracious appetite for books prevented him from making a large group of friends of many girlfriends throughout his life. While he envied the happiness others enjoyed, he valued his independence and commitment to a higher cause, whatever it was that month.

Sofia was Malcolm's girlfriend. Short, quirky, and wickedly smart, she caught Malcolm's attention the first second he laid eyes on her at New Order night in a bar downtown. She loved to talk, and argue, and debate, and eat. When they weren't talking current affairs, they were scarfing down sushi.

All four of them had even started a podcast once they'd seen the success of Alt-Dwight.com. After just two episodes they were banned from Twitter for a tweet that was deemed racist, insensitive, off-color, essentially checking off every politically correct trigger.

Alt-Dwight and Malcolm XXX, their alter egos, were riding high off the fame. They'd even let a few girls feel them up for a few seconds before stopping them. They didn't consider this cheating because they were too busy getting likes, retweets, and shout-outs from even mainstream entertainers.

Their political content ran the line between surreal, sadistic, ironic, sarcastic, and outright wholesome. No one knew what to make of them. They selected interviews carefully and went on podcasts that had a humorous angle. They could hide behind a joke.

It was only a matter of time before Malcolm and Dwight faced the consequences for their actions. Writing new content and producing a podcast week after week proved detrimental for their love lives. Angelica and Sofia started their own all-female anti-Republican podcast.

The sad part was that they continued their rabid digital barrage well into their 40s before they realized that everything they'd been fighting for was a lie. Their life was a misguided attempt at finding an answer to their dreary lives. It took them a while but they died trampled at one of their own events.

The way I see it, a romantic relationship is basically a two-person cult and I've already chugged the entire Kool-aid keg. You probably think I'm joking about the ritual suicide, but I'm not. My girlfriend is actively trying to poison me. Do you want to know how I know? I marked the level on the bottle. Despite this, I really do appreciate my girlfriend because without her wisdom, I'd be an even worse misogynist.

This relationship isn't at all like my last relationship. In my last relationship, I was the one who had to initiate all of the times my girlfriend and I had sex, all because she would say no or was asleep. She was also obsessed with taking selfies, especially when it was photographic evidence of my domestic abuse.

My lack of instincts for love came from my parents. They told me my birth was a surprise. They never planned to have me. I somehow survived the abortion. My dad walked out on me and my mom when I was three. He would come back shortly after with groceries. It was a common occurence. When it comes to marriage, however, I'm with Republicans. I believe marriage is a sacred institution between a man and a woman and his mistress.

If you can believe it, I can be quite romantic. For example, I always go out of my way to open the car door for my girlfriend, especially when we're on the freeway. Also, when my girlfriend brought up having a child, I replied with, "That's just legal kidnapping. I'm in!"

My girlfriend is really spiritual and open to mystic forces. For example, the other day we went to a psychic so I could get my palm read. The psychic said I was going to die a very violent death, if I walked out without paying for the reading.

I also love my girlfriend because we think similar things. During one of the Grammys (I just watch it for the commercials) Daft Punk came out to perform. My girlfriend inquired, "Is that even them? How do we know?" With those questions, I fell hard for her. To the point of CTE damage.

Apart from my girlfriend's magnetic and charming personality, she's quite the looker. I'm not a shallow person, by any means, just ask my exes, but my girlfriend is the most beautiful woman in the world. She's even more attractive now that her thighs don't touch, ever since I disembodied her.

I write about and consume cannabis, although consume is an understatement. For research purposes, I visit my local and federally illegal cannabis dispensary to get flower (mainly sativa strains) with slight aromatic notes of berries and pesticides. I also make sure to grab a couple of pre-filled cartridges to accompany my other paraphernalia that comes in a child-proof pouch, unfortunately. These materials inspire me to create valuable content for the cannabis industry and beyond. Hero isn't a word I'm comfortable hearing from other people, so I'll just say it myself. I'm a hero.

I write from home, which is technically my parent's. While it's not an ideal living situation, I do enjoy not having to pay rent, despite my parent's insistence that I do. For all the bad mouthing I do behind my family's back, they've always supported my dreams, even when I wanted to be a musician. I wasn't just in it for the groupies. I was in it for the pure fun of playing music. And the groupies. I sit down at my desk and furiously type away as I listen to my favorite genre of music, Scientology Metal.

While I work mainly from home, sometimes I like to visit local coffeeshops, although the baristas get mad whenever I write with crayon on the wall. I tell them that I ran out of paper. I've found a cool place that makes delicious fair trade coffee that only slightly fucks over the coffee bean farmer and their family. I love the freedom afforded to me by working remotely. I can literally work wherever I want (as long as there's strong wi-fi) and whenever I want (although, strictly during Pacific Standard Time business hours).

