Posted by Jeff Bebe 37 at on-ham-a53-01-174.look.ca on June 22, 2001 at 05:51:30:
In Reply to: I made a reference to MALLRATS in a story posted by Caulfield 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.