In first grade, the paramedics had to be called for someone in my class, after he had jammed too many chunks of eraser up his nose. He's a crackhead now.
In the third grade, during one of those delightful indoor recesses, the invigilators had a séance with we impressionable youth. Just your typical run-of-the-mill nonsense, until people started freaking out later in the day, claiming to be seeing vampires in the gymnasium, and when one of the classmates who had a "curse" put on him didn't show back up in the afternoon. Half the class was crying. He ended up just having had a doctor's appointment, but try telling that to the person who cursed him, who was a mess for the next couple weeks. Pretty funny if you ask me.
There was the dude who spent all seven years running around the school-grounds pretending he was a plane, complete with arms extended like wings and phony propellor sound.
Then there was one of my best friends who claimed to have had his hamstring ripped out of his leg trying to jump over a chain-link fence. The "Muscle-hanger" moniker stuck with him until high-school.
After I... well... "graduated"... my brother ended up getting suspended for wearing a Tom Cochrane tour t-shirt to class. The "Ragged Ass Road" tour, I think.
When I was in elementary, we had this kid named Kenny. Kenny was the most emotional kid you'd ever meet, it really didn't take a whole lot to make this kid cry. It was always hilarious to see him pick a fight with someone then start crying about it just mere moments later.
The best incident with Kenny, however, was one faithful morning in the 4th grade. It was first thing in the morning during math, and we were going over homework from the night before. What we always did was we passed our papers around the room until everyone had someone elses paper, then the teacher would read the answers and we'd "grade" them. Well, when Kenny received his paper back and saw that his stupid ass got every problem wrong he proceeds to stand up, start crying and screams "IT'S NOT FAIR!!!" and runs out of the room and into the forest behind the school.
We all watched from inside as Mr. Bailey (our janitor) forcefully extracted him from the forest and back into our classroom.
When I was in elementary school, I was most definitely the wierd one. Some hilights include:
Bringing matches to school in kindergarden and attempting to light the stucco on fire. I only succeeded in burning the hell out of my thumb because I didn't really know how to use matches.
I wore a dark blue cape to school one day and told everyone was a vampire, and the cherry juice I was drinking was blood (it was in one of those unlabeled plastic bottles... it seemed legit at the time)
In third grade I wore headgear to school every day, even though I only really needed it at night.
I was bigger than all the kids, and anyone who made fun of me for wearing my headgear got punched in the balls.
I punched a kid in the nuts for saying something to me. When a teacher came over to take me to the principal, I took a swing at her. The principal called my mom and then made me sit in the hallway writing "I will not punch balls" or something like that repeatedly. When I was doing that too fast, she started making me sit up straight and hold the pencil the right way (apparently I held my pencil incorrectly). I told her no, and threw the paper at her. Then the pencil. Then the desk. I got a week of vacation for that, and a free trip to a school full of kids with emotional problems.
In 2nd grade, my friends and I used to grab girls and try to push them into the boys restroom. The girls would do the same. It usually ended up a big tug of war between guys and girls. One time, my friends lost and I ended up on the floor of the girls restroom. I took a really long look around before hauling my ass out of there as fast as I could.
In 1st grade my mom got a call at home because I told a girl "Roses are red, violets are green. I like your legs, but what's in between."
In kindergarden I would catch worms and stick them in my pockets as pets... then give them to my parents as gifts.
In third grade I got in trouble for calling my teacher a 'fat f*cker' when she wouldn't let me eat my lunch early (I had special permission to eat whenever I wanted to... hypoglycemic.) As a result, I had to spend lunch in the classroom. Unfortunately, the teacher had to leave... so I took that opportunity to put thumbtacks on every chair in the room except mine. When everyone came back and got a tack in their ass (teacher included), she tried to send me to the principal. I wouldn't go, so she tried to physically drag me. I was too quick for her, so she called other teachers from adjoining classrooms to help. I spent 20 minutes jumping from desk to desk and dodging all over the classroom avoiding them.
... After 4th grade I moved and became a fairly normal human being with only a few discipline problems. By mid highschool I was in a band, and any wierdness was just accepted as artistic expression.
In 6th grade there was this girl Colleen who was fairly normal as far as I knew...but one day...
We used to have the option of "computer time" for our study period, where we could play Oregon Trail on the Apple ][ e's in the class. So I'm sitting with my friend Chris playing Mad Libs (if there is a funnier game, I don't want to know) and this girl Colleen as at the computer playing Odell Lake or whatever.
All of a sudden, she turns around her chair, looks right at me, mumbles something in Latin or tongues or Klingon, and starts taking a piss right there in the chair. The whole class is just watching in awe as this girl lets it flow and keeps her death gaze locked firmly on me.
Finally she finishes up, and the class is still shocked into silence, and she just starts crying as loud as she can and running around yelling stuff. The teacher just grabbed her and got her the hell out of there, and the principal told everyone to go play outside while they cleaned up the classroom.
I still to this day have no idea what prompted her to do such a thing. She was free to get up and go to the bathroom if she had to pee.
When I was in grade 3, there was a girl in my class named Whitney. Now, Whitney was an odd little girl.. she had pale skin covered in freckles, squinty blue eyes, and shoulder length black hair; but it wasn't her features that made her stand out. It was the fact that she was a FUCKING PSYCHO CUNT FROM HELL.
From day one this girl was my enemy. She was one of those jittery ritalin types with murderous rage and a tendency to act out. One time out on the playground, she tackled me from behind and began to strangle me. But the scene that stands out the most in my mind was that fateful October morning in the PAC kitchen...
Every wednesday at my old elementary school was "Soup Day". The teachers would hand out slips to all the kids with the soup selections listed, and you would check off the box next to the type you wanted. Later that day student volunteers would deliver the soup to their classes from the PAC kitchen where parents slaved away over the stove.
Whitney and I had been chosen to deliver our 3rd grade class soup, so we hurried down to the kitchen at the end of the hall to get the trolly. But when we got there, the parent advisors told us our soup wasn't finished yet, but we could wait in there for a few minutes instead of going back to class only to return in ten minutes. We agreed and sat down at one of the tables by the counter.
I can't remember exactly what the two of us were talking about, but eventually Whitney grew angry with me (SURPRISE, SURPRISE!), and proceeded to jump up and scream,
"YOU'RE SUCH A DAMN POOP SLUT!!!!!!". With those words she promptly grabbed a huge knife from a rack above the counter and fling it in my direction. With a loud THWACK noise, it embedded itself into the wall about two feet away from my head.
The little bitch was later suspended and removed from our school and placed in a mental institution five miles outside of town. I haven't seen her since, but the words "poop slut" are forever in my mind.
Simply put, if I had Johnny Manziel’s physical gifts, you better believe I would be there in the Weight Room, getting to bed early, doing whatever I had to do to be the best possible athlete I could be. I wouldn't be posting on social media about sucking titties. I wouldn't even look at a titty, buddy. I'd look at a titty and see two big footballs.
A real friend doesn't move until the middle of August, ensuring temperatures in the 90s and a humidity that turns boxers into moist balls of ruined cotton.
Expendable? You must be joking.
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