FatKidsLie

I know I have issues with smells/odours and I tend to go a little wonky when I get pissed off (usually resulting in tazers and police and night in jail where I have to use a roll of toilet paper as a pillow) but help me out on this, and tell me if I’m wrong:

I’m back in school after a 7 year absence. Since I’m not working I get to have 8:00am classes. 8:00 in the morning means that other than taking a dump, showering and eating breakfast this class should be the first thing you do that day. Therefore there is absolutely no excuse for BO. Other then hating your life. I was told that some people don’t always shower in the morning. That is not cool. At least spray yourself down with febreeze.

The only thing that comes anywhere near being as bad as that are the douche-nozzles that dump a whole bottle of rancid Albanian knock-off cologne on their junk instead of actually showering. That shit smells like rotten onions and old gym-socks left in a garbage bag in the trunk of a car for a month and then blended with a quart of hobo piss. I was sitting in my Vector Calculus class this morning and I couldn’t pay attention because my eyes were stinging so bad. I had to run to the physics lab room next door and use their eyewash fountain. I thought that smell was still on me, but no… it isn’t! I asked random people how I smelled (yes I was that worried that I ran up and made people smell me. They do it because if a 6’2, 314lb man tells you to do something you do it). They didn’t notice anything so that means that either you killed their sense of smell or you left more than enough stank particles in my nose that I have Phantom Scent Syndrome!

If I have to smell this all day I think I’m gonna climb a clock tower with a sniper rifle.

I need to find a ninja who’ll teach me the art of the roundhouse kick. That way when people need one, to set them straight, I can deliver. It’ll be my community service. Like that time I had to rake leaves on the side of the highway because I had to poop really bad after getting trashed off of peach schnapps and Royal Crown and this asshole wouldn’t let me use his bathroom. I know that he had one ‘cause when he opened the door I took a look in his house and he had some really nice stuff like a wide-screen TV and shit. When he wouldn’t let me poop inside I took a dump on his lawn and broke a sprinkler head off and made a bidet out of it (‘cause I can’t stand skidmarks). Only this time? It’s for a greater good and will make a real difference.

My sister, Suzan (as in “you’re cruzin fer a bruizin from…”) works in one of the worst, most dangerous junior high schools in the city. As a Special Ed teacher. With emotionally disturbed kids. Who’s parents, siblings and sometimes themselves are in gangs.

Sometimes the parents are in rival gangs.

But anyway…

One day my Suzan is walking down the hallway and she hears “MISS SUZAN RUUUUUN!!!!!” from a kid running away from where she’s going. so.. she does. She runs away. Takes a look back and sees some dude running around waving a machete. The guy gets closer and closer as she’s running and then the grossest, greasiest most foul smelling left back 4 times kid in her school, with a greasy mustache grabs the guy and throws him across the hallway and into the lockers and continues to run…

What caused this is that one student had a hankerchief in her back pocket. and some boy decided to play around and pull it out. BUT! this was no ordinary hankerchief. This was her gang colors and such an insult needs to be avenged….

So she told her parents who got their posse together and stormed the school. Makes sense though in a school where teachers get shot in the ass with BB guns for going outside to take a smoke.

Yeah. That happened too.

One day a teacher goes into the office after her smoke break screaming “CALL 911!!! i’ve been SHOT!!!” but… it was a BB pellet. In her ass. Another teacher goes up to her and says “Yeah. Same thing happened to me. Hit my ass. It’s OK. Didn’t even rip my pants. They did it again when I went out for my afternoon smoke. That one hit my hand, but it barely broke skin.”

This is what my sister deals with every day.

I don’t know why I thought of this incident, since it happened like, 13 years ago and I haven’t thought of it since. I’m sure that the statute of limitations has expired on this since it was just stupid…

When I was in highschool I got to take bowling instead of gym since I had a huge problem with group showers and changing in front of other people. Oddly enough I have little to no problem with public nudity, just the whole “all of us guys are showering together and parading around with our dicks out” thing kinda skeves me out a little. I’m all for gays being allowed to practice homosex all they want but even I have limits to what I’m comfortable experiencing.

I’d never make it in prison.

And like the man said “School is prison“… gymclass doubly so.

So in order to not be locked a room of assorted dicks I took bowling. It only met a couple times a week, so I got to get out early the other three days. Which was great for me because that meant I could drink 40z and smoke up at the train station or in my friend’s garage. It further proves that bowling is the slacker’s golf.

One day, after a particularly successful couple frames, I decided to get a Milkyway bar from the vending machine. I put in my 50c. I pushed E6 (which is always where you get a Milkyway bar), the screw turned and turned and turned and stoped. With my Milkyway bar still stuck in there.

Bastards. I stomped back and forth. Walked to Karen and Bill and said “Motherfucking machine took my money” Bill responded with “Take your revenge…” and handed me a 12lb green tigerseye bowling ball. WIth a chip in it. I looked at Karen, since she was a fairly attractive girl with GIANT boobs and I was 16 I had to do what she said. So I followed her advice when she said “Yes. Do it. It is the ONLY way…”.

I picked up the bowling ball and went over to the vending machine with Bill and Karen following and … the door was plexiglass. Which is a bitch and a half to break with a bowling ball lemmetellsya.

Now infuriated I grab the machine and start shaking it like a Polaroid picture or a baby under the care of a British nany or a fat chick on a bus or whatever shaking thing you can think of. Use your imagination. It won’t hurt.

