Do you like gum?
It's scrumptious.
There's the chewiness and the awesomeness and the life-savingness of it. It rocks my zombie cock off!
Hello everybody. How was your weekend? Mine? Well, it was absolutely horrific. Pretty much the worst 48 hours of my life, honestly. Absolutely miserable.
I just stayed in my room. I didn't even shower or brush my teeth. And that says a lot. I'm very particular about my hair, finger nails and teeth. I was depressed. I couldn't stop thinking about what a tool I made of myself at the party. How could I possibly think it was a good idea to tell Emma that I was dressed up like her? Let alone subtly offer to, you know, kill her. How could I possibly allow myself to belittle my besterestest friend in the whole world just because her upper lip looks as if it's going to pupate. How could I possibly live with myself after all that humiliation and an entire weekend of listening to fucking Dido?
Scotty is lonely and Mary's in India now.
But this morning, before school, as I was doing my hair and still listening to Dido, I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, "Really? What's the point? Who am I doing my hair for? To hell with this!" And I dropped my blow dryer and Dirt texturizing paste by Jonathan and ran out of the bathroom almost in tears (but not in a faggy way. i was really hurting).
And then I tripped on the chord of the vacuum cleaner, which was being wielded by Khieu, our mexican maid, and fell hard and got "let me eat my own scrotum kneed" like Jeff did a few weeks back (you like how I'm linking now? it looks like all the bloggers do it so just call me a lemming...or a blogemming...a blemming? heh heh). It was then, as I sat there on the edge of tears (but not really, because I'm not faggy), screaming, "GAAAAAAAAAAAHH-ha-ha-hAAAAAH! GET ME A KEBAB STICK SO I CAN SATAY MY PRECIOUS GACK FACTORIES," I thought that my life couldn't possibly get any worse. And then Khieu, who's a mexican, came over and started talking to me.
And it got a lot worse.
No no. Not because she's mexican. I don't mind that she's mexican. I mean, usually I don't want mexicans talking to me, sure. It's like, unless you're asking me if I want to super-size it, then silencio por favor, right? But it wasn't like that. She was all, "Mr. Skote. Are you the o.k.?"
And I just looked at her. I was in too much pain to answer. I don't know what she saw in me but she looked at me with some of the most tender and loving eyes I've ever seen on a liver, so I guess I was looking pretty pathetic. Not wanting to seem too faggy, I finally willed myself to speak.
"You smell like onions." I whimpered.
"Mr. Skote," she replied smoothly, "I know you just, how you say, pwned yourself, but I have something to show you. Come." and she lifted me up like a baby, cradled me into her massive, chipotle bosom, and carried me to the back yard where she laid me down in a lawn chair by our pool.
"You stay. I return right back." she said, and she waddled her grande mexi-nuggets to the servants' cottage and left me alone to my thoughts.
While I was alone I thought about Jesus. I wondered what he would do if he were in my situation. Surely he felt the same type of depression I was going through all weekend. I mean, when you're up on a cross with thorns digging in your skull and nails in your hands, you gotta stop and think, "Shit. People don't like me very much. My life fucking sucks." It's gotta take a toll. But then I remembered that he forgave those who persecuted him. He asked his father (although I really don't know why) to "forgive them, for they know not what they do". And I decided to forgive Emma and Jenny for being such bitches. For they know not what they do, either. They're girls.
And I felt a little better. Until Khieu came out of her cottage carrying a box and dangling my cat, Tendons, from a stick.
Tendons was dead.
I went off.
"YOU FUCKING UNDOCUMENTED BITCH! WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY CAT?!? WHAT DID YOU DO TO TENDONS!?!?"
And then Khieu showed me the box and how it was full of kittens. She explained how she woke late the night before to a strange noise coming from under the servants' cottage. When she went outside to investigate she found Tendons under the entry stairs giving birth to these kittens. She helped Tendons deliver them all but, unfortunately, Tendons gave up the ghost after squeezing the last one from her pussy and died.
"She died to give you these beauties right here."
I looked down at the kittens. They slept so peacefully. One of them was suckling the end of its own tail.
"I didn't know Tendons was pregnant," I said, feebly.
