Ok, reading over this last story and I feel like it makes me sound like a dick. I guess I want to emphasize that at one point he wanted me to fight him, and that at another point he threatened to shoot me.
Ok, reading over this last story and I feel like it makes me sound like a dick. I guess I want to emphasize that at one point he wanted me to fight him, and that at another point he threatened to shoot me.
And in other related news, the imaginary The Life & Crimes Of Jack Roller screenplay I'm planning has had a name change, and will from now on be called Luchador.
Jermaine lost.
Long shot, but you never ran into a Jamal in the army, did you?
I don't think I ever knew a Jamal period. I actually started posting right after he "lost" I think so I don't even know what his job was or where he was stationed.Originally Posted by KTULU
I have a pretty good memory I guess. I can remember kindergarten very clearly. I remember the screening process before kindergarten. My mom dropped me off with some ladies I didn't know and there were kids I'd never met. They would ask us to do shit and most of it was fun. I remember they gave us clay. This native kid next to me made a monster truck with two flinstones type wheels under it and drove it around the table making sure we could hear the car noises he was making. I wasn't sure why he thought we'd be impressed. It was sort of cool. But I didn't understand why he wouldn't make a fucking dinosaur instead. I made a T-Rex. None of the other kids made dinosaurs either. Dumbasses. But the ladies writing shit down must have liked my T-Rex. I got into kindergarten.
Kindergarten was ridiculous. Shapes, colors, arts and crafts - then some kids got milk before we had naptime. Other than the time this kid Randy pissed his pants, naptime was lame. My parents never made me do that shit at home. Then there were times they seemed to let us do whatever the hell we wanted after our work was done. I did whatever the hell I wanted a lot. One day I was drawing a lion while looking at a circus poster. Even though I used markers I didn't screw up once and it looked badass. But I noticed there was a rip on the paper so I threw it in the trash. Then Mrs. Christopher saw it and asked why I threw it away. I pointed out the rip in the paper and she said that was no reason to throw away such a great drawing. She went to put it in my cubby hole for me. That's when she saw I hadn't done any school work in a very long time. My cubbyhole was full of shit I was supposed to do before I ever drew a lion.
She made a big production about it and made sure the whole fucking class knew how behind I was. Then she sat me alone at a table to get to work. Shapes. Fucking shapes. Did they think I didn't know what a circle was by now? That I couldn't tell that a big circle was more like a little circle than it was a square? They really didn't think so. Miss Califf, the teacher, had told my mom halfway through the first quarter "I haven't quite figured Jack out yet." Miss Califf thought I was a retard.
I can't see why. I never did any weird shit. I never cried for no reason. I never pissed my pants like Randy. And I was nothing like Josh. Josh was a total weirdo. He always had this crazy look on his face. And he was always doing dumb shit. I wasn't friends with Josh. But I liked that he was in my class. Josh would do shit like chase girls around with snot hanging down to his waste while he growled at them. Miss Califf would tell him to clean it up and he'd suck his snot up like a noodle. Miss Califf was horrified. I almost died laughing. At show and tell kids would talk about fish they caught. Josh would one-up everyone. "I went fishing at the dam and caught a shark as big as that wall!" What a dumb fucker. There aren't any sharks that big. Then one day I made a giant batch of red finger paint. I went to get the paper and came back to see Josh with the tray up in the air gulping it down. He drank the whole fucking thing, then stared at me with his crazy, dumbass eyes growling like he did when the snot was hanging from his nose. He had red paint going down his chin like he was a vampire. I yelled for Miss Califf. She had to see what Josh did. Drank all of the finger paint. It was fucking awesome! Miss Califf didn't think so.
Josh wasn't around after that. It turns out I wasn't the retard. Josh was. Suck it Miss Califf. It's not her fault though. The ladies at the screening that made us play with clay must not have seen him growling and eating it. It was their fault for letting him in. Of course I knew he didn't belong with us the first time us kids went to the bathroom and he pulled his pants down to his ankles to take a leak in the urinal. And I was dead certain later on when he shit in one. The normal kids kept their pants up when they pissed and jumped on top of the urinal and flushed the handle until it overflowed onto the floor. At least I did anyways.
Last edited by Jack Roller; 12-25-2011 at 08:20 AM.
I was going through shit at my parents house and found something my first grade teacher wrote my parents. It was this small piece of lined paper with school shit like pencil's and crayons printed on one corner and it said something like "Every once in a while when a child walks by Jack he gives them a push or a shove. I think he's a nice boy but..." And I don't remember this note at all. If I had taken it home I would have been thinking of my dad kicking my ass the whole way. I lived a long way from school. I would have remembered that walk. For some reason I didn't.
I also don't remember being an asshole in the first grade - not a bigger asshole than anyone else I guess. We all fought other kids before school. But they were mostly wrestling matches. And it was almost always groups of kids, not one kid picking on another one. And it wasn't a big deal. We were little kids. We weren't knockout artists or anything. If someone started crying or got a bloody nose we all ran our asses off away from them.
When we got to second grade we fought the first graders almost every morning. It was mostly a joke. This first grade kid named Todd thought he was a real badass. He had hair as long as some of the girls and he would actually kick people. We all wondered who this fucker was kidding. Kicking? Did he think he knew Kung Fu? We called him Karate Kid. It wasn't a compliment. I never thought twice about throwing Todd to ground. But a friend of his scared the hell out of me. He wasn't mean or a great fighter or anything. He just had a huge head. I mean there was a fucking melon on this kid. I didn't dare punch that thing. I'd probably break my hand. Day after day I stared at that thing in the morning before school. People would scrap and it was bullshit. Nobody really got hurt. But I made sure that big-headed bastard was nowhere near me. Then one day I'd had it. I was tired of living in fear. I pushed through the make-believe brawl in progress, pushed his dance partner aside, and started windmilling on his noggin. I was hitting that thing like a fucking drum. It wasn't near as hard as I thought it would be. Then I noticed all the other kids had scattered to the far corners of the playground. He was crying. So I ran off too. Fists -1. Giant fucking head - 0.
So anyways, I think about this and all these pitiful scraps happened far from the sight of any teacher or teacher's aide. So I'm not sure why Mrs. Johnson wrote that shit to my parents. I have a pretty great memory of most other things back then. Maybe I didn't want to remember after my dad belted me. If that's what it was I don't remember the belting. And maybe it's because my attitude was short-lived. This asshole that was way too big to be in the same grade as me started fucking with me every day. I always wondered why he started screwing with me. Maybe it's because I was like Mrs. Johnson said. Maybe I was walking around like my shit didn't stink and I gave him a shove.
So you wonder why the teacher wrote that note, and can't remember being an asshole, but then flat out admit you beat the shit out of a kid because he had a melon-sized head that freaked you out? No offense Jack, but being able to look at other people and knowing they're stupid assholes does not automatically mean you're not also a stupid asshole. Or as I like to say, we are all stupid assholes.
I didn't say I wasn't an asshole. Just that I wasn't a bigger asshole than anyone else.
Ah I see what you're saying but yeah, I followed it by saying not a bigger asshole than anyone else. lol
Well, at least you did me a favor because I was thinking about the imaginary Luchador screenplay and realized I would need childhood stories to put your life into perspective. So with that taken care of, I wonder if you happen to have any specific life events tied to your fascination for luchadors, and the idea behind wearing the luchador mask every Halloween/costumed event/etc.
Posting Permissions
Reply With Quote
