It Gets Worse

by Shane Dawson

  I missed her too. I thought about her every time I passed the bra section in a department store. I also thought about my sexuality and questioned a lot of things, but that’s a different story. My mom had a hard time dealing with my grandma’s death. My mom kept a kind of shrine dedicated to her in her bedroom. Her dresser was full of framed pictures of her mother, and there were little knickknacks from my grandma’s old apartment scattered around. Walking into Mom’s room was kind of like walking into a museum of my grandma. I knew it wasn’t healthy, but who was I to tell her how to grieve. I literally ate an entire sheet cake when I found out Sister, Sister had been canceled. They didn’t even give it a finale episode! Heartless assholes.

  The next day I was talking to a friend about what happened and they suggested I hire some ghost hunters to come to my house to investigate. Part of me felt weird about it and thought it was disrespectful to the dead. The other part of me thought it would be good vlogging material for my YouTube channel, so I found a ghost hunter as soon as I could!

  I invited my friend Steve to come over the night the ghost hunters came to my house. I thought it might make for some good entertainment and he loved paranormal stuff. But truth be told, I was terrified that a random dude who thought he could talk to dead people would be inside my house, so I wanted to fill it with as many witnesses as possible. When the ghost hunter arrived, he gave us a rundown of how the night was going to go.

  GHOST HUNTER: Alright! Here’s how it’s gonna go down. We are gonna set up night-vision cameras all around your house and set sensor alarms around every area that we deem a portal.

  ME: What’s a portal?

  GHOST HUNTER: A location that the ghosts use to come here from the other side.

  ME: Makes sense.

  GHOST HUNTER: We also are going to use this heat sensor device to tell us when a spirit is in our presence.

  JERID: What about a Ouija board?

  GHOST HUNTER: You better be fucking kidding. Do you want to die tonight, son?

  JERID: No.

  GHOST HUNTER: Good. Then stick with me and don’t try anything stupid.

  JERID: Come on, bro, isn’t this whole thing kind of stupid?

  The Ghost Hunter got in Jerid’s face with the glare of a pro wrestler about to take down a competitor.

  GHOST HUNTER: You think this is funny, bro? You know what’s not funny? A demon coming through a portal disguising itself as your grandma and possessing your mother so that she kills herself.

  MOM: Wait, WHAT?!

  GHOST HUNTER: Sorry, forgot you were here.

  Twelve thirty a.m. rolled around. The time that I had seen my grandma in my closet. The Ghost Hunter made his way through my house with his detectors and other shit I didn’t understand. My friends and I walked slowly behind him, ready to be traumatized. As we walked past my mom’s room his detector started going crazy.

  GHOST HUNTER: Wait . . . there’s something in this room.

  MOM: That’s my room.

  GHOST HUNTER: Not anymore.

  He slowly opened the door, and we all took a deep breath. As he stepped over the threshold, his detector beeped louder.

  GHOST HUNTER: It’s really strong in here. Did your grandma ever spend time in this room?

  ME: No. She died before we bought this house.

  GHOST HUNTER: Well, she must be making up for lost time, because she is definitely here.

  His detector started to go insane as he walked by the closet.

  GHOST HUNTER: She’s in here.

  STEVE: Wow, Shane, she’s in the closet! You guys really do have a lot in common.

  ME: Very funny.

  STEVE: Meh. Not my best.

  The ghost hunter opened the closet and put his detector inside. BEEP BEEP BEEP!!! The detector started to burn his hand.

  GHOST HUNTER: Ow! It’s making this thing so hot. This is really intense. She really wants us to know she’s with us.

  All the lights were out, so it was hard to see. As the ghost hunter reached deeper into the closet, his detector hit an object and broke.

  GHOST HUNTER: Wow. I’ve never had this happen before. What’s back here?

  MOM: Um, I don’t know. Just random things. Clothes. Pictures . . . oh wait.

  My mom’s face went white. She remembered what was in the closet. She walked over and reached in. As she did, we all started to smell something familiar.

  JERID: What is that?

  STEVE: It smells like perfume.

  ME: It’s hers.

  My mom pulled out the object that had broken the detector. I shined my flashlight on it and we saw that it was a large picture of my grandmother. We all gasped, and my mom dropped the picture in shock.

