Posts Tagged ‘school’

Unless you got a really good note from a doctor, you probably had to participate in gym class during your youth. From kindergarten until for some of us university, we had to learn physical education. During my time learning about my body and how useless it was when it came to sports, I realized there were always the same types of kids in my gym class every year.

gym class

(I couldn’t find a good picture of kids in gym class so I used this one of them running away from a classmate with a gun)

The Athlete

My high school had a lot of really talented athletes who went on to do nothing with their abilities because as talented at sports as they were in comparison to me they really weren’t very good compared to the Soviets or anyone else who drinks blood before going for a jog. The Athlete treats gym class as an exhibition. He will dominate you at foursquare and he doesn’t hide in the back of the kickball batting lineup like I always did. This is also the one subject the athlete can shine in. They tend to smile at the girls after scoring a layup and it always does the trick, charming the gym shorts off the females in the class.

The Girl

I thought girls were smart. Gym class proved to me that I was mistaken. So many girls would do whatever they could to get out of participating in gym class. Looking back I’m sure a lot of it had to do with their teenage body insecurities, but at the same time it’s not like I came from a generation that made us shower after class. I saw too many honor roll quality females get a C in gym class for simply not making an attempt at hitting a volleyball. Some girls who were otherwise social turned into shelled up antisocial outcasts during gym. They basically turned into me and that’s just sad.

The Red Faced Fat Kid

This was the category I often fell into. I was pretty competitive at sports before I didn’t have constant hip pain like I do now. When you are overweight and give it your all in sports this disgusting thing happens to your face where it turns red. Being of Irish descent, meaning I have the complexion of an unused Aryan toilet seat, my red face was a big change from my usual pale rash skin. I spent way too much time in gym class trying to win then heading off to math class smelling terrible and I would like to apologize to everyone who had to smell my pits whenever I raised my hand.

The Troublemaker

I have no medical license so I cannot completely diagnose these students who I saw as the gym class troublemakers. If I had to guess though they would probably have some form of severe ADD or demonic possession. Every year in gym class there was at least one kid who spent the entire period making monkey sounds while climbing on things he wasn’t supposed to. Other kids would shoot basketballs, purposefully missing and trying to hit other students in the head. I know this because sometimes I would do that. Given the choice between being known as the sweaty fat kid with the red face and the jerk, I will take being the jerk for eternity.

The Wannabe Athlete

These kids tended to hang around the real athletes only to realize they weren’t nearly as talented. Most of the time they were on the football team only because everyone makes the football team. After all, someone needs to get knocked over on a special teams play. The wannabe athletes were normally kids who would talk a big game and rarely back it up. At least as a red faced fat kid I wore my game on my face and on the huge circular sweat stain on the small of my back.

The Kid That Always Gets Hurt

You can toss this kind of gym class kid into any of the other categories as well, but this one is a necessary add-on for sure. Other than using a protractor incredibly wrong, gym class is usually the only class in school you will get hurt. A lot of the kids who always got hurt were athletes or the wannabe athletes. There was one kid I went to school with for years and every time he barely got touched he would pretend he was hurt really bad. He did this mostly whenever his team was losing or he screwed up, attempting to mask how his giant oval-shaped head was slowing him down during flag football. For some reason in his head he thought it was better to cry from an injury than admitting someone beat him fairly. I went to school with that kid for 13 years and we only have 5 mutual friends on Facebook. That shows you how different our social circles were.

The Take It Too Seriously Kid

Again, you can be other things and still be the take it too seriously kid. These classmates act as if they are going to win something more than a high-five from a teammate. The sport I remember seeing this kid in most was volleyball. My middle school and high school loved volleyball tournaments because it was non-violent and could be coed. Whenever a ball would land near a girl and she would step out of the way the kid who took it too seriously would scream at her like she lied about being on birth control. Why would you ever scream at a girl for wanting to not get sweaty? Needless to say, the kids that took gym class too seriously all ended up alone.

The Nerdy Girl That Actually Did Try

I would hate for you to think that I didn’t notice the girls who did try in gym class. Oddly enough from my experiences, the only ones who tried hard were the nerdy girls nobody ever noticed. Perhaps this is why they tried in gym class, to finally gain some credibility in the school. Most specifically I remember a particular nerdy girl trying to catch a kickball only for it to hit her in the face and knock her flat on her back. I think after that she learned her lesson that sports aren’t for everybody and she should stick to being weird and getting good grades. I have no idea where she ended up in life. Kudos to her, I wish I could be as elusive.

