The Mind of Logan Paul

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by Blaine Flawson

Illustrations by J.A. Burnett

People have been a special kind of mean to the Pauls. First, Hollywood cast Aaron Paul in the desperate Fast & Furious rip-off, Need for Speed. Then Urban Dictionary called the youngest Paul a “coconut water drinking plutonium eating man baby thing that is doing no work for the world.”

But perhaps no Paul has had it quite as hard as Logan Paul, Jake’s elder brother and a social media personality whose YouTube subscriber count tops 15 million but whose number of enemies is too great to count.

Paul has made some unfortunate mistakes in the past year, including his hapless decision to mock a suicide victim on camera or the teensy mistake of bouncing back from his brief redemption tour with a rather luckless vlog post of him trying to revive a dead rodent…by galvanizing it with a Taser.

These minor moral hiccups seem to be threatening the maverick artist’s brand and costing him followers, but is this all really necessary? Should the world shun Logan Paul as yet another online narcissist with too much money, too much hair and not enough of a soul? Or is this witch hunt distracting from the real boy inside the slick Logan Paul package?

These are the burning questions I felt needed answering, which is why I endeavored to create the following series. After dragging ass and talking to lame nobodies thrice removed from Logan Paul himself for the first three weeks, monetization finally came in and I was able to proceed with our one-on-one time.

Alas, monetization meant I would need content in which to place our sponsor’s ad, so now you’ll have to read what a lot of other bozos think about Paul before we get to the meat. Nevertheless, I think you’ll agree that you’re in for a heavy dose of awesome sauce.

So, buckle up and step inside the mind…of Logan Paul.

Day One

I am sitting on a twelve-thousand dollar Herman Miller Eames sofa with an angled profile, rubbing my eczema-afflicted chin with one hand and clutching a Missoni Tabasco Decorative Pillow to my bosom dramatically. Our cameraman is videotaping me for the site’s vlog, so I furrow my brow because I’m, like, totes perturbed by what I’m hearing.

Across from me, in a Eurotech Seating NUVEMBLK leather office chair, sits Maxine Albright-Gaines, a 28-year old therapist who knows all that there is to know about narcissists…thanks to the handy tome she holds in her lap.

At my urging, Mrs. Albright-Gaines, nay, Ms. Albright, formerly Mrs. Albright-Gaines leafs through the pages of The Epic Simpleton’s Guide to Psychological Disorders until she finds a section regarding sociopathy.

The artist formerly known as Mrs. Albright-Gaines reads aloud for my Olympus miniature voice recorder and Todd the Videographer to hear. “Narcissists and sociopaths have an unyielding desire for attention which makes them predisposed to sharing their projected personae on camera.” She pauses and elicits a throaty “uh” before going off book. “So, uh, like, what this is saying can, like, totally apply to social media.”

I gasp. “So you’re saying that the people I work with could actually be narcissists?”

I try not to look into Todd’s camera as I say this, but the urge is too much. I lose myself for a moment, at which point I switch gears and start talking about my childhood. Ms. Albright fixes me with a mock-empathetic gaze, the pro!

After leaving Ms. Albright’s office, I don’t know what to think. I’m at a loss, I feel like my head is going to literally explode.

I need to decompress. Time for Chipotle.

Day Two

Today, we’re in the heart of San Fernando Valley, talking to a former music video director and full-time pornographer who used to be part of Logan Paul’s alleged pussy posse. Otto Ballz, brother of YouTube sensation Skylar Ballz, claims not to have seen Logan “in a minute,” but on his coffee table I can quickly spot several framed photographs of Logan teabagging Otto as he sleeps.

In the photos, Logan is grinning wickedly at the camera and flashing the devil horns. Otto’s sleeping face is glistening with grundle sweat and he wears a serene and oblivious smile.

“Those weren’t taken last weekend,” he says. “I don’t even know how they got there. Probably one of my bitches.”

In between pulls off a monstrously large vape pen, Otto assures me that Logan Paul is not a narcissist but a misunderstood artist who is poised to change the face of pop culture.

“He’s a living legend and everyone’s gonna want to work with him in the future if they don’t already. Seriously, bro. Dude is fire. They’re gonna be offering to suck his toes for a chance at a collab.”

“Then why aren’t you working with him anymore?”

Otto looks panicked when I ask this and he swiftly cracks open an energy drink, bringing it to his lips to give himself enough time to muster a phony answer.

“Hey,” Otto says, changing the subject after a fine belch. “You ever see Logan’s charity challenges?”

I shake my head in the negatory. Otto shows me videos on his phone, videos in which someone who looks curiously similar to Logan Paul takes shots of goat urine in an effort to raise money for sickle cell anemia.

“He’s a philanthropist,” Otto says.

“Or a philanthropiss, as it were,” I say.

Otto doesn’t find this funny and wastes no time in escorting me off of his property. From there, I hit up Logan’s ex-girlfriend’s joint, a lovely two-story home in the heart of Beverly Hills. She won’t come to the door, so I keep leaning on a bullhorn until she finally steps out on the balcony.

I yell up to her, “What can you tell me about Logan Paul and narcissism?”

“Nothing,” she brays. “I don’t fuck with a Logan Paul and I don’t know who Marc Issism is. Now, get off my lawn, loser!”

Bully!

[For the sake of brevity, we are offering the rest of this groundbreaking series in an abridged version]

Day 4

Mostly I just talk about Logan’s brother Jake Paul today. For awhile, I watch re-runs of Breaking Bad and wonder if Aaron Paul ever did a 23 & Me to make sure he’s not related to these fuck boys.

For the next few days, I gasp a lot at everything people tell me about Logan because views and thumbnails.