The employees at the bowling alley as well as the teacher just stared in wonder and amazement as I flipped that vending machine over onto its front, and then upside down and back unseating all the snackfoods and dropping them to the bottom for easy access for all the miscreants in the class. I simply took my Milkeyway bar, and a couple baggies of combos (as payback for making me flip over the machine) and went back to bowling.

Milkeyways are that good.

While going through some old photos and family memorabilia, I came across some of my dad’s old report cards. From gradeschool.

Yeah. He was a slacker. Now while I’m pushing 30 I realize that my dad was a hypocrite, at least when it came to school stuff. He had a worse homework record than I did! And I pride myself on the fact that I haven’t done homework since I was 8.

Well, I was going through them with my big sister, Suzan, who told me a story that my mean mean evily mean grandma told her about my dad’s fist day in Kindergarten.

In the late 1930’s my family was living in Queens. My grandfather had already gone off to work (hauling seltzer bottles) and my Grandmother’s job was to get my dad all ready for school. He was excited! He was ready to start his education! He went in, did the whole pledge of allegiance thing and sat down for class.

At some point, around 11am or so My grandmother is in the kitchen, doing Laundry (because they were poor and that’s where poor people used to do their laundry) when she hears a knock on the back door to the apartment, she walks over thinking that another housewife had come to either gossip or borrow some sugar or gin (it was 11am afterall). But it was none of that. It was my dad.

My dad had gone on a bathroom break, as evidenced by the giant wooden paddle that had the words “BATHROOM PASS” hand carved into it. When questioned he said that he had had enough. That school was boring and that he didn’t want to go any more. He did say that he’d go back in the morning to return the bathroom pass. He would’ve done it right away but he didn’t want to get in trouble for wandering the halls.

Although he had thought all this through, made a few good points, such as other students being boogerbutts, poopooheads and just in general basically schmucky, Grandma wasn’t buying it. You see, for the first time in 6 years Grandma had the house to herself. To drink gin and fart into the couch all morning. And nothing was going to ruin that.

She grabed my dad by his ear, drug him, crying, back to school. Back through the neighborhood. Past the Butcher. Past the Baker. If they had one, they’d’ve gone past the Candlestick maker. But there hasn’t been one of those outside of an historic town like Williamsburg for over 100 years. But that’s neither here nor there.

Made my dad apologize to the teacher. Who he then called a “shithead”. His favorite insult ever since.

When I was in 4th grade I, along with a few of the more famous trouble-makers in my class made a substitute teacher cry. I also believe that she decided to quit teaching and re-evaluate her career path. I don’t know that the second part ACTUALLY happened, but I like to believe it did.

Mrs. Rosenberg was out one day for a batmitzvah for one of her cats and the school pulled a newly graduated girl as the substitute. I remember thinking that she was young… looked like my friend’s sister (who I had a 4th grade fatboy crush on). She was the first girl I’d ever seen with a nose-ring. She was one of those newwave discopunks that became teachers so they could be “cool” teachers like Welcome Back Kotter, but are really pathetic and useless like Gabe Kaplan.

And school is prison. If you show any weakness you’re gonna be somebody’s bitch. She became our collective bitch.

It started innocently enough too. You know that organized book-drop prank? Where everyone drops a textbook all at the same time? We weren’t THAT well organized. We kept dropping books, pencils, threw rulers at the blackboard. All the normal annoying crap that kids do. While this annoyed her she’d only stare at us and ask us how she could help us “be good little boys and girls”.

So John Walters told her how: “YOU CAN SUCK MY NUTS!!!” which led to applause from the students in the back row. You see, my class was something like the classroom scene from The Forbidden Zone. Complete with gunfights and sing-alongs. Mrs Rosenberg knew how to handle us. But this girl? No such luck!

If she had been more like my sister, Suzan (“… yer cruizin’ fer a bruisin…”), she’d’ve been alright. But alas, the smell of fear was in the water. And our 9-year-old brains turned that into a signal to attack:

It started with a steady stream of bathroom passes. We’d all go, get the pass, make noise going through the door, make noise coming back through the door, slam the pass down… Repeat. I think I went to the bathroom 3 times?

Then when asked to do a math problem on the blackboard, Sean Haggarty decided that 45÷9= a picture of a giant penis and balls. with a smiley face on the balls. He was trying to draw a silly poofy mushtash on it, but she had him return to his seat before he was done.

During our morning “reading time”, Michael DeSantos decided that he was going to get naked. Our sub tried using psychology on him by saying that she’s not impressed by bad behavior and that his being naked was nothing that she hadn’t seen before. His response? “Have you seen this before?” and he pissed an arc across his desk. All while holding a copy of his book.

He got to go home for that. Our assistant principal put us all on warning. Now, we liked this guy. So we told him that we’d be good. We didn’t want him to have to watch us or anything. And we were good, until lunch.

Lunch that day consisted of burgers and tater-tots. Greasy, slimy, cold, undercooked, expired tater-tots. The kind that only grade-school cafeterias can get away with serving.

My friend, Tim, and I piled everyone’s tots on our trays. Mixed in some Ketsup. FILLED our mouths with the grossness. Sat on either side of the substitute. And in unison spit the tots/ketsup grossness onto the table. Our classmates approved.

I think that was the final straw. She burst out into tears, grabbed all her hippy stuff and ran out of the building.

FINALLY! We had won!

Our assistant principal took over the class for the rest of the day. For the life of me, I don’t know why we didn’t get calls home about this. Maybe because it was the entire class? Maybe because he secretly hated hippies or new-wave discopunks? Or whatever the crap she was?

I don’t know. All I know is that we never saw her again. I kind of wonder what happened to her, but not really.