"They hiding it really good." She said, her thick mexican accent making her sentiment almost unintelligible. "Is not beautiful? The Tendons sacrifice is sad, but she give many more Tendons to us! I thinked you may cheer happy from this."
"I didn't even know Tendons was a girl."
And then I ran. I ran to school. I didn't have my book bag. I hadn't brushed my teeth. I was still in my pajama bottoms and a ratty t-shirt, for fucks sake. I didn't care. I had to get out of there. My necrotic brain couldn't process it. I had a bad weekend. How the fuck would Tendons's death make that any better? Fuck you, mexi-bitch! I'm sending your ass back to Gitmo!
On the way I got hit by a car.
I completely phased through homeroom and Geometry. I jumped at every whisper. I thought everyone was talking about me and my embarrassing show at the party. Turns out...they were actually talking about me, but not for the reasons I thought. If it's gonna be this bad now, I can only imagine what third period would be like. I dreaded third period. Jazz Choir. How could I face Emma?
I walked into the conservatory, and the whole room went silent. And then it just started up again. No laughter. No mocking. Everyone just looked at me for a second, in my pajama bottoms and with unbrushed teeth, and went about their business. Class had started. I expected much worse.
Until Mrs. James, our choral director, said she wanted to rehearse "Up On the Roof", the number where Emma and I have a solo. I thought I would die.
But you know what happened?
You know what?
Emma and I took our places in front of the choir. And she didn't hit me. She didn't scream at me for being such a freak. She just stood there, very cutely snapping her gum in her teeth. She then looked at me and said, "You got a little something right here," while motioning in the general area of the back of her head. I reached back and found that the license plate of the car that hit me was still embedded in the back of my skull (btw - if the owner of a grey pontiac, license plate imb-007 is reading this, you're an asshole).
I took it out.
"And your breath stinks." And she threw a stick of green Extra at me.
Now, normally I would have been mortified to...well...death. I mean, the girl I loved, whom I asked to homecoming and who answered, "I'll think about it", the girl whom I dressed as for Halloween and whose life I offered to end tells me I have a license plate hanging out the back of my head and that my breath stinks? Yeah! I'ma normally fucking shrink up to a little nuthin' nuthin' and just...well...die! That is fucking bad.
But you know what? I can see the silver lining in almost anything. I can take a negative and find any positive in it. I can. That's the kind of person I am.
Emma told me about the license plate. Emma threw gum at me. Emma still cares.
That turned me around instantly.
So you know what I did? I picked up the gum...and I ate it!
And then I said, "So...homecoming. Are you still thinki-"
"No."
"Cool." I said. And I chewed my gum.
I chewed the shit out of it.
After school I ran home. I was elated. The birds were singing. I was out of my funk. I wanted to tell mom and dad about how Emma cured me from my blues, but all I found was Khieu and that dumb box of kittens. So I told her. Even though I knew it was pointless. Mexicans don't have feelings.
"...and then she threw her gum at me and I was cured. Isn't that GREAT?!? I feel GREAT! Isn't gum GREAT?!?!" I finished to Khieu.
"Yes, Mr. Skote. That's the wonderful. But what do you thinking we should do with small cats?"
"Shit. I don't know. We should name them, I guess."
"Yes. Good idea. What should we name them?"
"You know, Khieu...I realize now that you were trying to cheer me up this morning. I want you to know that I'm grateful for your attempt, even though you dangled my dead cat in front of me on a stick. So I think you should pick one and name it yourself."
"Oh...Mr. Skote. I could not do this."
"Sure you can! Why don't you name it after an influential leader from your country. Who had the biggest affect on your heritage?"
"Pol Pot."
"Pol Pot. I see. Wasn't...wasn't he Cambodian?"
"Yes. Like me. I'm Camodian."
"I see."
Silly mexican. She doesn't even know where she's from. Mexicans are so cute.
Kinda like my new kittens, one of whom is named Pol Pot.
Until next time.
Hrrrrrrrrngggggggh....4outof5dentistsrecommendit
It's scrumptious.
There's the chewiness and the awesomeness and the life-savingness of it. It rocks my zombie cock off!