School is back in session and I thought this would be a decent time to re-post something I wrote for Yahoo about my favorite teacher of all-time and how she completely destroyed my hope of ever having a positive adult female influence in my life.

I only had a small handful of teachers who had a positive impact on me. In elementary school, there was my kindergarten teacher Mrs. Trani, a woman who always praised me and how well-behaved I was. Mrs. Trani insisted there was something special about me. In fourth grade there was Mrs. Hartbauer, a woman who was similar to Mrs. Trani and actually took an active interest in my life. Mrs. Hartbauer also insisted that there was something special about me. It was not until high school when I would have another teacher attempt to make a positive difference in my life. This woman was my 10th-grade English teacher, Mrs. Hill.

Tenth grade was the pinnacle of awkwardness for me and I think that was why Mrs. Hill tried to help me so much. My quiet demeanor and obvious social flaws made me an easy target to get walked over by other students. Mrs. Hill wanted to do whatever she could to limit the torment from life I would inevitably receive.

The English class I took with Mrs. Hill started off normal. It may have been after a field trip where she noticed I was sitting by myself that Mrs. Hill began paying closer attention to everything I did.

The first assignment Mrs. Hill took special interest in me was a brief one about what we wanted to do when we grew up. I forget specifically what I said, but it was something about comedic writing. Mrs. Hill stopped me on my way out of class and asked if I had heard of a local comedy club. I told her I had never heard of it and figured she was nothing more than a senile old woman asking strange questions. Mrs. Hill was in her mid-50s so it wasn’t such a preposterous proposition for me to believe. The next day, Mrs. Hill came in with a phone number for me to contact the comedy club about getting on stage. At the time I had no interest in ever doing stand-up comedy, so when she asked if I called, I told her the phone rang and nobody ever picked up. Two years later I actually did do stand-up comedy for the first time, possibly subconsciously thanks to Mrs. Hill.

For the rest of the year Mrs. Hill and I continued to have a very strange relationship, not one that ends with her in an orange jumpsuit. We bonded over the fact that I lied to her about having been to Buffalo. I owned a Buffalo Bills t-shirt for some reason and since Mrs. Hill was born in Buffalo, we became friends who would talk about different places in Buffalo, none of which I had ever heard of.

One of the final assignments we had that year was an oral report. The goal of the report was to teach our classmates how to do something. Lacking self-esteem in my bloodstream, I had no clue what I could have taught my classmates. The most beautiful girl in school sat two seats behind me. What did I know that she didn’t?

Mrs. Hill asked me what I would be doing my report on. I told her I had no idea and she suggested I do one of the examples, how to make a BLT sandwich. As a fat kid I took offense to this. I didn’t tell her I was offended though. Instead I said it would be tough to get the materials needed. My parents had separated a year earlier and even though my dad was around a lot less, I could have easily asked him to get me the ingredients for a BLT sandwich.

Of course as our relationship was, I lied to Mrs. Hill. I told her that my parents would not buy those foods for me. I think at that time Mrs. Hill believed I came from an abusive home where I was given a box of crackers to eat each day to survive on. Mrs. Hill was kind enough to offer to actually buy me the ingredients I needed. I told her not to because I have always been someone not to ask for favors. If Mrs. Hill had gotten me the necessary foods I might owe her something. I would be expected to help her move a dead body somewhere down the line.

I ended up doing my report on how to get rid of a stuffy nose. It was actually pretty good and a lot different from the others. Mrs. Hill had a big smile on her face during my report. Even better, the prettiest girl in school was leaning forward against her desk, unable to take her eyes off me throughout. She was amazed that sniffing salt water could clear out your nasal passages. For a few minutes, I had earned her attention.

My favorite thing about Mrs. Hill was how much she encouraged me to continue with my writing. My ninth grade English teacher Mr. Kane told me I was good, but Mrs. Hill practically begged me to join the school newspaper. I had no interest writing stories praising the corrupt high school government or doing coverage on how the cafeteria tater tots were no longer poisonous. Her encouragement of me meant a lot and I was lucky to have her as a teacher.

Unfortunately the story doesn’t stop there. The next time I would interact with Mrs. Hill would be two years later in twelfth grade. My English teacher that year was out sick so they had Mrs. Hill come in and babysit us for forty minutes. I had not seen her in quite some time and I knew she would be a little curious how my life had been going. I looked drastically different by then, having dropped a ton of weight, but I was still clearly me. Mrs. Hill would have so many positive things to say to me. She would have herself to partly thank.