Whenever I'm not writing for clients or myself, I like to spend time with my friends and family. For example, the other day I helped my friend move. He didn't ask for it and wasn't even moving, but I did it anyway because that's just the type of friend I am. You don't have to ask me to do anything. I anticipate needs. I did the same thing with my dog. I anticipated his needs so much that I had him put down before he even developed any symptoms of a chronic illness.

I also like to spend time window shopping with my friends, though I am running out space for all of these windows. We like to visit craft breweries to try different types of beer. My favorites are the ones where I can taste the notes of pretentiousness. Sometimes, I'll even get some writing done at a brewery despite getting awkward stares from other patrons. I guess they're not big fans of people dictating text into their phone as they pace around during trivia night.

At the end of the day, I get tremendous satisfaction knowing I am dispelling myths surrounding cannabis, so that people can learn how cannabis can help their lives. Writing (and reading), in general, can also be therapeutic tools to lower stress and improve your mood. In fact, writing helped me find the meaning of life. It was in the dictionary.

After almost two years of taking a generic brand of a popular antidepressant daily, I decided to call it quits. The ceaseless intake of selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors (SSRI) tablets lost its appeal during my first discontinuation syndrome experience. I had gone three days without taking my 20mg drug and didn't notice until waves of dizziness and mental fog consumed me. Even minor movements were followed by intense bouts of vertigo and hopelessness.

I was incapacitated for the entire day as I scrambled to book an appointment to get a prescription refill from my psychiatrist. I left a voicemail to the low-income mental health clinic I attend asking for the earliest appointment available due to my intense feelings of medication abstinence. Even in the worst moments of my anxiety and depression, I had never felt anything similar to these wretched physical symptoms after discontinuing my Citalopram.

I was thankful to get a prescription refill (and many more after that), if only to reduce the extreme physical discomforts I had experienced. During that time, I also began to travel a lot more with my girlfriend and found that bringing antidepressants on trips was more of a hindrance than a therapeutic tool. A cursory glance at the countless amount of articles on weaning yourself off SSRI's detail harsh, and sometimes fatal, consequences associated with getting off medication too soon.

My psychiatrist and I developed a rudimentary plan on how I was to reduce my dosage to, eventually, stop taking antidepressants altogether. I would start by reducing my dosage by half (down to 10mg) and see how that felt. A few days later, I received a letter letting me know that I needed to find a new psychiatrist due to some health insurance changes. I should've done more research before starting Citalopram, but hindsight is 20/20.

My internet sleuthing led me to a wealth of sources, including one from the Medical Board of California. In the records, I found my psychiatrist had grossly and negligently overprescribed medication to multiple patients. Some of these patients had a history of alcohol and drug abuse. The Medical Board disciplined him with six years of probation and left me feeling let down by the mental health care system. Looking back, I would've asked more questions about my treatment.

Before continuing with my dosage tapering process, I was having doubts about getting off SSRI's. Once I knew I needed to look for another psychiatrist, I decided that I wouldn't be seeking further treatment with pharmaceutical pills. I had learned so much about taking care of myself without the use of antidepressants including eating a mainly plant-based diet. I, essentially, freed myself from the tight reigns of antidepressant tolerance and dependance with a personalized mental health strategy.

My prescription bottle felt lighter and lighter until I took my final 5mg tablet (broken down from a single 20mg tablet) and hoped for the best. My first week off the medication was characterized by emotional whiplash, insomnia, dizziness, irritability, and agitation. I was able to keep it together because I knew the discomfort was temporary and I had a strong support system. Only after visiting rock bottom (and paying a few more visits after that) did I make sense of mental health maintenance.

I've learned, through a tumultuous trial and error phase known as life, that lifestyle choices have an enormous impact on our well-being. What seems like common sense now was out of the purview of my reality filtered by my self-defeating thoughts. I've taken an indefinite break from pharmaceuticals for serotonin and replaced my mental health regimen with a healthy diet, regular exercise, and accepting that failure is an everyday struggle.

After a month of being off SSRI medication, only minor and fleeting discontinuation effects persist, but the future doesn't seem to be so bleak anymore. While life, in general, is still pretty fucking bleak, now I can come back from the other side with a better mental health maintenance strategy.

