My OperaSt. Patrick's Day and a Third Grade Memory...
Monday, March 13, 2006 10:14:29 PM
You can never turn your back on a St. Patrick’s parade. Three hundred pounds of cabbage was hurled into my office on Magazine St. a couple of days ago, followed by handfuls of carrots, potatoes, onions, and garlic. Having a large table of crawfish out front and an insane entourage of mindfucked green people doesn't help your chances of being left unharmed. I saw a couple of people get knocked the fuck out, then get stepped on and laughed at. When they got up, they didn't seem to mind. The picture below is me slowly crossing into the next dimension, which I learned how to do recently. It also shows a tiny taste of what we got pelted with. Seriously, add a couple hundred pounds to that...
Carnival season is officially over and I have to say I'm relieved. The torrential rainstorm the other day didn't quite knock off all the toxins I've been secreting for three weeks now. It'll be a couple o' more weeks before I feel like I can work out without puking up my soul, which is teetering on the edge of oblivion. Barrels of alcohol and crates of drugs take a while to dissipate. And beads...let's just say I have enough. Enough to have my own parade in any city that wants 'em.
Actually, if anybody wants some of 'em, I would consider a trade for something interesting of equal or lesser value from your locale. Think about it...
Remnants of green sharpie still cover half my body as I clean up today, attempting to cover up the smell of Irish vomit on the carpet. At least I'm getting paid for it.
I just remembered something interesting from my past, which is rare these days. I've blocked out a lot of it, but this is kinda funny.
I have always been somewhat of a writer. I don't believe I've ever been a good one, but then, I don't really care. I started by writing parodies of pop songs and performing them on the bus ride to school. (I lived out in the boonies, so it was a long bus ride...and yes, I was a Weird Al fan.)
I also had an artsy side, but I'd rather hear a laugh than a sigh, so I kept that to myself. (Most of the kids I grew up with were complete morons, anyway. It would have been a waste.)
However, the first poem I ever recited aloud was in third grade. I asked the teacher if I could share it with her for some feedback and she promptly called the class to attention to witness the mortification of my facial expression as she turned and said "Ready?" I proceed slowly with the silly little poem I jotted down at recess.
Clouds, Clouds
Floating in the sky.
I love to see them
swimming by.
Birds, fish
and other things.
Just like that dove
with white fluffy wings!
Clouds, Clouds
Floating in the sky.
I love to see them
swimming by.
A hush fell over the classroom, followed by the deafening roar of laughter led by Vick Vicnair.
I walked back to my desk and told him to shut up.
"I don't shut up, I throw up, and you lick up the ketchup!"
Normally I would have laughed at him for fucking up a perfectly good third grade diss, but I was pissed...
Later that afternoon, after lunch, we had a sing-along. My plan was simple. Sing off-key.
This would teach the bastards. We sang "My paddle's clean and bright" (probably not the name of the song, but it's about a Native American man and his fascination with rowing his canoe about)
I destroyed it.
In the principals' office, I tried to justify my actions and was met with criticism. As we walked down the hall, my stomach churned and my heart skipped beats. It wasn't my first paddling, and definitely not my last, but it's kinda scary every time.
It's customary to have a teacher witness the beating, so no legal action can be taken. We rounded her up from the dead silenced classroom, and slowly walked down the hall.
Now, by the end my career in elementary and junior high, I racked up quite a few licks.
And I have a theory about it.
The first lick: Unless you have a sadistic madman like my elementary school principal, it's not so bad. (He actually did a wind up and faked a couple, which is really fucked up. You get nervous and your ass tenses up, causing it to hurt worse. But normally, not knowing when impact is gonna occur is good. It's like Whoa! There it is!)
The second lick: Definitely the worse. The first lick leaves your ass a little warm, but the second is rhythmic and physically superior. It hurts.
The third lick: Your ass is kinda numb by the third lick, and you know your about done, so...not that bad.
The second lick is where I involuntarily made my mark in the minds of two southern educators.
They probably still laugh about it in the teacher's lounge today.
After viciously teasing me with the first blow, he let me have it.
I knew the second was close at hand so I dug my little fingers into the wall and clinched my teeth. Anndd
BAM! That's when it happened.
I let out the biggest fart of my career up to that point. Seriously, It was tremendous...
They both busted into uncontrollable laughter as the third lick grazed my ass, causing ME to laugh. I had single handedly beaten the system! No complete paddling for me today!
He could barely get out the words "Get back to class" before turning and walking away. My teacher followed him, trying desperately to compose herself. It was a while before she returned...
The classroom was quiet when I entered. They heard the laughter, but not the flatulence I guess. They were probably stunned that a classmate had found a way to turn the "march of death" into a laugh riot. They never laughed at my silly poetry again.
