Sunday, July 3, 2011

The Spoon Knife

Think back...waaaaaaay your junior high and high school years. In every school there was one ugly whisky-tango mother fucker who came to class wearing the same clothes every day and always seemed to smell like piss and stale beer. Sure, it's clear that the student was likely from a not-so-well-off family and so they had no choice but to brown-bag grass clippings and toilet water for lunch and wear sandals in winter. As an adult, it saddens me to see people who are below the poverty line. But as a kid...well...let's just say that kids can be cruel.

When I was in high school, there was a kid who joined our school who was immediately ostracized by the student body. His name was Brad and he looked like the bassist (without the money) in a talentless garage band. His hair was floppy in style, but so greasy that it tended not to move. He really loved his Metallica t-shirt as he seemed to wear it every day. He looked like a cross between a hairless rat and an even uglier hairless rat. He was no taller than 5'2" but talked shit like he was all hardcore and intense. You know how some people have a tooth or two that have grown in crooked? Well he had a tooth or two that grew in straight. He was a perfect storm of bully-bait and chick-repellant.

One day in grade 10, we were forced to do a group project together. While working on said project, Brad started telling me about how his mother was weird and always walked around in a white cloth nighty while in the house. Brad continued that you could see her nipples through the nighty. It was unnerving that he was checking out his mother's nips, but I was fourteen or fifteen years old so the obvious frontrunner in my mind was "how can I get to his place and SEE this?" We kept talking and the conversation moved toward his new Super Nintendo. I asked if I could come play Super Mario World after school and he seemed to be beaming at the prospect. After all, he thought he might have a friend!

We walked to his home after classes and upon entering his home, the first thing I noticed was that cat pee smell that homes get when the occupants don't clean the kitty litter bins properly. I also noticed the linoleum flooring in the foyer was horrifically torn apart, likely due to a very large and very angry dog. Brad escorted me into his living room, where his mother's boyfriend was kneeling on the floor in front of the television. He beckoned Brad and I over so that we could see a woman walking around without a top on. How charming. Brad's mother came into the room and I was surprised that her boyfriend continued to watch the tits on tv.

Brad wasn't lying about his mother though. She was wearing a white cotton nighty and there was clearly areola poking through...but what Brad neglected to tell me was that his mother was extremely overweight. It was like seeing the tie-ends of two cylindrical balloons. Holding back my vomit, I said that I should get going because I forgot to tell my mother that I was going to his house (lie). I told Brad that I would come right back after I told my mother (lie). Brad suggested coming with me to my home, but since I didn't want my dogs to mistake him for a wandering rodent, I told Brad that my parents didn't like company unannounced (lie). Brad's mother's boyfriend asked what I thought of "the boobs on the tube" and I said they were nice (truth) before leaving. I never ever returned there (truth).
Sadly, Brad didn't seem to get the hint. The next day at school he began to follow me around and talked to me like we were best buds. My friends began to question and a couple even laughed. I tried to explain that it all happened because I wanted to see breasts! Why wouldn't people believe that?

Anyway, a few days passed and Brad didn't seem to take the hint. So one day as I was walking home with a couple of friends, Brad came up to join us. We did what all mature high school students do: we made fun of him and pushed him away.We laughed. Brad stormed away. Good times. The next day, me and the same friends were walking home after school again. This time Brad was walking ahead of us. One of my friends began stepping on the heels of Brad's shoes, causing them to slip off his feet. Brad turned and screamed "FUCK OFF" to my friend and then continued on his way. My friend stepped on Brad's heels again and Brad turned around in a fury. He stuffed a hand in his pocket and clumsily pulled out a pocket knife. Shakily, he pulled the blade out and held it in front of him. The knife was laughable. It was a wide knife by pocket knife standards to the point that it seemed to be shaped like a flat spoon more than a knife. It also appeared dull and in poor condition, as though he found it in a landfill. Brad said he would kill us all if we didn't leave him alone. We laughed and my friend pushed him down. As we walked past Brad, we laughed and made fun of him.

The next thing I know, that little rat-bastard ran up behind me and stabbed me in the back! Seriously what the fuck?!?! Fortunately for me, the knife was as dull and spoonilicious as it appeared, so it did not penetrate very far, though it did cause enough damage to leave a scar. I turned around and grabbed the little fucker by his stabby arm and twisted it while kicking the prick in the knee. He toppled like a house of cards and I stepped on his wrist to take the knife. I wanted to kick him in the ribs SO bad but I knew that kicking a person while down was as dishonorable as stabbing someone in the back with a spoon knife. Besides, Brad started to cry, and seeing a dude cry just takes the anger out of you. We left Brad on the ground and headed home.

My injury didn't really hurt at all, and the only real problem was that my doctor made me go to get a tetanus shot (or some sort of shot like that) as a precaution from being stabbed by an old decrepit pocket knife. But back then, holding a grudge was my forte. So every time I saw Brad in the hallway, I made sure to check him into the lockers or knock the books out of his arms. Sometimes, I would just follow him which seemed to scare him enough. I didn't leave that little creep alone until the end of grade 11 when he moved away.

I'm not sure where he moved, but I'm sure he ended up stabbing someone else in the spine when they wouldn't be his friend. That's just what mole-people do, I guess. Let's just hope he never found a better knife.

I know that was a boring story. But don't you dare critique it. Just remember...packed away somewhere I think I still have that spoon knife. And I'm not afraid to use it!

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