I pressed the brakes to settle amongst the hundreds of cars waiting to cross into Tijuana, Mexico for Memorial Day weekend. Cars swerved in order to narrowly avoid running into each other all in an effort to find an open lane through the bottleneck. Above, dark cloud formations speckled the sky as I drove with my girlfriend through the mountainous terrain toward Rosarito, a beachside community in Baja California known for its street tacos, shorefront bars, and artisanal goods.

We met up with my cousins (from my mom's side of the family) and their significant others at Rosarito to grab a quick bite at El Norteño, a local taqueria on the main road. There was an abundance of taquerias where you could get a quesadilla, taco, burrito, mulita, and torta. Our holiday getaway was specifically planned as a family bonding experience. Our entire group of nine occupied a table as we enjoyed the bustling atmosphere and tacos with the works.
From the taqueria, we could see street vendors set up stalls with a variety of artisanal goods including handmade housewares, clothing and jewelry for all ages, musical instruments, toys and street food. We devoured our quesadillas and carne asada tacos and drank our Mexican coke without a care in the world. After lunch, we all headed back on to the beach-adjacent highway to reach Puerto Nuevo, a lobster village that would be our home for the next few days.

We pulled off the highway onto the dirt shoulder to enter the gated seafront community. Our rented beach house was nestled within a group of shorefront homes, cobblestone streets, and a variety of thriving cacti. Our two-story home featured colorful Mexican-style decor, luxe furniture, and a balcony and deck with a palapa (open-sided structure with a thatched roof) where you could scan the ocean bluff views.
Our house was less than a minute walk to the bluffs overlooking Descanso bay. The area featured a communal recreation yard, a couple of horseshoe pits, chaise lounges, and private access stairs that led down to the shoreline. While an elusive and slightly fishy stench permeated the seaside air, I found the views peaceful and relaxing. I sipped on an Indio Mexican lager and ate Mexican Doritos that had a spicy kick, unlike their American counterpart.

That night, we all took a couple of taxis back into Rosarito to Papas & Beer, a 24-hour beachfront night club. This holiday hot spot catered to youthful indiscretions and discretions alike. Our pink and green neon wristbands gave us access to the open bar upstairs from eight to midnight when the concert started. I sipped on Tecate Light all throughout the night since that was the only beer on tap. I gazed above at the string of lights stretching from the concert stage to palm trees and the rooftop bars.
We all pitched in to reserve a table on the beach dance floor. Servers brought out a bottle of vodka on ice and pineapple juice, as well as another ice bucket full of Tecate Lights. DJ's blasted out energizing beats to pump up the crowd. I enjoyed the perpetual buzz I got from drinking extra light lagers paired with the heady high from the dance music. The crowd roared when Atlanta rapper MadeinTYO came out on stage. The communal euphoric experience was contagious, even if I didn't know the artist.

We ended the night deep into the early morning. Food vendors lined up directly outside the venue's exit catering to hungry vacationers. In the middle of the street, police vehicles kept their flashing lights to presumably keep order  After a few minutes, a taxi van picked up the entire crew and drove us through the 20-minute dark journey back to our house. While I won't be making a habit out of visiting dance clubs, the event was a welcome departure from my typical routine.
The next morning, my girlfriend and I took our cups of tea to the chaise lounges overlooking the Rosarito bluffs. While the water pressure in the shower left more to be desired, I managed to rejuvenate myself for our second day in Rosarito. For brunch, we drove a few miles north to an intimate French cafe called Bleu Galley Deli Cafe. Inside, attentive and welcoming cooks and servers greeted us with friendly smiles and a vibrant atmosphere.

Our meal began with a complementary serving of homemade biscuits and cilantro pesto. My girlfriend ordered a vegetable confit that looked like a work of art and I got a croque madame and rich vegetable soup. After our memorable meal, we kept driving north back into Rosarito to explore the area a bit more. Rosarito was a hub for vibrant street art that covered everything from alleys to shops. We appreciated the plentiful selection of coffeehouses and gourmet vegetarian-friendly fare.
As we continued to explore the buzzy Rosarito main road, we stopped at FoodFest & Craft Beer Plaza. My girlfriend and I shared an Astillero IPA from Agua Mala at Cerveceria Tinta Negra, a taphouse featuring a wide array of local craft beers. We were grateful for the free wi-fi, shade, food selection, and just having a place to rest for a few minutes. Within the food plaza, you could grab a surf and turf burger, shrimp and chips entree, or a healthy juice.

