She also made fun of my Chicago Bulls jumpsuit, which was very not cool of her. She said that if I ratted on her she would tell everybody that we had sex and I had a really small penis. She sat beside me in seventh grade homeroom and would always try to copy answers off me when we had tests, and when she leaned over I could smell her bad breath. There used to be this chubby smelly girl named Brittany who-gives-a-fuck-about-her-last-name who was always giving me a hard time. We all went on to fail the final exam, but it was worth it because I got a 1300% return on my initial five dollar investment at a garage sale. I ended up making sixty-five dollars from four guys in the class, and one guy even gave me his lunch once, that was pretty cool. When the class average started plummeting and students realized she could not teach her way out of a cardboard box, or were too intimidated by her mustache to go to her for extra help, I decided that I was going to help people with their homework assignments for five bucks apiece. In it were all of the equations fully solved and explained with a painstaking amount of notes on each page of the workbook. In the weeks before that semester started, I had acquired a copy of the course text and workbook at a garage sale for five dollars. Please leave a message”, and “I’m sorry I don’t have a joke for you guys today, I only get them…periodically.” She also thought she was funny, and regularly came up with such stupid jokes as “You have reached the WONNNNNG number.
In eleventh grade chemistry class, I had a teacher by the name of Miss Wong, who, in addition to being a horrible teacher, also had an incredible amount of facial hair for a Chinese lady, and apparently never learned how to shave. But now as I am sitting here with what looks like a quadruple shot of bourbon that I probably will not be able to finish and sick of doing shit for this thing at work called editorial deadlines or some mumbo-jumbo, my mind is starting to wander and I have remembered other things in the past that I would otherwise be too ashamed to share with the world when sober. Or, it may have to do with the discovering of recreational drugs and that getting my penis touched felt good. I guess at some point in high school I realized there were better ways to deal with people’s stupidity than to get riled up over what they do. Originally, I had thought I got most of the mischief out of my system by around the eighth grade.