  GHOST HUNTER: She’s here.

  We all got really quiet. None of us knew what to say. None of us wanted to speak because we were afraid we would start a conversation with the dead. Then my mom started crying and picked up the picture.

  MOM: Momma. It’s me. Are you here?

  As a tear fell from her cheek I could see the hope in her eyes. She wanted to talk to her mother so badly. Things had just gotten very real for all of us.

  GHOST HUNTER: Ethel, if you are here with us, gives us a knock on the wall.

  After a moment of silence a soft knock was heard in the room. We all held our breaths. My mom continued.

  MOM: Mom. I miss you so much.

  ME: I miss you too, Grandma.

  JERID: Me too.

  STEVE: We all do.

  Everyone in the room started to get emotional. We could all feel her presence and we could all feel that she wanted to communicate so badly but couldn’t. Then we heard another knock.

  GHOST HUNTER: Ethel, if you are having trouble crossing over to the other side give us a knock. We can help you.

  Silence. No knock.

  GHOST HUNTER: If she isn’t having trouble crossing over then that means she came here to tell you something or to help you in some way.

  ME: Grandma. Is there something you want to tell me?

  Knock.

  ME: What is it?

  Knock.

  GHOST HUNTER: She can’t speak the way we do. You might need to see a medium.

  ME: But I thought that’s what you did?

  GHOST HUNTER: I only find the ghosts and help them back to the light. You need someone to translate.

  So the next day I began my search for a medium. Never in my life did I think I would need to find someone to help me talk to a dead person. How do you even find that? Luckily one of my friends had a family friend who was a legit medium. She had solved murders and predicted historical events. I knew if I wanted to talk to my grandma, I would have to see her.

  I walked up to the medium’s front door with sweaty palms and a lump in my throat. I didn’t know what to expect. Was my grandma going to show herself again? Was she going to tell me something I didn’t want to hear? Was she going to ask why I touched myself to Food Network competition shows? So many questions were running through my mind, and all I wanted to do was find out the answers. The door opened and standing in front of me was a sweet-looking woman with kind eyes. There was a shaggy golden retriever at her feet, so I instantly trusted her.

  MEDIUM: You must be Shane.

  ME: Yes. Thank you so much for meeting with me.

  MEDIUM: Wow. You have so many spirits around you.

  ME: Really? That would explain all the voices in my head!

  I laughed. She didn’t.

  MEDIUM: Yes, it would. Don’t listen to them. Some aren’t on your side.

  Fuck.

  MEDIUM: Come in.

  She guided me down the stairs into a basement that had been converted into her reading room. It felt safe and calm, so I wasn’t as scared as I should have been walking down into a stranger’s basement. I sat down on the couch facing her and she instantly knew what I had come for.

  MEDIUM: You’re here to talk to your grandmother, aren’t you?

  I hadn’t told her that on the phone. She
only knew that ghosts were trying to contact me.

  ME: Yes. Wow. How did you know?

  MEDIUM: She’s here with you. Sitting right next to you.

  At that point I’m pretty sure I shat myself. I felt my grandma’s energy, but I was too scared to look over my shoulder.

  MEDIUM: Wow. She sure loves you. She’s looking at you and she can’t stop smiling.

  I started to tear up.

  ME: Ya. She was my rock.

  MEDIUM: You guys were very similar. Almost like soul mates.

  ME: She was my best friend.

  The medium smiled. I felt calm. I wasn’t scared anymore. The energy from my grandma was all love. I wasn’t afraid like I had been that night in my bedroom. It was different now.

  ME: What does she look like? I heard that when you die you go back to your young self.

  MEDIUM: Yes, that’s true. You go back to the age you were when you felt the best about yourself. She looks to be in her thirties. Beautiful black hair. A pastel-colored dress. Sparkling blue eyes. What a gorgeous woman.

  ME: Really? When I saw her in my closet she was older and wearing a robe.

  MEDIUM: She wanted to look familiar to you. How you remembered her. If she had come to you like this you wouldn’t have known who it was.

  ME: Ya, I probably would have thought there was a dead hooker in my room.