Later, when Vick and I became friends, he asked me what happened.
I said "Oh nothin'"
And that was my life as a kid.
Artsy one minute. Fartsy the next.
And it's really not changed much since.
By the way, I checked out the "laws on spanking", and found this funny website. Watch out for those "New Age Families"!
http://familyrightsassociation.com/info/spanking_laws.htm
Carnival season is officially over and I have to say I'm relieved. The torrential rainstorm the other day didn't quite knock off all the toxins I've been secreting for three weeks now. It'll be a couple o' more weeks before I feel like I can work out without puking up my soul, which is teetering on the edge of oblivion. Barrels of alcohol and crates of drugs take a while to dissipate. And beads...let's just say I have enough. Enough to have my own parade in any city that wants 'em.
Actually, if anybody wants some of 'em, I would consider a trade for something interesting of equal or lesser value from your locale. Think about it...
Remnants of green sharpie still cover half my body as I clean up today, attempting to cover up the smell of Irish vomit on the carpet. At least I'm getting paid for it.
I just remembered something interesting from my past, which is rare these days. I've blocked out a lot of it, but this is kinda funny.
I have always been somewhat of a writer. I don't believe I've ever been a good one, but then, I don't really care. I started by writing parodies of pop songs and performing them on the bus ride to school. (I lived out in the boonies, so it was a long bus ride...and yes, I was a Weird Al fan.)
I also had an artsy side, but I'd rather hear a laugh than a sigh, so I kept that to myself. (Most of the kids I grew up with were complete morons, anyway. It would have been a waste.)
However, the first poem I ever recited aloud was in third grade. I asked the teacher if I could share it with her for some feedback and she promptly called the class to attention to witness the mortification of my facial expression as she turned and said "Ready?" I proceed slowly with the silly little poem I jotted down at recess.
Clouds, Clouds
Floating in the sky.
I love to see them
swimming by.
Birds, fish
and other things.
Just like that dove
with white fluffy wings!
Clouds, Clouds
Floating in the sky.
I love to see them
swimming by.
A hush fell over the classroom, followed by the deafening roar of laughter led by Vick Vicnair.
I walked back to my desk and told him to shut up.
"I don't shut up, I throw up, and you lick up the ketchup!"
Normally I would have laughed at him for fucking up a perfectly good third grade diss, but I was pissed...
Later that afternoon, after lunch, we had a sing-along. My plan was simple. Sing off-key.
This would teach the bastards. We sang "My paddle's clean and bright" (probably not the name of the song, but it's about a Native American man and his fascination with rowing his canoe about)
I destroyed it.
In the principals' office, I tried to justify my actions and was met with criticism. As we walked down the hall, my stomach churned and my heart skipped beats. It wasn't my first paddling, and definitely not my last, but it's kinda scary every time.
It's customary to have a teacher witness the beating, so no legal action can be taken. We rounded her up from the dead silenced classroom, and slowly walked down the hall.
Now, by the end my career in elementary and junior high, I racked up quite a few licks.
And I have a theory about it.
The first lick: Unless you have a sadistic madman like my elementary school principal, it's not so bad. (He actually did a wind up and faked a couple, which is really fucked up. You get nervous and your ass tenses up, causing it to hurt worse. But normally, not knowing when impact is gonna occur is good. It's like Whoa! There it is!)
The second lick: Definitely the worse. The first lick leaves your ass a little warm, but the second is rhythmic and physically superior. It hurts.
The third lick: Your ass is kinda numb by the third lick, and you know your about done, so...not that bad.
The second lick is where I involuntarily made my mark in the minds of two southern educators.
They probably still laugh about it in the teacher's lounge today.
After viciously teasing me with the first blow, he let me have it.
I knew the second was close at hand so I dug my little fingers into the wall and clinched my teeth. Anndd
BAM! That's when it happened.
I let out the biggest fart of my career up to that point. Seriously, It was tremendous...
They both busted into uncontrollable laughter as the third lick grazed my ass, causing ME to laugh. I had single handedly beaten the system! No complete paddling for me today!
He could barely get out the words "Get back to class" before turning and walking away. My teacher followed him, trying desperately to compose herself. It was a while before she returned...
The classroom was quiet when I entered. They heard the laughter, but not the flatulence I guess. They were probably stunned that a classmate had found a way to turn the "march of death" into a laugh riot. They never laughed at my silly poetry again.
Later, when Vick and I became friends, he asked me what happened.
I said "Oh nothin'"
And that was my life as a kid.
Artsy one minute. Fartsy the next.
And it's really not changed much since.
By the way, I checked out the "laws on spanking", and found this funny website. Watch out for those "New Age Families"!
http://familyrightsassociation.com/info/spanking_laws.htm
