The Color Of Hunger

Posts Tagged ‘story

Man, I loved hogging the drinking fountain in elementary school. There was only one too, in the ENTIRE school. (Great Northern – it was a two-story brick building, housing give-or-take forty kids, K-6th.) “Neiner, neiner, neeeeiner.” Drink, drink, drink. Then I’d do that thing where I’d fake like I was finished, wipe my sleeve across my mouth even, for added effect, just to bend down and drink some more. Haha! That was the best. Especially when I’d get the kids I didn’t like waiting behind me. They wouldn’t say anything. Of course not. That meant defeat and losing when yer twelve years old is simply not acceptable.
So twenty seconds would go by, and then ten more, and then twenty seconds after that, until finally they’d get so impatient, they’d go to the bathroom and drink from the sink faucet. I’d get to a point where I couldn’t swallow anymore cuz I was choking on the water from laughing so hard. It’s tough enough trying to muffle laughter when yer a fifth grader, but when kids start resorting to the bathroom sink because you currently hold all access to the water fountain, shit just gets soooo much funnier. I guess it’s the equivalent of asking for a water cup at Mickey D’s and in turn, filling it up with Mountain Dew. And then giggling quietly in the corner booth with the rest of yer friends because, dude, you just scored a free cup of pop. Take that Ronald! Mwahahaha!
Karma would always find a way to bite me in the ass though. I’d get back to the classroom after the pass over period to find my spelling test on my desk, a big red ‘F’ smeared across the front of it.
“What the hell is this!? I don’t deserve this!”
“Yer right, you deserve an F minus. But unfortunately they haven’t put that into the grading scale yet.”
I’d look to my friends for help with that sad frowny face, you know the one. Mouth open, nostrils flared, eyebrows resembling upside down pinball flippers. Like when the heating bill’s a hundred bucks more than last month. (“That’s it honey, we’re switchin’ ta blankets and bonfires. Blankets and bonfires!”) Haha. My friends would always side with the teacher though. Always. It never failed. I suppose power in numbers is a little less effective when yer in elementary school, but come on, I was all for trying new things.
“Huhu, you spelled ‘green’ wrong? How do you spell ‘green’ wrong? Huhu.”
“Don’t give me crap, Davey. I mixed up the past and present, okay.”
“Green’s not a verb, Bree.”
“Damnit Davey!”
The teacher would write that ‘F’ in the darkest shade of red he could find, too. Just for me. All the other kids’ letters would be perfectly placed in the left corner of the page, all pretty and fancy and cursive and sparkly. Some a playful blue, others a happy orange. Shit, even the D’s were written with one of those nifty purple highlighters. Then you’d get to mine and it would look like something just got murdered. (You’d search for caution tape and a body, but come back with pieces of soggy marker paper and a guilty Sharpie.) All you’d see was red. A page of red. And the ‘F’ was like, fucking CARVED into the paper. It took up the entire page, so you knew it was mine from like eighty feet away. I could hear kids whisper from the back seats.
“There’s Bree’s. So much for a writing career. Huhu.”
“Huhu, true that. What a loser. Hey could I get a drink of that? What? It’s not my fault the line was long.”
Actually, I was a pretty good student in my younger years. Didn’t talk very much, kept to myself a lot, got my shit and got out. Kinda like Wal-Mart’s motto, but personified. Haha. However, despite being a goody two shoes, I was constantly assigned the front desk. (Come on now Teach, aren’t the bad kids supposed to be sitting where I am?) But no. Even if the seating arrangement was alphabetical, I’d STILL end up in the front of the classroom. Usually by some stupid chart the teacher printed off. I guess to make it easier for substitutes to take attendance? Whatever the reason, I absolutely hated it. It pissed me off too, cuz I knew I had no power to change it. Can’t say I didn’t learn anything though. Haha.
I can honestly sit here and tell you, without hesitation, that I was the BEST cheater in the ENTIRE fifth grade. Sure, there may have been only six of us, but I’ll take credit where it’s due. Haha. Seriously though. I wouldn’t even refer to it is as cheating. I called it ‘adaptation’ and I was damn good at it. Of course, I had to be. I sat in the front desk for Christ’s sake. Standard cheating procedures were way too hard to pull off when yer front and center and texting wasn’t an option cuz I had no phone back then.
So I experimented here and there, found some things that worked, found some things that didn’t (writing notes on my palms in ballpoint pen before lunch had its downfalls), and eventually came across a creative little method known to most as “The Pop Bottle Label Switch”. It’s genius. You’ll need a color printer and the process is rather time consuming, yet very VERY effective in the long run.
  1. Buy the biggest plastic Mountain Dew bottle you can find. (It doesn’t hafta be Mountain Dew, anything light in color will do just fine.)
  2. Peel the label off gently, making sure not to rip or bend any part of it.
  3. Scan the label with the printer and open it with Photoshop or any program that allows you to add text to yer image.
  4. Smudge out the ingredients section and replace them with yer notes.
  5. Print off yer ‘new and improved’ label and re-stick it in the same spot it was before. (I always used a small piece of double-sided scotch tape. It looked the best cuz it fit perfectly and I wouldn’t have any excess tape hanging off the sides.)
When you take yer test, don’t bring the ‘notes’ out right away cuz it’s too suspicious. Wait for like a good five minutes and then take a casual drink, leaving yer drink on the corner of the desk when finished. I cannot tell you how many times this has worked for me. The results are too good to feel guilty for. Haha.
=]