After we shared the brew, we continued to walk the road passing artisanal kitchens, cafes, and candy shops. Once we had checked out most of the storefronts, we walked a few blocks west toward the beach. People splashed in the ocean, talked amongst friends, rode horses across the sand, and sat around tables taking in the view. Live music came from every corner as people celebrated the weekend and being with family.
As we finished exploring as much as we could, we came across Cafe de la Fonda, a coffeeshop that served churros, wine, and coffee from Colombia. The churro was game-changing. We enjoyed this fried treasure on the second floor rooftop overlooking Rosarito beach. Our parked car was directly across the street. One of my greatest joys of the trip was finding that perfect, free parking spot for the day.

We headed back to Cerveceria Tinta Negra to grab a La Lupulosa IPA from Insurgente. I couldn't resist, so I grabbed dinner at Nanna's Fish & Chips. My fish and chips had a distinctly Baja/cajun twist that complemented the three different sauces, each increasingly spicier than the other. It's safe to say that I'll be taking more holiday trips down to Rosarito to try the tacos, burgers, and tortas from FoodFest plaza and beyond.
After a full day of walking the streets of Zona Rosarito, my girlfriend and I met up with the rest of my family at a beachfront and open-air seafood restaurant. A live banda played a mixture of percussion, woodwind, and brass instruments. A sheet of darkness replaced the sunlight as partygoers continued their Memorial Day antics. Pedestrians carried around micheladas, while others took advantage of tempting drink specials available in every bar.

A short walk led us directly to a fireworks-only store. A cartoon dynamite adorned the side of the shop. This animated firework had it's fuse lit and was covering its ears. Next door were a line of shops selling blankets, sweatshirts, and traditional Mexican jewelry. I bought my girlfriend a handmade bracelet and necklace, while I bought a turtle trinket. We stopped by Aroma del Che... Café where I shared a chai latte with my girlfriend.
We returned home and played lotería, Mexico's version of bingo.  It was too late to light the fireworks my cousin had bought, so our excitement had to be quelled for a different time. The following morning me, my girlfriend, my younger cousin, and her boyfriend headed back home around 11 am. It took us a while to find the appropriate entrance at the Otay border crossing. Finally, we found the way after I asked a gas store employee for directions.

The hour and a half wait was assuaged by Mexican junk food, homemade ice cream, and refreshing water to wash it all down. We all recounted our experiences and tentatively planned our next family getaway. With a trip to Barcelona and Queretaro in the works, my girlfriend and I are excited to add to our growing list of places we've visited. Don't hesitate to get your passport and book a trip down to Baja California as soon as possible.

My Rosarito stay was infinitely better due to our idyllic Airbnb. Sign up for an Airbnb account using this link, and I'll get travel credit for the refferal: www.airbnb.com/c/fredh243

Getting laid off from work always sucks. It usually happens when businesses need to downsize or find ways to save money, so I don't take it as a reflection of my professional skills at all, but I still felt like I needed to go on a trip immediately after getting laid off from my marketing copywriter position at a marketing agency. I decided I was going on a road trip to San Luis Obispo, known to it's residents as the happiest place on Earth.

I went on the road trip alone because my girlfriend couldn't get the time off. I packed my things in a camouflage duffel bag that I probably stole from someone and took off, more excited than I had been in a long time. It might sound like I was running away from my problems, and you'd be right. Vacations, in essence, are moments of temporary retreat from our day-to-day life.



I was 4 hours into my drive to San Luis Obispo, minding my own business, when I saw red and blue lights flashing in my rear view mirror. The officer approached and asked me if I knew how fast I was driving. Obviously, not fast enough if he caught up with me. He gave me a speeding ticket. I know I was in the wrong. I shouldn't have pulled over.

Once I settled into my hotel room, I explored downtown San Luis Obispo. Without a plan and with a very small budget, I walked around aimlessly, meandering into the tiny San Luis Obispo Art Museum. After spending no more than ten minutes inside, I left and walked around the town. I found The Palm Theatre, a solar-powered alternative cinema. I bought a ticket for a matinee screening of Genius, the story of famous book editor Maxwell Perkins who worked with Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and Thomas Wolfe, geniuses in their own right, but not better than me, of course.



I had some time to kill so I headed to the nearest brewery which was Central Coast Brewing. I had a few tasters of their tasty brews and walked back to the theatre. As I walked into The Palm Theatre, I noticed that all the people who were watching the movie were really old. I was concerned they would drop dead in the middle of the movie. That'd be quite an inconvenience for me.

After the movie, I walked around some more. I was a vagabond without a goal or a cause. There really was no rush, expectation, or worry in my mind, despite having relatively no money and no career prospects in sight. So I continued to explore all the downtown landmarks. The bubblegum wall is still one of the grossest works of art I've ever seen.