An assignment was given to us and since it was late in the year and most of the class had committed to going to the local community college, we had little reason to care about our GPAs. Instead of doing our work for the day we goofed off. Mrs. Hill thought she would authoritatively walk around the room in hopes it would get us to do our work.

I was seated in the second seat closest to the door. Only a girl with the last name Adams came before my name, Tim Boyle, alphabetically. Mrs. Hill made her way across the classroom and over to me with her familiar friendly smile. We made eye contact and her smile grew even larger.

“Are you finished with your work, John?”

There was no mistaking it. She was looking directly at me. My favorite teacher had just called me the wrong name.

My eyes puffed out. My bottom lip dropped. For a few seconds my heart stopped beating then spun around in a circle. My name wasn’t John. In fact, it never has been. I have always been a Tim, Timothy, or Timmy; among other more insensitive nicknames.

“My name’s not John,” I said a little disappointed.

Mrs. Hill’s mind crossed over itself. Then she remembered who I was, “Matthew?” she questioned.

I shook my head. This guessing game would have gone on forever. Mrs. Hill, the one teacher in high school who made a positive difference in my life, forgot who I was even after two guesses. She walked away to the next aisle, never to interact with me ever again.

Out of all the things Mrs. Hill taught me, the most important was that nobody cares about us as much as we may think they do. Thanks for the terrible revelation.

peggy hill

My apologies for sticking with the theme of educate themed lists and why childhood is awful. This just happened to be the next on my list of things I originally posted and I’m not about to change!

I attended Community College and during that time I stayed in touch with a few friends who went to four-year colleges. Many of these friendships continued through broken promises and consistent lies. I’m not sure what happened to most of them. My guess is they never existed and I’m nothing more than a dying war veteran living an illusion.

Ten Lies University Students Tell Their Community College Friends

1) “We’ll still hangout a lot.” – Half of my friends went to a four year school and half went to community college. I didn’t see a single one of my four year university friends after they went left town to continue their education ever again. Okay, that’s an exaggeration. I saw one or two of them and it was only because they ended up dropping out. The rest of them disappeared off the face of the earth. These were really good friends of mine too. My guess is they have high security government jobs. There’s no way they stopped talking because I have personality flaws, right?

2) “I’ll be home every weekend.” – Do you know what the only thing worse than a friend ditching you for a new life is? It’s a friend ditching you for a new life and still living five minutes away. Coming home every weekend changes to once a month and then it changes to only coming around on holidays. Then when you ask them to do something they are too busy with their family or worse, they actually do hang with you and they don’t shut up about college.

3) “The people here are great.” – I may have never attended a four year university, but I have begged for change on campuses enough to know a bit about the culture. College kids are not any better than anyone else. I think as a freshman it may seem like you are meeting a lot of diverse personalities. Reality is you’re meeting a lot of the same people who just have a different hometown listed on their license. By the time a college kid becomes a junior, they start to realize their friends aren’t as cool as they once were.

4) “It’s a lot of work.” – Is it? College seems to be 30% drinking beer, 30% sleeping around, and 30% cramming because you spend 60% of your time drinking and sleeping around. As for the missing 10%, I think that’s spent on the phone with your friends at home telling them lies.

5) “You wouldn’t understand.” – When a university student becomes an elitist it’s time to cut them off. College seems to either help people appreciate things more or it turns them into real life Lisa Simpsons. Unfortunately the latter seems to happen a lot more frequently. Sure, a lot of university students are more intelligent than their community college counterparts. That does not mean I am incapable of understanding metaphysical science. If there’s a Wikipedia page for it, there’s a chance I can learn it.

6) “This is a great story.” – No great story ever starts off with those words. Did the opening text to Star Wars have those words in it? Nope. That carefully chosen opening text was placed there for a purpose and was incredibly helpful. I’m not saying community college kids don’t lie about stories being great. I do believe stories about community college are better though. Community college students fall down a lot more often. A story about falling down is closer to greatness than a story about getting accepted into a graduate program. Who wants to hear about other people succeeding?

7) “The living arrangements are comfortable.” – Sleeping in a small room with someone of the same sex is comfortable? Sign up for the army if that’s your cup of tea, the Danish army. I’m not sure why I have it out for the Danish. They make a great breakfast treat. The college living arrangements could make a cockroach leave town. Communal bathrooms, shared housing, and lack of privacy are all human rights violations. While all of my university friends were sharing a room with someone else I had my own room with an empty bed and no one to talk to. Okay, this one might be a draw.