Hello everybody. How was your weekend? Mine? Well, it was absolutely horrific. Pretty much the worst 48 hours of my life, honestly. Absolutely miserable.
I just stayed in my room. I didn't even shower or brush my teeth. And that says a lot. I'm very particular about my hair, finger nails and teeth. I was depressed. I couldn't stop thinking about what a tool I made of myself at the party. How could I possibly think it was a good idea to tell Emma that I was dressed up like her? Let alone subtly offer to, you know, kill her. How could I possibly allow myself to belittle my besterestest friend in the whole world just because her upper lip looks as if it's going to pupate. How could I possibly live with myself after all that humiliation and an entire weekend of listening to fucking Dido?
Scotty is lonely and Mary's in India now.
But this morning, before school, as I was doing my hair and still listening to Dido, I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, "Really? What's the point? Who am I doing my hair for? To hell with this!" And I dropped my blow dryer and Dirt texturizing paste by Jonathan and ran out of the bathroom almost in tears (but not in a faggy way. i was really hurting).
And then I tripped on the chord of the vacuum cleaner, which was being wielded by Khieu, our mexican maid, and fell hard and got "let me eat my own scrotum kneed" like Jeff did a few weeks back (you like how I'm linking now? it looks like all the bloggers do it so just call me a lemming...or a blogemming...a blemming? heh heh). It was then, as I sat there on the edge of tears (but not really, because I'm not faggy), screaming, "GAAAAAAAAAAAHH-ha-ha-hAAAAAH! GET ME A KEBAB STICK SO I CAN SATAY MY PRECIOUS GACK FACTORIES," I thought that my life couldn't possibly get any worse. And then Khieu, who's a mexican, came over and started talking to me.
And it got a lot worse.
No no. Not because she's mexican. I don't mind that she's mexican. I mean, usually I don't want mexicans talking to me, sure. It's like, unless you're asking me if I want to super-size it, then silencio por favor, right? But it wasn't like that. She was all, "Mr. Skote. Are you the o.k.?"
And I just looked at her. I was in too much pain to answer. I don't know what she saw in me but she looked at me with some of the most tender and loving eyes I've ever seen on a liver, so I guess I was looking pretty pathetic. Not wanting to seem too faggy, I finally willed myself to speak.
"You smell like onions." I whimpered.
"Mr. Skote," she replied smoothly, "I know you just, how you say, pwned yourself, but I have something to show you. Come." and she lifted me up like a baby, cradled me into her massive, chipotle bosom, and carried me to the back yard where she laid me down in a lawn chair by our pool.
"You stay. I return right back." she said, and she waddled her grande mexi-nuggets to the servants' cottage and left me alone to my thoughts.
While I was alone I thought about Jesus. I wondered what he would do if he were in my situation. Surely he felt the same type of depression I was going through all weekend. I mean, when you're up on a cross with thorns digging in your skull and nails in your hands, you gotta stop and think, "Shit. People don't like me very much. My life fucking sucks." It's gotta take a toll. But then I remembered that he forgave those who persecuted him. He asked his father (although I really don't know why) to "forgive them, for they know not what they do". And I decided to forgive Emma and Jenny for being such bitches. For they know not what they do, either. They're girls.
And I felt a little better. Until Khieu came out of her cottage carrying a box and dangling my cat, Tendons, from a stick.
Tendons was dead.
I went off.
"YOU FUCKING UNDOCUMENTED BITCH! WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY CAT?!? WHAT DID YOU DO TO TENDONS!?!?"
And then Khieu showed me the box and how it was full of kittens. She explained how she woke late the night before to a strange noise coming from under the servants' cottage. When she went outside to investigate she found Tendons under the entry stairs giving birth to these kittens. She helped Tendons deliver them all but, unfortunately, Tendons gave up the ghost after squeezing the last one from her pussy and died.
"She died to give you these beauties right here."
I looked down at the kittens. They slept so peacefully. One of them was suckling the end of its own tail.
"I didn't know Tendons was pregnant," I said, feebly.
"They hiding it really good." She said, her thick mexican accent making her sentiment almost unintelligible. "Is not beautiful? The Tendons sacrifice is sad, but she give many more Tendons to us! I thinked you may cheer happy from this."
