Posted by Caulfield at adsl-151-204-69-59.delval.adsl.bellatlantic.net on June 21, 2001 at 23:48:26:
I mention Sean Hartle. is that ok?
Anyone who wants to read what I have so far be my guest, its just stupid thing i am a doing to ignore the southern new jersey heat wave.
I stopped checking my sack for testicular cancer months ago. In the same way that any famous person is related to that Kevin...uhh.. Poultry guy I believe that my neglect to feel for irregular lumps (as if one day I felt a lump and passed it off as normal) on my balls was related to my mental wackisity (just because you can’t find the afore mentioned word in your dictionary doesn’t mean that it’s not in there....... just keep looking)
Maybe I figured one day I would turn into one of those depressing “money donation add” children and die. Before I killed myself (really, don’t gasp, I was no important staple on this planet) death seemed like a sweet deal. I mean just picture never having to clean your bathroom again. Seriously; stop and think about that.
It all kind of started with one insulting remark I said at Sean Hartle’s Christmas party last year. “ Mr. Hartle” I said, “Sir, with the interest of being perfectly honest, I feel it is my duty as a upstanding model young citizen , to aid the old and disgusting such as yourself by keeping them posted. Well, I have a tidbit of information that might serve useful when trying to figure out why it is that so many people hate you. I believe it is because you blow big cock. Not that there is anything wrong with being gay and or chugging cock, but , but I don't doubt that the mental imagery of sticking what your familiar
with only for clenching with your first into the place where you probably claim to your co workers and buddies a vagina has climaxed is not pleasant for you. As much as this party was unpleasant for me.”
I inhaled. Of coarse I was drunk and talking to the guy’s dog and not his father but that didn’t prevent his little sister and her posse of hard candy for those of a capitalist agenda in the market of teeny bopping merchandise from hearing my insult. It wasn’t so much the basic concept of the insult. It was that I said the word GAY in the household. Mr. Hartle did eventually arrive on the scene. He’s one of those guys who must have shaved his armpits as a small child because now the hair on them is so thick it can be seen through a normal dress shirt, even when he sports a undershirt.
Well, one of those hairy beasts was the only thing I could think of when it rubbed against the left side of my neck while being carted out in front of all of my classmates.
My 139 pounds went air born that night before I paid a visit to the Hartle’s cobblestone drive way. “Nothing gay will ever be welcome through my door” is what he said when he staired me down. Shit man. The guy was old. And he was wearing a tank top and boxers since he was asleep and that’s the last I ever saw of that party, or my friend Sean. See the thing was, I wasn’t gay (all a misunderstanding of the teeny boppers) but the problem the sweat from Mr. Hartle’s armpits caused me and the ripples from that did in fact lead to me taking a knife and jamming it in my chest.
I developed the most repulsive rash over the duration of the next week and every day of that my girlfriend grew further and farther away from me. Till one day I got a note from her.
Dear Simon,
I am a very shallow bitch with crooked boobs and I don’t want to date you. The sex we had could never possibly match the triple penetration sex that I will forever resort to when in need of a shampoo commercial experience for the rest of my miserable little existence.
I am a cunt,
Maxene
Ok, ok, so maybe that’s not exactly what the post it note said, but it was close.
**********
My mom was always the type of mom who didn’t have enough friends to gossip to and every so often she would retire to the laundry room to slam down a couple of drinks and fold some unmentionables, all the while making snippy remarks about other mothers and fathers of my friends. She did that for about 6 or 7 years. It was her daily thing, you know?
She’d then proceed to jazzercise her way up to my bedroom and plop down the linens. I on the other hand made a point to be out at this time of day with the intention of avoiding my mothers rum and coke breath yelling at me about how at age 19 I had no logical reason to be playing with transformers and how stupid I must be. Knowing she was only so fired up since one of them must have caught the bottom of her foot I shrugged it off and went to the local comic book store to surround myself with fights, tights and if I was fortunate enough, witty dialogue.
Now see there is a funny thing about the comic book world. The ultimate magazine in comics goes by one name that I feel un-qualified nor legally brave enough to utter its name. So we’ll just call it fhjkg. Now, fhjkg, in my opinion is the only magazine worth buying. At all. Obviously people in the industry agree with me because getting the mag means getting 145 pages and only 100 of them not being advertisements. If that wasn’t enough, they have additional advertisements that they package in baseball card form by placing them in this annoying barbarically strong plastic wrapping and slapping the magazine in there with them, like two pees in a saran rap pod.
So once every month I would come home and head straight for the kitchen utensil drawer to pull out what Friday the 13ish knife I could find to wage war on the barbaric plastic wrap.
Ok. Pause. Wow, I got so sidetracked just then. Well anyway here let me boil it down to this. Those linens my drunk mother put on my bed were soaked completely red. The cause? That big knife being crudley lodged into the heart that Maxene broke in the letter you read.
Now don’t for one second think that Maxene was the cause of this. Cause she wasn’t.
Let me tell you about Maxene.
Your sitting in one of those uncomfortable little high school desks wishing you had had a few more seconds that morning to dry your hair so that hair spray wasn’t leaking down the back of your neck and creating uncomfortable, uh, uncomfortableness .With me so far? Your sitting there and all of the sudden that girl walks in. No not that one. Yeah, right there, THAT one.
Isn’t she great? Don’t you want to just take your hand and put it on her hip to say “Yes, I’m here for you.”
Ok , well Maxene, that’s not. Max was one of those anti-cliche girls with a heart of gold and perky female attributes that could drop your jaw as quick as her belching in front of you would turn you off. She was extremely smart. In fact, the only thing I ever known her to do that would be testament against that was date me. But of coarse I wouldn’t tell her that. O God, how I wouldn’t tell her that. I used to milk it and make it seem like she was merely a pit stop on my road to bigger and better things when in reality she was the essence of my entire stupid being.
But, still, She wasn’t why I did it.