Childhood Vengeance
Ever since I can remember, I’ve been a vengeance aficionado. I’ve always loved getting into the fucked-up psyche of thieves, liars, cheats, and bullies. More than that, I just like seeing people cry. Good people. Evil people. Whatever.
Anyways, I thought I’d do a little explaining of how I came to be like this. I mean, Nate says that he’s met snakes with more compassion than me…and Dave says that I’m PIC’s rabid dog of justice, so I figured I might as well give them a little credit in hitting the nail on the head.
Here goes…
My first time getting even, I remember, was in 2nd grade. It all started on the bus ride home when some 3rd grader—a kid named John Harmon—told me that he thought I smelled. And you know what? I don’t fucking smell. I never have. I never fucking WILL, ALRIGHT?
So, to get this little fuckhead back, I decided that I’d slit his mother’s throat. After serious consideration and research in jail-time, I decided that that wasn’t the best course of action (my momma used to tell me if I didn’t eat my vegetables I’d go to jail…which explains my current rebellious diet of Cheetos and Cherry Coke, and the fact that I’m intensely afraid of vegans…but I was paranoid, alright?). And while pissing in his milk carton seemed equally appropriate, I wasn’t able to get it away from the fat son of a bitch (I did, though, get my sister to ALMOST drink a cup of my warm piss when I was 6…if it wasn't for the goddamned hornet that landed in her dixie cup I would have some really impressive shit to put on my resume).
I then thought, instead of doing anything physical to him, that I’d take a page out of my dad’s “how to make mommy cry” book and insult him to the point of a self-inflicted demise. Then, I realized that I was 30 pounds and most of that was the large target most people call “Nick Gaudio's head.” Which, I've grown into, thank you very fucking much.
In the end, I went up to him, took a seat beside him in the lunch line and started commending his ability to play Ball (a game my friends and I learned from the 5th graders). Once I gained his trust, I eventually started asking him to pick on kids for lunch money. He did, and this eventually got him in trouble. For some reason, though, the little fuck kept listenting to me and I got him kicked out of our little Catholic school.
Since then, I haven’t heard much from him, but a few weeks ago my buddy Drew told me something…
That John Harmon is dead now.
And guess what everybody?
I’m fucking glad.