8) “I’ve hooked up with so many people.” – I don’t doubt university hooking up is a lot higher than at community colleges. I believe the average age for a community college student to receive their first kiss is 34. Still, I find it unlikely that some of my friends made-out with as many girls as they claim. The closest I came to kissing a girl at community college was the time when I was talking to a girl who spit when she talked.

9) “I’m going to get a job right after I graduate because I worked hard and am qualified.” – And then they see the equally as qualified and experienced millions competing against them. That’s the moment they text me for the first time in four years asking how I am and if I know anywhere hiring. I wish this one was made up. I hate that guy.

10) “You didn’t miss much at college.” – Are you kidding me? The way people I know who went to four year schools talk about it I would swear my life will always have that empty void. I mean, it’s great not to have any debt. At any moment I could go live off the grid. When you pay to go to college you aren’t just paying for the education. You are also paying for the experience. I’m not sure you can put an actual price on an experience. I missed out on fraternities, pranking the dean, legendary red cup parties, tuition meetings, pregnancy scares, and everything else that makes up the college experience. Don’t patronize me. Community college was delightful for what it was, a cheap alternative. Community college is like the direct-to-video film Snakes on a Train while a four year university is like the cult classic Snakes on a Plane. Both have a lot of awful things about them; one is just a little bit better and more rewarding. Will I send my current non-existing kids to a four year college? You better believe for my wallet’s sake I am going to do everything I can to make my kids outstanding athletes or vocational school bound.

commuity college map

(According to this chicken pox inspired map, there are more community colleges in Alaska than Nevada. I’m not surprised either. People in Nevada actually invited Carrot Top to go there and perform every night)

Over the course of a person’s lifetime they are said to meet an average of 17 people. I’m pretty popular so I have met a lot more people than that. The thing is, a lot of people kind of blend together and are more background characters than anything else. They are folks who I only remember one or two things about. These are their standout moments from my perspective, mostly the one or two things I remember about them.

-There was this person I knew who would watch Comedy Central then repeat the Dane Cook jokes he heard in class. People thought he was cool. He was wealthy and seemed to have everything going for him. Then he told a girl he liked that he liked her and she told him he wasn’t in good enough shape for her. Now she’s really fat and I hope he’s dead.

-There was this person I knew who one time during a school play fainted in the middle of it and fell about five feet. It was epic and a lot of people still remember it.

-There was this person I knew who while on our sixth grade orientation he had a box of munchkins to celebrate his birthday. He tripped while holding them and I said “Everyone is going to call you the Donut Kid in middle school now.” Nobody ever did because I was the cruelest girl in school.

not-another-teen-movie-mia-kirshner-as-catherine(Me in high school, basically)

-There was this person I knew who I heard accidentally pooped on a guy’s face during cunnilingus. It was a very well-known story and probably true because people are disgusting.

-There was this person I knew who would draw pictures of our English teacher giving him oral sex in class. She was about 60 years old. He was 14.

harold(It was like this only more nudity and a crooked erection. I don’t mean crooked like it was taking bribes from government officials either)

-There was this person I knew who told me that unprotected sex was the only way to have sex. She offered to have sex with me. I said no. A month later she told me she had HPV and she probably died.

-There were these people I knew who said we would be good friends forever. No clue what happened to them.

Ozzy_Smith(Somewhere in the unknown with Ozzie Smith perhaps?)

-There was this person I knew whose elbow I touched and she told all of her friends how much she liked it. We made plans to get coffee together and then she deleted me off of Facebook. I kind of hope she did it so I didn’t have to find out about her suicide.

-There was this person I knew who was a complete dick. That doesn’t really narrow it down.

-There was this person I knew who made fun of me in high school. Then he raped a child and got put in prison.

TOM+CRUISE+TOP+GUN+1980S(It wasn’t this guy although he also went to prison for raping a kid. I know way too many pedophiles and rapists)

-There was this person I knew who would never say “haha” or “lol” online to anything. It annoyed me greatly.

-There was this person I knew whose house always smelled like cat piss. He did not own a cat.

battle royale(He also recently bought this)

-There was this person I knew who fell asleep drinking a soda. I was at his house so I just left and took my DVDs I had lent him with me and we never spoke again. Death?

-There was this person I knew who would follow this girl he liked around. He would even drive her and her boyfriends places. He still does it. He never learns.

-There was this person I knew who told me how awesome I was and it wasn’t a lie. But this is a lie. I’m making them up.

-There was this boy who had so much hope for the future and then he met a lot of shitty people. Now he blogs about them.