Walking around in the mid-afternoon sun really wore me out. I went back to my hotel room to make a plan for the rest of the evening and just relax. I loved the fact that I was alone but I also felt lonely. The only known cure for loneliness in my book is pizza and beer, so I ordered some pizza from Woodstock Pizza and headed back to downtown to pick up my tasty companions.

As I was walking toward the Woodstock establishment I noticed there was a large gathering of people and vendors on the street. I had come during the San Luis Obispo Farmer's market. I walked through a flurry of masses witnessing some of the most mouthwatering food I've ever seen. I left my pizza in the car to see if I could score some delectable treats, but only ended up getting a thai iced tea. I noticed there was a small sour-centric brewery nearby so I just had to go there. Libertine Brewing Company had a tiny tasting room, but I loved their selection of sour beers.



The next day I explored San Luis Obispo's great hiking trails and coast. I took a trip to Pirate's Cove, took tons of pictures, and was apparently right next to a nude beach, although nobody there was naked. I guess it was a slow day. The rocky cliffs were majestic. The foliage seemed greener than I'd ever seen it. The waves crashed into the rocks below me. It was chilly but it felt great. I loved Smuggler's Cave, a giant tunnel-like opening that lead to the edge of the cliffs where you could peer down and see the incredible waves crashing down below you.

The stillness of the scenery filled me with a longing to connect with nature. I went on a retreated hiking trail, which in retrospect was a big mistake, not because anything bad happened, but because something bad could've happened. I didn't want to end up on an Investigation Discovery show because I decided to walk alone right into a killer's hideaway.



I made my way to some sand dunes, took a seat, and began to read a book. I watched as other groups of people hung out with their friends, laughed, and tried not to fall as they raced full-speed down the sand dunes. It was getting late so I went back home after a long day of baking in the sun. That was my last day at San Luis Obispo.

It was a great experience overall. I really enjoyed connecting with the simple pleasures of life like being relatively healthy and feeling something relatively close to happiness and excitement. It truly was one of the happiest places on Earth. I guess it wouldn't have been so bad to run into that killer's hideaway after all.

Many people don't know that apart from being an extremely talented writer, I'm also a world-class musician, if you consider the world only the greater San Diego area. Back in my early twenties, I was far more invested in writing, listening to, and playing music more than anything else. My "dream" was to be the lead singer/multi-instrumental frontman of a touring band.

After a slew of high school bands, I met a few of the most talented musicians I've ever known to form Mufasa. Why Mufasa? I'm not really sure, but we were a beloved hometown band and we had great shows where our friends and fans could witness history be made. Our pinnacle as a band came during a Battle of the Bands competition at a local music venue. Rightfully, we took first place in an almost movie-like fashion.
We were last to perform and by then more than a third of the crowd had left thinking some other band had won the prestigious title and cash prize. People went crazy over the ska, reggae, metal or whatever the hell the other band's were playing. We came out and and electrified the crowd, as usual. We all listened backstage for the judges to announce the runners-up and grand prize winner. Moments later, I heard a voice coming through the speakers saying that Mufasa had won first place. After the standing ovation that lasted late into the night, I humbly accepted the cash prize.

Mufasa played many house shows and concert venues and even recorded a few demo songs that would come to change the face of modern music as we know it. We were essentially a super group of the best musicians the North County area of San Diego had to offer. But like many bands before us and many bands to come, we parted ways due to different life priorities. It was a mutual decision and I'm glad to have all of those non-blacked-out memories of the audience singing along to words I had written in a genius frenzy. I wouldn't trade those memories in for anything in the world, except maybe money.



My passion for music remained strong immediately after, so me and one of my best friends from high school decided to write our own music. We immediately got to writing music and completed track after track of pure fire. Our band name, Teenage Heavy, was acquired through the obvious means, a witch house/chill wave band name generator. Although this band never won any awards or even played a single show, I'm proud of our musical output that anyone can hear on our Soundcloud. If you want to be in a successful band, the key is to find extremely talented bandmates so you can ride their coat-tails. It worked for me.

All you need to be a great lead singer is a huge ego. Think of all of the best frontmen, Freddie Mercury, Robert Plant, Jim Morrison. They all were annoyingly great singers, but also great entertainers. You don't even need expensive professional vocal lessons or any discernible skill at all. All you need is a computer, auto-tune, so many vocal effects, and you can produce a work of art as well. Not better than me, though.