Day 15

Logan Paul meets me in a Taco Bell parking lot. He is behind the wheel of a Day-Glo pink monster truck. On his feathery blond hair, he wears a Fargo hat…even though it’s 98 degrees out.

As he climbs down from the truck’s cab, I find it striking how much smaller he is in person. This is not the beast that came back from his apology arc with a pay per view boxing match. This is a lanky, gaunt young WASP with the features of a young Eminem impersonator. His pointy nose and thin lips don’t suggest the presence of a multi-millionaire superstar so much as a sickly Polish heroin addict.

Before he reaches me, he’s downed two gallon containers of spring water and tossed them asunder. As I approach him, he lunges and traps me in an awkward bear hug. “What’s up, bro? I love you!”

I tell him I love him too and, for a moment, I think I actually mean it. Logan doesn’t have time to suffer fools gladly, so he hurries me over to the Taco Bell storefront and abruptly drops trou. As a cameraman materializes out of nowhere, Logan spreads his ass cheeks apart and presses his butthole to the restaurant’s window.

Looking through the glass, I can see several patrons laughing and holding up their iPhones. They’re getting a kick out of Logan’s shtick which is just what he wants.

I ask him what he’s doing and he tells me that he pretended to kill himself in front of a bunch of thirteen-year old fans at this Taco Bell earlier in the year and this is his way of making it up to them.

“But you can’t actually believe that those same fans are in there now without any advanced knowledge that you were gonna be here.”

“No,” he says. “But that doesn’t matter, they’ll see it on my channel and they’ll know what’s up.”

Already I have seen a side of Logan that I didn’t know existed, a gentle and caring side, one that seems genuinely contrite. Logan removes his ass from the glass and pulls up his drawstrings. Turning around, he sees the outline that his cheeks have left on the window. He takes out a Magic marker and signs his signature in between the two cheeks.

“That’s immortal, bro.” He repeats himself. “That’s immortal.”

As I follow Logan through his daily routine of chugging water, hitting the gym and annoying strangers, I discover a disciplined young man who knows how to care for his body and soul in ways that most of us would not understand.

“Did you ever hear of Lay Oh Tee Zoo,” he asks me as we do Naked Juice shots on a Persian rug in his massive living room.

“Huh?”

“Lay Oh Tee Zoo. He’s some old chinky dude like that dead guy I taped.”

Later in the day, I remind Logan about this earlier conversation. His face lights up with a manic passion. “Oh yeah, bro! Lay Oh Tee Zoo says, ‘Do the difficult things while they are easy and do the great things while they are small. A journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step.’ That’s how come I gotta parkour over these rooftops and land on that fat couple down there.”

Before I could ask him what he was talking about, Logan leaped off the ledge of the rooftop on which we were standing and somehow landed on a roof two doors down. From my vantage point, I wasn’t able to see what he was doing, but he showed me a video later on wherein he flails off the roof, lands on an obese husband and wife, and begins making farting noises in their faces. The video ends with him flashing them the peace sign before running away.

Logan was kind enough to let me stay in his guest house for the evening. Unfortunately, the toilet in the guest house no longer functions properly since he set off M-80s in it as part of a crude prank.

At around midnight, all the Chipotle has gotten to me and I sneak into Logan’s house to use the bathroom. As I’m heading to the john, I hear whimpering. Making my way to the end of the hall, I can see the faint glow of a television from beneath Logan’s bedroom door.

The whimpering becomes more guttural and grows in volume as I carefully turn the knob and peek inside. Logan is sitting, naked, at the foot of his bed. The Wolf of Wall Street is playing on the wall-mounted plasma and it’s up to the scene where Jordan Belfort and his thieving staff have to vacate their offices.

“All that money and power,” Logan sobs, choking on the words and spitting up on himself.

The next day I ask him why he was crying and Logan immediately puffs out his chest. “I wasn’t crying, bro! I was pissing out my eyes.”

Day 16

After sleeping restlessly, I am awakened by Logan dumping a bucket of ice water on me and hosing me in the face with pepper spray. He cackles for what feels like an eternity then apologizes and invites me to breakfast.

In the kitchen, I get what I was promised—an intimate sit-down with the YouTube legend. There’s only one problem: Logan Paul doesn’t have anything to say. The only insight I can glean is that he wants to be a billionaire before he turns 30 and he hopes to die before he gets fat.

“My body’s my temple, bro. If I’m ever not swoll no more I’ll eat a gun…probably on camera.”

When I inquire about what makes him tick, he takes a moment to consider it. Finally, he fixes me with dumb eyes and answers in the form of a question. “My heart?”

I ask him if he’s genuinely contrite for the mistakes he has made. He begins to piss out of his eyes again, only this time nothing really comes out. “I don’t want to hurt anyone, know what I’m sayin’? I, like, don’t mean any harm. People are so soft.”

When pressed about what he means by this, Logan takes his shirt off and begins pounding on his abs. “You know?”

No, I don’t know and I suspect that I never will. Probably Logan won’t either.

“Are you a sociopath?”

“I have sociopathic tendencies.”

“Meaning?”

“Sometimes.”

“Are you a narcissist?”

There’s that blank stare again. “I don’t know what that is,” he says. “I know I’m a star and that’s all you need to know. I’m a fuckin’ boss, know what I mean?”

“Do you get off on pissing people off?”

Logan shrugs. “I don’t know, I’m an entertainer. Does that answer your question?”

“Are you afraid of death,” I ask.

“I’m afraid of being poor.” I came here to give you an inside look at the mind of Logan Paul, but I’ve come to find that this is an impossible feat since Logan Paul doesn’t have a mind. But he does have a fight coming up and tickets are available for pre-order. Get yours today!

 

B.F. 2018

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