*Note: I make too many TV/Movie references

I remember reading The Diary of Anne Frank in 8th grade nude and thinking she should have been named Anne Liar, not Frank. What’s so Frank about her? She never came off as forthcoming to me. Or maybe I don’t understand the meaning of the word frank. I’m basing this off the personality of Frank from the Frank and Ernest comics.

So I guess I have two things to say in this post. The first is that I hate bothering people with anything. I’m not saying I won’t again, but for now since I have things popping up daily I would rather not be a major pest and devote this entire blog to you clicking on links to go somewhere else. I have added an RSS Feed to my Yahoo articles onto my page. It’s pretty cool if you click on them as often as you can because I actually get money for these. So like occasionally check that out and click on everything so I don’t have to bug you constantly. I may still actually post links at the bottom of my other pieces I write on this blog without being too intrusive. Here’s a picture example where you can find it:

yahoo articles

So like yeah check it out and start writing for them yourself.

Oh and here’s why I mentioned Anne Frank at the beginning. I wrote a letter to my bathroom and submitted it to some other website that isn’t College Humor. They rejected me of course because every website out there is run by the girls from my high school. Anne Frank is mentioned because the only thing I remember from the book is that they called the bathroom WCs. See how it all makes sense now?

A Letter to my Bathroom

Dear My Bathroom,

Sup? I have a few questions for you when you have the time. Don’t respond in a passive aggressive manner either like you tend to do. I find that very unattractive.

The first thing I am wondering about is the state of the toilet. How is it always getting so dirty? There are fecal stains in places there should not be fecal stains. Poop would literally have to shoot out from the toilet during a flush, deflect off the door, hit the floor, and then crawl along and up the front of the toilet. I don’t believe this is possible for a second because I always poop with the door open. If people don’t like what they see then they shouldn’t be breaking into my apartment. I also have concerns about the amount of hair on the toilet. I understand I am carrying several hairs on my body. Several may even have the potential to grow to dozens soon enough. I get it. After some investigating though, not all of those hairs can possibly be from me. The length of pubic hairs varies greatly, so much to the degree I wonder if you are planting these here to make me feel like I have guests over more frequently than I do, never. If so, thank you for making me feel less alone.

Here’s my complaint about the shower. The water is too hot. This is fine during the winter months. In the summer months this is painful and upsetting. I want to hurt someone after taking a shower, normally. After taking a shower in this bathroom with the burning hot water, I still want to hurt someone, but now it’s someone who doesn’t deserve it quite as much. I would also like the option to take a bath if I wanted to. The option does not exist and the maintenance man said he would take care of it. I am afraid to call him back again because the superintendent of my building has a strange skin disease. I am frightened that he will come do the job himself, a piece of his weird skin will fall off his face, and I will step on it. My feet are gross enough as they are. I do not want them looking like this guy’s face. He also wears a bandana frequently. Unless you are a cowboy bank robber or a freshly groomed dog I would prefer not seeing a bandana anywhere near you.

The final thing I want to bring up to you is the problem with the medicine cabinet mirror. Or should I say mirrors? These are two separate entities and when looking into the mirror you make me look really fat. This works well when flexing my arms because it doubles my bicep size by adding two inches. For the rest of my body though this is problematic. I gave up eating for a month because I didn’t realize you had this strange optical illusion staring me in the eye, chest, hips, thighs, waistline, or anywhere else I am insecure about on my body. Please see to it that you correct this problem. I suggest smashing.

There is a library down the street. I have seen a homeless man bathe in the sink there. Don’t think that I won’t be willing to do the same if you don’t take the time to at least think about changing.

Respectfully yours,


Recent Yahoo Articles:

Five Advantages of a Minor League Baseball Game

Top Ten Lies University Students Tell Their Community College Friends

I spent a good portion of yesterday doing things most people don’t normally do on Memorial Day. I didn’t barbecue, I didn’t salute a flag, and the best thing I ate was probably a plain tortilla out of a bag. Instead of conforming to the American Way, I decided to start doing my own comic strip. It’s very simple to do and feeds a creative need to tell a story and get it out there for everyone to see. I’ll probably do a few every week since they’re real simple to do and I enjoy them. Ignore the extra space since I’m cropping these in Paint so you don’t have to click a thousand links. The serious is called Held Back, based partially on something else I wrote but not really.

Held Back: Homecoming Date Part 1 & Part 2

homecoming p1 edited

homecoming p2 edited

Held Back: No Running in the Hall

no running in the hall edited

Held Back: The Faculty Bathroom

faculty bathroom edited

Held Back: Trip to the Art Museum

art museum trip

Held Back: Guess Who I Am

guess who i am edited

Held Back: The Joy of Babysitting

joy of babysitting edited

Held Back: Holiday Plans

holiday plans

Held Back: The Old Cynic

old cynic edited

Held Back: My First Time

first time edited

As already stated, I’ll post anything new I create up on here every so often. For access to the website or to be current and see them before anyone else you can visit my profile and have at it.