"I didn't even know Tendons was a girl."
And then I ran. I ran to school. I didn't have my book bag. I hadn't brushed my teeth. I was still in my pajama bottoms and a ratty t-shirt, for fucks sake. I didn't care. I had to get out of there. My necrotic brain couldn't process it. I had a bad weekend. How the fuck would Tendons's death make that any better? Fuck you, mexi-bitch! I'm sending your ass back to Gitmo!
On the way I got hit by a car.
I completely phased through homeroom and Geometry. I jumped at every whisper. I thought everyone was talking about me and my embarrassing show at the party. Turns out...they were actually talking about me, but not for the reasons I thought. If it's gonna be this bad now, I can only imagine what third period would be like. I dreaded third period. Jazz Choir. How could I face Emma?
I walked into the conservatory, and the whole room went silent. And then it just started up again. No laughter. No mocking. Everyone just looked at me for a second, in my pajama bottoms and with unbrushed teeth, and went about their business. Class had started. I expected much worse.
Until Mrs. James, our choral director, said she wanted to rehearse "Up On the Roof", the number where Emma and I have a solo. I thought I would die.
But you know what happened?
You know what?
Emma and I took our places in front of the choir. And she didn't hit me. She didn't scream at me for being such a freak. She just stood there, very cutely snapping her gum in her teeth. She then looked at me and said, "You got a little something right here," while motioning in the general area of the back of her head. I reached back and found that the license plate of the car that hit me was still embedded in the back of my skull (btw - if the owner of a grey pontiac, license plate imb-007 is reading this, you're an asshole).
I took it out.
"And your breath stinks." And she threw a stick of green Extra at me.
Now, normally I would have been mortified to...well...death. I mean, the girl I loved, whom I asked to homecoming and who answered, "I'll think about it", the girl whom I dressed as for Halloween and whose life I offered to end tells me I have a license plate hanging out the back of my head and that my breath stinks? Yeah! I'ma normally fucking shrink up to a little nuthin' nuthin' and just...well...die! That is fucking bad.
But you know what? I can see the silver lining in almost anything. I can take a negative and find any positive in it. I can. That's the kind of person I am.
Emma told me about the license plate. Emma threw gum at me. Emma still cares.
That turned me around instantly.
So you know what I did? I picked up the gum...and I ate it!
And then I said, "So...homecoming. Are you still thinki-"
"No."
"Cool." I said. And I chewed my gum.
I chewed the shit out of it.
After school I ran home. I was elated. The birds were singing. I was out of my funk. I wanted to tell mom and dad about how Emma cured me from my blues, but all I found was Khieu and that dumb box of kittens. So I told her. Even though I knew it was pointless. Mexicans don't have feelings.
"...and then she threw her gum at me and I was cured. Isn't that GREAT?!? I feel GREAT! Isn't gum GREAT?!?!" I finished to Khieu.
"Yes, Mr. Skote. That's the wonderful. But what do you thinking we should do with small cats?"
"Shit. I don't know. We should name them, I guess."
"Yes. Good idea. What should we name them?"
"You know, Khieu...I realize now that you were trying to cheer me up this morning. I want you to know that I'm grateful for your attempt, even though you dangled my dead cat in front of me on a stick. So I think you should pick one and name it yourself."
"Oh...Mr. Skote. I could not do this."
"Sure you can! Why don't you name it after an influential leader from your country. Who had the biggest affect on your heritage?"
"Pol Pot."
"Pol Pot. I see. Wasn't...wasn't he Cambodian?"
"Yes. Like me. I'm Camodian."
"I see."
Silly mexican. She doesn't even know where she's from. Mexicans are so cute.
Kinda like my new kittens, one of whom is named Pol Pot.
Until next time.
Hrrrrrrrrngggggggh....4outof5dentistsrecommendit
PS - I think I need to apologize for saying that Emma had an abortion in my last post (dag...linking is handy). It's not true. She didn't (that i know of). I made it up. I was just hurting and angry and needed to lash out irrationally. She's a good christian girl. She'd never have an abortion, let alone sex.
Ever.
ever.
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