  MEDIUM: Hey! You made her laugh!

  ME: She and I share a sick sense of humor.

  MEDIUM: I can see that. I also feel a negative energy. She was kind of a . . .

  ME: Bitch?

  MEDIUM: I didn’t say it, you did.

  ME: She and I had a shared view on life. Pretty much fuck everything.

  MEDIUM: Well, she still has that for sure. Sorry, Ethel.

  ME: So what does she want to tell me?

  The medium directed her attention just to my right.

  MEDIUM: Ethel, what would you like your sweet grandson to know? What are you trying to tell him?

  After a few moments of silence the medium got her answer. She turned back to me with a look of concern.

  MEDIUM: She’s worried about you. She says you have too many things going on in your business life and you are slowly burning out. She says you are spinning too many plates and that if you don’t give yourself a break, you are going to wear yourself down.

  ME: I do have a lot going on. But I like to work.

  MEDIUM: There’s a difference between liking to work and using work as a way to avoid your problems. She says that you have some personal issues you need to deal with and that you need to let go of some of the work so you have time to deal with them. She’s scared for you, Shane. She says she can feel your energy dying.

  She was right. I hadn’t taken a day off in five years. I was so consumed with my work that I had let everything else in my life fall by the wayside. I didn’t have time for healthy relationships, I didn’t give myself time to recharge, and I definitely wasn’t taking care of my health. I was slowly fading away, and everyone in my life had started to notice. I suppose I was just in denial.

  MEDIUM: She loves you so much and she wants you to be happy. She says that the only way to find happiness is to be open to it. Stop hating yourself so much. That is her one regret. She feels that she passed her hatefulness on to you.

  ME: But that’s where my humor comes from. I’m so blessed to have inherited that part of her.

  MEDIUM: Yes, but she wants you to let some of the hatefulness go so you can enjoy life more. Something she didn’t get to do.

  I felt a touch on my hand. My arm hair stood up once again and a chill spread throughout my body.

  MEDIUM: You feel that, don’t you?

  ME: Yes. What is it?

  MEDIUM: She’s holding your hand. She’s with you, Shane. Always. She wants you to know that.

  I wiped a tear from my eye and let out a sigh. I felt safe. Loved. It was an amazing feeling.

  MEDIUM: She also wants to tell your mother something.

  ME: What?

  MEDIUM: She wants to tell your mother to let go of her. She says that there is some kind of shrine in your mother’s room? Memorabilia from your grandma’s life? Does that sound familiar?

  ME: Yes. Mom keeps all her stuff on the dresser and looks at it every day.

  MEDIUM: Your grandma wants her to pack that stuff up so she can move on. She’s been trying to tell her for weeks. It’s not healthy to be stuck in the past. She needs to heal.

  I knew that my mom needed to pack up all that stuff, but I hadn’t had the heart to tell her. But maybe if Grandma wanted her to, she would do it. After I left the medium, I went home to talk to my mom. I was concerned at first when I didn’t see her in the living room watching Bravo like she usually did every night at eight.

  ME: Mom?

  I heard her shout from her bedroom.

  MOM: I’m in here, sweetie!

  I walked into her bedroom and saw a box on her bed filled with my grandma’s knickknacks. She was packing up all the stuff on her dresser.

  ME: What are you doing?

  MOM: Something told me it was time to let go. I think I’m ready to move on. I love her so much, but I have to get over it. It’s just so hard.

  ME: Ok, this is so crazy because I was just at the medium’s house, and she told me that Grandma wanted you to pack up your shrine to her. She said she has been trying to tell you for weeks.

  My mom’s eyes filled with tears. My grandma had finally made the connection and told my mom it was ok to move on. It was a truly beautiful moment. My mom was so overwhelmed she moved to the bed and sat down. I walked over to her and sat down next to her. I grabbed her for a hug and we just held each other while we cried. It wasn’t a sad cry; it was a happy cry. My grandma cared so much for us and wasn’t going to stop haunting us until she got us to listen to her. Most ghosts need help moving on. This time it was us who needed the help. And I’m so glad my stubborn, crazy, awesome grandma was there to guide us.

  I love you, Grandma. Now stop haunting me and go fuck Elvis. I know you’ve always wanted to. Get it, girl. Get it.

