When I was a Kid I had this fantasy for years about being “the boy” character on the Facts of Life. I just wanted to be in some “awe shucks” situation where Blair would have to kiss me on the cheek every week. I got pissed off when they actually did add Mackenzie Astin as Andy, this was the same season that they owned that little nic nacks shop and George Clooney was the Manager. I think Andy was Mrs. Garret’s nephew or something. They had that other lady on there that came with Andy; she had white hair and some kind of connection to Australia and Mrs. Garret. I think Mrs. Garret had to go have a stroke. A DIFFERENT STROKE. But one of the biggest show biz delusions I ever had as a kid was that I wanted to be the first kid to host Saturday Night Live. It was my favorite show and I watched it religiously growing up. And then E.T. came out and that Little Bitch Drew Barrymore who everyone thought was soooo cute comes on the commercial and was like, “Hi I’m Drew Barrymore and this week I’m hosting SNL and I’m so fucking cute” So I actually let out an “Awe Man”! And my parents were sitting on the couch with me and said “awe man what?” and I said “I wanted to be the first kid to host Saturday Night Live” and there was a pause and then explosive laughter and my mom asked me, ”Who do you think you are”?
I'm from Hampton Roads home of Pat Robertson and his motto is "The visible world is controlled by the invisible world" and he's so stupid and he gets me so mad that my eye starts twitching, but then I think, "what if he's right and that's an angel poking me in the face saying, "you'd better listen to him".
I hope he's not right because I also suffer from spastic colon.
I'd hate to think that a samurai and a confederate soldier were riding a train on me.
I could have a samurai ghost right? Why do they have to only haunt their own country. Some one must delegate the hauntings. What if a ghost was transfered? That's why in every reinactment of a haunting you see two objects float just a little off of a table, rotate slightly and then set back down, all while there's moaning and shrieking. That's some ancient Incan who's never seen a Hummel and a remote control. He's freaking the fuck out.
I got mad the other day because I was thinking about how some kids would come to school with a project that their fathers helped them do (or did for them) and they would look beautiful and professional. In the 6th grade I was assigned to make a San Andreas Fault so I came home and begged my dad to help me with it. He said OK (for the first time ever) and I thought this was going to be "the one". We go to Paul's Arts & Crafts and get a box of modeling plaster. We brought it home and my dad mixed it and poured all of it in a metal pan. It has to set over night and it swells up like bread. It's fucking huge the next day and it's like a 2 square foot brick of white plaster thats smooth and hilly on top like butter top. Then my dad takes it out but he can't get a clean break in it like the fault so it shatters into a couple of different pieces. I line them up on some dirty old board we had in the garage and proceed to paint it with the brown (for the dirt) and green (for the grass) paint we got at Paul's except we just picked up any old paint we saw and this wasn't paint that sticks to fucking modeling plaster. I had to really pour the paint on but it was all uneven and you could see swirls of the white plaster underneath and it wouldn't dry so we had to leave it out over night. Then the next morning (when it was due) I went out to get the Fault and the paint/plaster/chilly spring morning combo that we created grew these long salt crystals all over it. So I had this white, brown and green fuzzy brick of broken cement "mounted" on a piece of plywood and the whole thing weighed about 25 pounds. I only weighed about 65. (A note about my dad) he was an amatuer junk yard owner, (for real) which was in our yard for at least 15 years, and I think his skills and interests reflected in the art of our San Andreas Fault. So my biggest regret now is that the fucking theme song from Sanford and Son wasn't playing at volume 10 while I presented this hulking piece of shit to my uninterested classmates.
Why can't my lady and I make a deal that I can be allowed to look at other women out in public instead of me having to pretend I'm some kind of gay fashionista? I'm always going,(in femme voice and mannerisms) "Oh my god, did you see that slutty brunette in that tight black dress, HELLO what is she thinking? Her butt is way to big for that". It's fucking humiliatin'.
I pulled up to the gas station and there were two scientologists handing out their 200 question personality evaluations. I pulled my arms into my sleeves up to the elbows to make "small arms" and jumped out of my car into the nearest "clear's" face. With our noses almost touching I asked him his name in my best Toby Radlof the Geniune Nerd from American Splendor impression and luckily his name was Ian. "Ion, I said mocking his name using a science related theme, "can the space man lengthen my arms?" As I pumped my gas with my tiny arms I saw "Ion and his partner talk shit about me. That wasn't very "OT" of them.
I was watching reading rainbow cause the cable's out and this girl was reading something, I don't know if it was a real book or if she wrote it, but this caught my ear, " the sand would turn into sugar and the ocean would turn into blueberry juice and the animals and the trees would turn into crackers". So I started arguing with her ,"That's stupid, what so you're just going to grab a giant cracker that used to be an animal or a tree and just dunk it in this blueberry juice that all kinds of God knows what is in it, and you'd just eat it? That's so stupid, do you even hear what you're saying? Did you even think that maybe the crackers that used to be animals might have guts inside or disease? Don't you think people on a global scale would be rioting and going nuts out of fear because that is a very strange thing to have happen? Didn't you learn about the rapture in Sunday school? Well, I just think you should think things through before you read them out on the national airwaves... animal crackers... fucking stupid".
