Saturday, April 11, 2009

Retard

“Dude, seriously, if you don’t roll your ass to the cafeteria in the next sixty seconds I will push you in the janitor’s closet and leave you there while I eat your Manwhich. I mean it. I am going to fucking lose it if we have to eat with the retards again. Don’t you want to sit with the cool kids, the ones that can walk and don’t drool on themselves? How are you ever going to find a chick if we don’t go where the action is?”

“Oh man, listen to this: page 62…”

Dear Annie,
I have exceptionally small breasts, but my boyfriend said size doesn’t matter. Is that true?
Confused

Dear Confused
Of course not. He said that only to get you into bed. I bet he’s sleeping with another girl now.

“Who writes this crap? Annie is obviously a fossil. Size does matter Todd! Believe me. It matters! Have you ever seen boobs?
No, probably not.
We need to show you some ta-ta’s Mr. T.
Guys love big boobs. Get your ass to the cafeteria and I will arrange a private viewing of Playboy, it’s a magazine full of boobs. It is all about the boobs Toddster.”

“Listen Todd, we need to talk. It’s your hair. Do they have the lawn guys style that shit for you? It is bad, but don’t worry I can fix it. I have gel, we can mess it up like you meant for it to look like that. It will be cool. I brought some Musk Oil too, it sort of smells like a girl, but it is better than the institutional funk you have going on now. You reek dude.”

“Guys suck Todd; all they care about is their stupid cars.
Who would miss a keg party to change their carburetor? It makes no sense.
Why are you smiling?
I get it. You like cars too. I thought you were different. Figures.
Hey, since you won’t be driving anytime soon, I think we should pimp your chair. We could trick it out with some chrome or something.
Would you like that?”

“Look man, you don’t have any reason to be pissed off at me. It was Spring Break; I wasn’t even supposed to be here last week. I didn’t ditch you if that’s what you’re thinking. What was I supposed to do? Call you? You can’t even talk.
I am the one that should be pissed. We’ve been doing this for how long and you decide that you will make it all the way down the hall to the lunchroom while I was gone? Not cool.
Listen, I’m sorry. I am just happy we don’t have to hang out with the fruits and nuts anymore. How do you live with all that grossness? I would freak out.”

“No one eats peas Todd. No one. If they put that shit on your plate again, just ignore it. You’re not a kid. They can’t make you eat your vegetables. Don’t let the man keep you down Todd. When I’m gone, you will have to fight for yourself. Fuck peas! Got it?”

“Look, about the party tomorrow. I can’t make it. I want you to have fun though, OK? Tell them you want one of the corners of the cake. That is where all the icing is. When they throw a shit fit because I am not at my own party, you will get it. You understand right? Who celebrates when they break up? It’s stupid. And Todd? I will miss you. I’m sorry I called your friends retards.”


Todd was my "interim project” in high school. While my classmates were spending a semester at the newspaper office, or interning at the capitol, I was stuck at The Kansas Neurological Institute, a residential treatment facility for severely handicapped children. It was not a plum assignment. Nobody wanted the job. Sometimes there are consequences to being a fifteen-year-old asshole.

I spent the Spring of my sophomore year coaching a severely brain damaged boy to maneuver his wheelchair one hundred yards up the hall to the school cafeteria so he could get a plate of pseudo prison slop and feed it to himself in less than thirty minutes. Just like a normal kid. If normal kids were partially blind, deaf, paralyzed and couldn’t speak that is. It took all semester, but he made it.

Todd and I were the same age. The only difference between us was that when he was about the size of a football, one of his parents threw him against a wall. Mine didn’t.

Spring makes me think of Todd, and yeah, I should have gone to the party, but that’s not the worst part, I should have never called his friends retards.
Sometimes there are consequences to being an asshole.


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