FatKidsLie

I couple of weeks ago I had to take a mid-term exam in my Probabilities & Statistics class. I got sick from eating a bad burrito or something. I know I shouldn’t eat at questionable taco stands run by guys that don’t even speak Spanish but 3 tacos for a dollar is too good a deal to pass up even if it means that you shit your asshole inside out.

So I get up in the morning and instantly puke out a few organs. I then go and shower and then think that I’m gonna fart but I totally shit in the shower. I’ve NEVER done that. Not even as a baby.

When I was a baby the WORST thing I’ve ever done was going boomboom in the cat’s litter box. I was totally proud of it too. Because I thought that I was helping the environment by not having to flush. Also around that time I peed and I missed the toilet and then my mom got mad at me and rubbed my nose in it like a dog.

So anyway I mistakenly think that I can take this mid-term exam that covers everything up to conditional discrete and continuous probability and also reverse conditional probabilities… Midway through the exam I realize that I’m gonna be sick… so I hurry up and answer as best as I can, but I can barely read the questions since I’m running a fever and I’m sweating a gallon an hour….

As soon as I’m done I hand in the test and run to the bathroom. I sit on the toilet and EXPLODE all over inside it. While on the bowl I call my sister and say “Yo! I need a ride…. I’m sick and if I have to take the bus then someone’s gonna die. And it’s gonna be me”

I then realize I’m gonna puke again so I stand up and totally don’t make it to the bowl where I was puking. I wind up puking ALL over the floor. Puking bits of steak and onion burrito. Identifiable chunks. So that you would know, even without a biology degree or any forensic training. You could also see the Pepto Bismal in the mix.

Midway through my projectile hurling I realize that I have to shoot some shit outta my ass. Again. So as I’m turning around, trying to hold my pants out of the puke on the floor, I slip and get puke all over my pants. And then shit all over the floor. The sight and smell of my shit and the knowledge that I’m now sitting in a puddle of my own puke-shit makes me puke down my shirt.

I call my sister again, and tell her to bring me a change of clothes.

Why didn’t I take my pants off and hang them up? WHO THE FUCK DOES THAT”!?!!? the answer is “Me. Now. Forever.”

Just to not take that risk.

So now I’m filthy. And I realize that I answered a question TOTALLY wrong on the test. I figured that I couldn’t really go and re-answer it because I was covered in my own sickness. Even though that would PROBABLY be evidence enough that I was sick so that I COULD re-answer that part… but I didn’t wanna bother.

All I wanted was to hide.

Like an emo kid from reality.

So I peek out of the bathroom and see that nobody’s around. So I run for the stairs and make it to the downstairs bathroom. Where I lock myself in a stall and start to cry.

I hear, from the hallway some howls of protest and then a bunch of students from my class come down and I hear that they could identify my dinner from the other night (Carne Enchilada taco vomit has a … UNIQUE smell…). And that at least one of them had added to it (Bacon Egg & Cheese Sandwich from the deli by campus).

I get a call from my sister that she’s on campus and I tell her to bring me my clothes… She goes to the window and hands them to me. She also took the initiative and bought some baby lotion so i don’t get diaper rash from my filthy sickness. I climb out of the window and I walk to the car.

the end.

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.