One of the few subjects I didn’t mind in school was history. History is fun to learn about because it’s 25% Nazis, 25% Aliens, 25% Bible/Vikings, 25% Ice Road Truckers. I had some lousy history teachers though and it kind of ruined what could have been an enjoyable learning experience.

I’ll start with the dumbest thing anyone told me. My 8th grade history teacher was a crazy woman named Mrs. Chernoski whom I have mentioned before at some point I’m sure. She would dress up in character and do dumb voices then try to be relatable. I never bought into her bullshit. She tried getting me to fill up her vase with water once while I was doing homework during study hall. I told her no and we argued. I absolutely hate flowers. I would do anything to make sure they died of dehydration. I would have done the same for Mrs. Chernoski. She was annoying and still to this day when I see a child crying I know she is somehow responsible.

Baby crying

(Chernoski was here)

The fact Chernoski told me that was untrue was that Abraham Lincoln was shot at Ford’s Theater located in Pennsylvania. I’m not sure if she was becoming senile or she really thought this was true. The whole class thought it was true. Then we brought it up on a field trip and Mrs. Chernoski was killed by firing squad for being a lousy human being. Or so I wish.’s+theater&rlz=1C1AVSX_enUS418US418&aq=f&um=1&ie=UTF-8&hl=en&sa=N&tab=wl

(In case you are interested in where Ford’s Theater is and are too lazy to look it up)

Another strange thing a history teacher told the class happened a year after the Anthrax mailings that occurred post-9/11. The post office they were mailed from was our town’s local post office so it was a trendy thing to talk about. He told us he had a former student whose dad worked for the FBI, not the Federal Booty Inspection. He told her classified information. Daddy told daughter that the government found the Anthrax mailer and he was locked up. He was a scientist from Maryland who drove up to New Jersey to mail his weapon. I don’t know how much of this is true. The same teacher also spent an entire week talking about how cool Rasputin was. It was the story that got him into history. It was also the story he told us that I think ended up getting him fired before Christmas.


(I don’t get why everyone freaked. Mailing someone a thrash metal band doesn’t seem like a big deal to me)

I had another history teacher who was intelligent enough other than for the fact he told the class he voted for Condoleeza Rice. Could there be anyone in the world who would have been less qualified to be president? Even Osama Bin Laden seems like a guy who could get the job done better. Well, not now. He’s in Davey Jones’s locker. Did I really just use the phrase “Davey Jones’s locker” and use it properly? I have never felt cooler.

Finally the original inspiration for this piece and inspired by a WordPress conversation, the worst thing a history teacher has ever told me.

It was sometime in elementary school when this happened. I don’t remember which teacher it was, but I know it happened. A teacher very nonchalantly told the class that Asian people have small eyes because many centuries ago when humans were nomadic that they had to travel through the deserts in Asia and sand blew up into their eyes. They had to squint to protect themselves from the sand and evolution happened. This is similar to how in kindergarten my teacher told us that Q’s are O’s who would stick their tongues out at others and they did it so much it got stuck that way.

Curious for the right answer I found this the real reason why Asians appear to have smaller eyes. “For the sake of answering, we will skip the fact that the illusion of “smaller” eyes largely applies to just EAST Asians, and not the many other peoples such as Iranians, Indians, Arabs, etc. East Asians don’t really have “tiny” eyes; it is really the same size as non-East Asians. They simply have a patch of extra skin (called an epithelial fold) above their eyes, because that sort of thing combats the extreme cold and fierce winds of Tibet, where the ancestors of East Asians lived for many tens of thousands of years before migrating down into warmer places. Since the epithelial fold is a part of their DNA, it stayed, even though the need for it no longer exists for all Asians but the Tibetans.” – Wiki Answers

I really wish I knew which teacher this was because I would love to get in touch and ask her why black people are so dark, why Mongolians look so retarded, and why Japanese vaginas are so crooked. And when I say crooked I don’t mean like a vagina who takes bribes from criminals to look the other way. Although, she might think they do that too.


(They should really make a sequel to Serpico where he tries to take down a dirty crooked vagina. Or don’t. That’s just silly)

What’s a lie/something stupid a teacher has told you?