So guess what happens when you turn 30? You get zits again. They come back, but this time they're in weird places. I've got acne on my chest and on my gut. Zits on my gut! You can reinact your puberty. I put my zitty gut up to girlfriend's zitty ass and asked her out all over again. "Hi did you just move here? (in squeaky voice and shaking my gut to the rhythm)You wanna do something Friday?"
You wouldn't know it by looking at me but my father had a great big horse cock... that he was jacking off in his face in a home made video. No, he really had a giant dick though, I saw it when I was little... right before it entered my mouth. It was the size of a baby's arm... a baby elephant. I really know because he used to have trojan xtra large condoms. I put one on and it covered my whole dick and my balls AND part of my knee. But that was a while back, maybe around the fourth of July. It's true what they say about heredity, I'm pretty sure I inherited my mom's dick.
I was terribly afraid of having to do anything masculine. I was always the skinniest kid in any group. I was very androgenous as a child. My father would cringe and give me a look of red eyed shame when anyone would refer to me as his "daughter". I had a longish mullet which I called "the luke skywalker". I got a round brush caught in the back of it one morning before school. My mom had to detangle the brush while my dad just shook his head in disgust.
Kelly was truley a strange kid. When he arrived on Butternut Drive he talked like a rapper, listened to the Dead Milkmen, had an exact replica of a Brian Bosworth mohawk and he was wearing a Bon Jovi t-shirt. The simulated butt rape with a safety horseshoe goal post reminded me of other gay things that happened between us.
Like the time we tried to make our own cigars out of sassafras leaves. We picked a whole trashbag full of them and then layed them out on his driveway in the July sun to cure them. Then we chopped them up (this process took all day) rolled them and smoked them. We were 11 years old. Remember I said Kelly was a huge kid. Well the cigars were a bust so we rode our bikes to Farm Fresh and bought a box of Dutch Masters cigars. Kelly looked 16 which was the legal age for Tobbacco back then. On they way back home we got milkshakes at McDonalds. The gay part is that as we smoked our cigars and drank our milkshakes in the woods we carved huge dicks into the side of a tree with my dad's Bowie Knife. Later I threw up.
Kelly was a dirt bike racer and had a really fast full sized dirt bike which my parents wanted me to have nothing to do with. We made a really nice race course through the woods with natural jumps and would take the whole track really fast. I would sit on the back with my arms around Kelly because I could never get the hang of shifting the gears so I could never ride it by myself. One summer day I was wearing really short shorts (my mom would never put out the money so that I could buy some proper Jams or their much desired counterpart Skidz). On this day Kelly was being especially agressive with the course and I kept losing my grip on him. I was yelling at him to scoot forward and he was yelling back "my nuts are already on the tank", just then as we were both distracted we hit a jump and I came all the way off the bike, as I was falling I burned the area where my buttcheek and leg meet on the hot tailpipe. Also for some reason I put my arms out and grabbed on to the fender and was being dragged Indiana Jones style through the leaves. Kelly, instead of stopping was looking back laughing and yelling "let go, let go!" I finally did and rolled around in pain, covered in dirt and wincing from the burn. It covered the enite surface of my leg right under the fold of my right cheek. i stood up doing the little kid "ow ow ow" fast walk. Kelly being afraid that my parents might ban the dirtbike from the woods immediately wanted to Doctor me up. We went in to his bathroom where he talked me into stripping down to my tighty whities and he looked at it close up for way too long and then poured peroxide over it. I was screaming by this time and insisted that I go home. When I got home there was no hiding my filthy clothes and limp. So Kelly got to play doctor on my ass and my mom banned me from any further dirt biking.
I'm trying to think of something we did that didn't have homo overtones...
There was the time we camped out in his dad's boat under the stars and I was laying on the floor of the cabin and Kelly was up on the bench above me and he told me the story of Sausage Lips Jones which had the suprise ending of Sausage Lips' dead body falling out of the cupboard which Kelly inacted by rolling off the bench and falling face to face on top of me lingering too long...
That's pretty gay.
How about the time when Kelly slipped up and told his parents that we found their dildo while snooping in their room. When they sat us down to explain to us that they were adults and they deserved their privacy and besides the King Kong Dong was a joke gift anyway to which kelly replied "I know I mean what did you think we were going to do with it?" (and then half standing up from the couch he made an underneath the butt upward stabbing motion and in a childlike voice said, "Duke me in da butt, duke me in da butt" I was in tears frozen in horror...
Okay wait I've got one. One time I was called over to the house late on a saturday night to be the signed participating witness to kelly's adoption of his Cabbage Patch Kid who was dressed as a football player that he named Kelly Jr...
We were 11.
I've been dreaming about Kelly like crazy lately because I have been wanting to write these stories down for so long but I have been too lazy so they are beginning to attack my mind. Kelly moved in next door to me when I was 10 years old. He was older than me by 25 days. I had been given a really shitty gift by my mother the year before a "safe" horseshoe set that had rubber horseshoes and wooden stakes. When Kelly first came over to my house he saw the set in my room which was still unopened a year later and he thought that would be a good game for us to play. So I gave him the rubber horseshoes to put in his yard. The next day I went over and the horseshoe set was in still in his room but out of the box. When I asked him about it he grabbed one of the stakes and said the reason he hadn't put them out yet was so he could do this... and he held me down and rammed the stake (over my jeans) right on my boo-boo hole. This set the tone for our friendship.