  Human Trash

  About the Artist

  STEVEN PAANANEN, a self-inflated, full-time balloon artist from Boston, Massachusetts, started twisting balloons when he was sixteen. Now, at the age of twenty-three, he spends his weekends twisting at kids’ parties by day, then at karaoke bars by night. In his free time, he entertains people by creating zany Snapchat stories with his balloon art. Become his friend on Snapchat and Instagram @StevenBalloons.

  “Not Cool by YouTube Star Shane Dawson is a waste of time . . . comedy that only date-rapists, racists, and sociopaths could love.”

  —Los Angeles Times

  “No one involved (with Not Cool ) should ever be allowed to work in the movies again.”

  —The New York Times

  This wasn’t the first time I’d gotten a bad review. My entire YouTube career had been a one-sided game of darts. I put myself out there, and millions of people had the power to throw their criticisms my way and see how many will affect me. But this didn’t just start when I decided to create a YouTube channel. I’d been getting slammed by reviews like this since I was in high school.

  The first painful attack on my comedic style came from my psychology teacher, Mr. Roberts, when I was in my junior year of high school. What he said about me makes the Los Angeles Times look like My Little Pony.

  It was the first day of psychology class, and I was excited to learn about how my brain worked. I knew that for the most part it was powered by Diet Coke and Sharpie sniffs, but I wanted to know the real inner workings of my mind. Why did I have an obsession with dogs? Why is it so hard for me to focus on one thing at a time? Why are there so many members of the Black Eyed Peas when only will.i.am speaks? So many questions.

  As I walked into the classroom, I noticed that the teacher wasn’t there. I considered that maybe he’d had to take a last-minute bathroom break. Hell, if I had to teach a bunch of si
xteen-year-olds, I would need a porta-potty in my classroom for all the nervous diarrhea I’d be brewing.

  I looked around the class to see if there was anybody I knew. The only familiar face belonged to a girl I frequently saw in the hallways on my way to gym class. They called her the Human Tampon because one day she got her period while she was wearing all white. It’s so sad that one unfortunate moment can create a nickname that lasts forever. Or if you’re lucky like me, there’s just too much going on for someone to decide on just ONE nickname. Instead they come up with a different one for each moment of complete humiliation. My favorite at that time was “neck pussy,” which was given to me by a guy in my class because, and I quote, “Yo neck got more folds than a fat lady’s pussy! Imma call you neck pussy!” I truly admire this cultural period. Art is dead.

  I looked up toward the door and saw my friend Tara walk into the classroom. Finally someone who didn’t refer to me as genitalia hanging from my face.

  TARA: Hey, Shane!

  ME: Hey!

  She stared at me for a little too long.

  ME: What?

  TARA: I don’t see it.

  ME: See what?

  TARA: The pussy. I mean, I guess I could see how it looks like another mouth on your neck with the flaps and stuff, but not a pussy. A pussy is vertical, not horizontal.

  ME: Can we change the subject?

  TARA: Can I touch it?

  ME: Stop!

  TARA: Please! If you let me touch your pussy, I’ll let you touch mine.

  Interesting offer. But still I had to decline. We both laughed as the bell rang. The teacher still hadn’t made an appearance. We all started wondering where he was. Then the Human Tampon piped up.

  HUMAN TAMPON: Should we call the office?

  RANDOM BOY: Hey, aren’t you that girl who shit her pants in the hallway?

  HUMAN TAMPON: No. I’m the period girl.

  A nerdy-looking girl spoke from the back of the room.

  NERDY GIRL: I’m the shit girl.

  RANDOM BOY: I thought you were the girl with the neck pussy.

  ME: That’s me.

  RANDOM BOY: Damn. Y ’all need name tags.

  Just as the conversation was getting self-harm-inducing a man in his forties walked in carrying a surfboard and wearing a Hawaiian shirt unbuttoned down all the way to his belly button. He kind of looked like a teenager who had gotten detention twenty-five years ago and had just been dismissed. From the name on the board, I put together that his name was Mr. Roberts and from the amount of chest hair that was crawling out of his shirt, I assumed his nickname in high school was the Human Sweater.