I don’t have any incredibly traumatizing memories from my childhood. Some people were hurt really bad physically, emotionally, psychologically, sexually, or robotically. Despite not needing to turn my mind spotless for eternity or whatever you call the Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind procedure, there are a few silly things from when I was younger I would like to forget ever happened.

1) To scare away classmates I used to threaten to kiss them

Maybe this isn’t completely factual accurate because I did it to kids who were not always classmates. Even at a young age I had such poor self-esteem that I knew a kiss from me would be the worst thing I could do. More importantly I knew the early 90s was still too soon for the American public to accept homosexuality. I was such a clever kid. Such a gay clever kid.

big lips

(I bet this guy never even speeds. He’s terrified of going to prison with those lips)

2) I used to pluck my mom’s chin hairs and I liked it

My mom was never a bearded lady but she would get the occasional chin hair. I’m not sure if she specifically asked me to plug them for her but I did volunteer many times. There was something fun about grabbing the tweezers between my fingers then yanking out a hair from her face. This taught me the importance of vanity and never letting yourself get convinced what’s important on the inside is what matters most.


(Why doesn’t she just convert to Islam? She can cover it up all the time)

3) I used to scratch my dad’s beard for him and I liked it

It’s clear now I had a strange obsession with my parents’ facial hair. I don’t know exactly why I liked scratching my dad’s beard. I think it was just so thick and I imagined treasure could be pulled from it. At times I hoped I would be able to scratch out a big piece of dandruff but I never did. He always said he enjoyed my gross ice cream covered hands scratching his beard; however I’m pretty sure he was lying. At least I can always say I have scratched another man’s beard for him. That’s got to be on someone’s bucket list.

IMG_6734 bearbeitet 01 Kopie

(I swear the next picture won’t just be of a random person’s face)

4) In first grade I thought cable was a channel, not the thing channels are on

All of the cool kids ambushed me one day in first grade with questions. I’m not sure why they thought I was so interesting but they did. Their question was whether or not I had cable at home. My response was “What channel is that?” I knew cable had something to do with TV. My only mistake was thinking it was an individual station. Normally this would be an easy and forgettable mistake but these kids were really cool. One went on to be obese. Another gained a thousand more freckles. The third was a redheaded Jew. I miss those days in first grade when you could look like a Dick Tracy villain and still be popular.


(Do we have to wonder why no one has ever heard of this comic book character?)

5) I blew many chances at being really popular

My school bus usually had a lot of popular kids on it because the town mayor insisted they help balance things out with me living where I did. One day while going home two popular girls got up from the back of the bus and sat near the front where I was. They asked me if they could be my best friend. I said “No” because it was the safe thing to say. The same girl one time asked me what kind of cologne I was wearing because I smelt nice. I told her “None, I’m just covered in Speed Stick.” She loved and I didn’t understand I was telling a joke because I really was covered in Speed Stick.


(Lather yourself in this and you will definitely get laid or at least be bothered by someone asking you what that smell is)

6) The most popular girl in school had a crush on me

All right I’m lying, she didn’t but she definitely had some kind of interest in me which is really bumming me out right now thinking about it. We had very few interactions in our time together. Whenever we did interact she paid very close attention to me. Ninth grade Physical Science Level B was when we interacted with each other the most. She sat directly behind me. One time she was talking to the kid with the weird big eye about the Chili’s restaurant theme song. I had the perfect opportunity to turn around and in a deep voice say “barbecue sauce.” It would have been the first thing I ever said to any of them all year long and it would have been tremendous comedic timing. I could have been so cool. Instead I chose to sit there in silence and giggle about how 11 years later I’ll be lying around in my underwear writing about this experience for a blog trying to decide which would be an easier suicide option, poison or jumping off a cruise ship. Poison is a lot harder to get than you would think and cruise ships are always floating about.

(Don’t be fooled by the title. This poorly directed series of images was never on cable…whatever channel that is)

What’s a quick little memory from your childhood you would like to be able to block out? Nothing too serious. I don’t earn enough money off this blog to be your fucking therapist.

I’m surprised I never told this story of my youth yet on the o’le blog. It’s one of my few stories where I actually, pardon my French, fucking dominated my shithead 6th grade pussy classmates. Many of them have gone on to become doctors or have visible abdominal muscles, but they can never take away the glory I had this day.

My middle school had a tradition of having a Medieval Day at the end of each year. I’m not sure why. We only learned about that era in history class for about a week. I think they chose this part of history because it was the cheapest. If the food or decorations didn’t arrive they could just say the delivery man died of plague and everything would stay in character.