Hi. My name is Sam. I carry my vacuum everywhere I go. His name is Beaner. Beaner has these wicked little claws that come out from under him whenever I find one a’ those pesky Snow-Mamas in my yard. Beaner gets the job done right, too. No prisoners, ohhhh no.
..
Like this one time, a Snow-Mama and her child had made refuge in the east corner of my front yard. I think that damn neighbor kid Henry might have made ‘em. Bastard. Anyways, I fired up ol’ Beaner and dismembered that Snow-Mama.
..
Her child was awfully cute though, so I had my way with her. Repeatedly. In my yard. In the middle of December. She kept screaming, “Stop! Get away!, but I think that was just because when I switched to doggy-style, she caught a glimpse of her mother’s puddle on the ground. She’ll get over it though. They always do.
..
Hi my name is Sam. And I rape Snow-Babies.

I remember this one time, I think I was like 9 or 10 years old. I had this awesome toy chest that I put all my toys inside of. It even had a sweet little lock on the front part. Well, one night I dug all my toys out and attempted to climb inside. Notta; I was too big. So of course I go and get my brother.
..
He fit perfectly with about an inch to spare in each corner. “K, now let me shut it”, I remember telling him. So I shut it, and locked it as well. About 5 seconds in, he started freaking out cuz I had overlooked the fact that my nifty chest had no air circulation when closed. Well, whenever you applied pressure from the bottom up, the lock tightened, cuz that’s just the way it was designed. So there he was, screaming and suffocating, while I helplessly screamed back at him, “Stop moving!!!” Finally, I realized I wasn’t strong enough to get him out, so I ran and got Dad. He seriously took one pull to get Austin out. There Austin sat, all red and crying, and me, pretty much the same.
..
I remember Dad was pissed at me the rest of the evening, and so was Mom. So I wrapped my bed sheet around me and slept behind my bedroom door that night. I’m still not sure why. I think I was trying to punish myself for what I put my brother through by not allowing myself to sleep on the bed. Genius. Bahaha!

One foggy Friday night, walking home from my performance with the Rolling Stones (we were in NYC that night), I heard a noise to my left, somewhere beneath the twisted twigs and branches of this old maple tree. It was really dark, and I couldn’t see anything, so using my wicked awesome telekinesis skills, I contortioned the streetlamp (imagine the Pixar lamp) so it would face the maple tree. As I did, Kermit the Frog leaped out at me from behind, a bottle of chloroform in one hand and a balled up handkerchief in the other. He knocked me out cold almost instantly. The last thing I remember was the evil smile on Mrs. Piggy’s wrinkly face, and her snorting violently as she slowly emerged from under that maple tree.
..
When I finally regained consciousness, I found myself strapped down with miles and miles of bungee cord pinning me to this 500 foot red rocket. Twisting my head around, I managed to catch a glimpse of the name of this gigantic monster that now held my life in its hands…..or bungee cords. “Squatting Turtle”. Great, I thought to myself. Death is going to find my charred remains somewhere up in outer space attached to a red rocket called “Squatting Turtle”.  Lovely.
..
Still very much confused on this whole situation, I tried to make some sense out of it. However, I couldn’t understand why this crazy little frog along with his pig-of-a-sidekick, had buckled himself in right next to me. Seeing the absurd expression on my face, he half-smiled at me and exclaimed out of the side of his mouth, “We’re gonna go visit Mars, my friend!” Before I could ask why in the aych-e-double hockey sticks I was the chosen companion on this insane mission, the rocket’s double piston engines gave an ear-shattering screech and began to slowly propel upward into the darkness.
..
Highly opposing this whole “space” idea, I yet again used my wicked awesome telekinesis skills to loosen the bungee cords tightened uncomfortably around my wrists, making sure that these 2 lunatics on the sides of me were still glued to this reddish beast. After about 7-8 seconds, I fell from the rocket into an acre of soft cozy cotton trees below. Dusting these cotton balls off the ripped cuffs of my favorite jeans, I glanced up to see Kermit and Mrs. Piggy staring down at me, disappointment and regret lingering on their faces. The only thing I thought to do was wave goodbye. And so I did. Farewell my crazy friends, farewell.


iplaytrack1224@hotmail.com

I am a student of life. 22 years young. I observe. I experience. I learn. I am driven by creativity. And music. Good music. Indie and electronic. I love sensory details. Life is crazy. But meant for living. I have no regrets in mine. Only lessons. =]
April 2014
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