In order to participate in this event you had to dress up as someone from the era. Basically the only choices were if you were a female you dressed up like a princess or a peasant and if you were a male you were a knight or a peasant. All the boys in my class said they were going to be knights because knights are so much cooler than peasants. I was going to wear my regular clothes and be a peasant but because everyone else was going to be a knight I decided to be one too.

knight costume

(I thought I’d look like this…)

My knight’s uniform was nothing more than a black shirt my mom had that kind of looked like a knight’s chainmail. I shouldn’t just gloss over the fact that I wore one of my mom’s shirts to school but it almost feels irrelevant to the rest of the story. A knight’s job was to participate in what the school considered a jousting contest. We didn’t have horses or anything like that. Instead we had to stand on a line of tape on the ground and make sure our feet didn’t come off while we hit each other with our swords which were essentially socks filled with more socks. Why did I go to such a cheap and wimpy school?

bad knight costume

(…I looked more like this)

The day of the actual Medieval Day came and most boys were peasants or gay princes. One classmate was the “Kid Formerly Known as Prince.” He was always a trendy dick. There was a mini-jousting tournament held in each classroom where the winners would advance to finals where they could hit classmates with socks in front of the rest of the grade. It actually wasn’t the entire grade, just my half of the grade. We were split into two halves and…blah blah blah you get the point.

I had to beat two classmates to advance to the finals. I don’t remember who the first was but the second was a lot taller and had a face triceratops face. After I won the biggest whore in the class was sent out to report to the other classes that I was Mrs. Kroelinger’s champion. Mrs. Kroelinger had two sons. How does a man with the name Kroelinger ever get laid? That’s irrelevant. What matters was I had made it to the finals.

The finals would take place in the auditorium, like I said, in front of a shitload of people. My first opponent was the tallest kid in school. I didn’t move at all when he hit me with the sock. He ended up falling off the line anyway because he was so grotesquely tall. The teachers talked with each other and said I had to at least make it look like I was trying otherwise I’d forfeit. My mind games weren’t allowed. It was at that moment I learned schools are good for one thing, killing innovation.


(I was basically the Leonardo Da Vinci of hitting people with socks. I need to start telling this to women more)

I defeated the tall kid best 2 out of 3 taking the first two. My next opponent was a really athletic kid who bruised me he hit me so hard. I was fat though and wouldn’t budge. I beat him 2-1 by the hair of my balls. I think everyone wanted him to win because he was kind of popular. I blame my unwillingness to take a dive as to why I never had a date to prom.

When the finals came I had pretty much became the favorite. I was the underdog. Funny thing about the guy in the finals against me, he was the same boy who beat me at Madden and rubbed it in my face at our Up All Night Giggle Fest only two years earlier. I had vengeance in my blood is what I was saying. He had shown me his asshole and now I was about to turn him into one–or something more clever.

The judges each round were two different unbiased female classmates who had nothing to gain from who won. The winner of the jousting contest got their class the opportunity to eat at the Medieval Day Buffet first. My whole class was dependent on me. They needed to eat before everyone else. Our classmates had filthy hands and they would certain pass along way too many germs. Getting to dig your fingers into the food first meant the difference between life and having a cold. The two judges for the final round were the hottest girl in school and a girl who is dead now. I guess they wanted the finals to have a wide range of experiences.


(Milli Vanilli, my favorite female duo where the ugly one is dead and the hot one lives on)

In two quick matches I devoured my opponent. I showed no mercy. I have little respect for anyone who shows me their blonde asshole. I was given a trophy and my teacher told me to celebrate as much as I wanted. My class ate first and I was popular until the end of the school year. The school year was only another week unfortunately. The next year everyone forgot how awesome I was and I had to start from scratch. I think the moral of the story here is they should have given us real swords because I would have still won anyway.

P.S. I think I wrote about this before but it’s awesome to remind people who I was cool for a 24 hour period. Plus there was food, violence, and I mentioned a hot chick.

Audience participation is needed for this post. Please answer the below question to whatever extent you can.

What does it take to be a cool high school student?

Be as detailed as possible, as stereotypical too. Things like having the shiniest car, the coolest pencil-case, or girlfriend with the biggest breasts are all similar things I’m looking for. This will be very helpful to me so answer to your heart’s content.

Oh and if you haven’t already check out Yesterday’s Post. More people have snatched up free copies than I ever expected and a good majority are complete strangers. This let’s me know people care, are interested, and are incredibly cheap. Be sure to leave a review, unless you hate it. But if you hate it then it means you hate this blog because it’s pretty much the same style of storytelling.

jeff spicoli