Unlike most people, I have no
vivid recollection of my childhood days or high skool experiences for that
matter. I cannot exactly pinpoint a hiatus where something really cool
happened. Or when something embarrassing happened.
Ok, I lied. On the embarrassing
bit. I’ve had my fair share of drama in that particular department. Basically,
if I had a career it would spell something like mortified-shit-load.
Though it irked me to
realise that I’ve been robbed of a childhood, it also makes me realise either
of these two things was true;
1. I was a loser who had no life
whatsoever.
2. My high skool was probably awesome
but I did too much alcohol and drugs which in due course led to permanent memory
loss and I forgot everything.
Um, probably the
latter. Definitely the former. It is weird y’know, when you bump into a bunch
of people and they go like
“whoa, you’re from that skool as well? Man it
was so cool! You remember when *insert name* scored the winning goal and we won
the soccer title. The crowd went crazzzzyyy! It was so awesome!”
And I’m like,
“Yep! Of course it was…”
Then flash that sarcastic
smile and just to change the topic, I talk about a random song. That would inadvertently
open a new conversation on who did what during the ka danke when some
long-forgotten song was playing. I would then receive a phony call and run for
my dear life.
But come to think of
it, I don’t think I was a weirdo. I prefer to call myself Limited Edition since
my grades were simply the shit. As in very good. The reason why I think high
skool might have actually been fun save for a personal dedication to indulgence
in narcotics is the fact that I don’t even remember the class work, the
textbooks, the teachers. Yep, even the teachers.
Recently my aunt who
knows me for my former exceptional talents in class and current un-seriousness/laziness
requested that I lend her drug-addicted son some of my notes, books blab la
blab. I promised to check. Of course I knew that the textbooks had been sold at
Cairo Bank and the proceeds spent in a cheap-alcohol stinking brothel. As for
then notes, they were inexistent as I preferred instead to borrow (read steal)
from my class mates, read them while chilling in dorm with HOT 100 on the tiny stereo.
Then return them-after the exams. Because I’m no thief.
I grabbed the old
suitcase in which most of my educational crap had been dumped and sifted
through its contents for any evidence that I’d attended High Skool.
Guess what I found?
. . .
No, not condoms you
sicko-wacko freak. I found success cards! Yay! You remember those folded pieces
of hard paper with (often) a misspelt word and a few ‘encouraging’ syllables to
help you pass exams? You don’t? Oh, it’s okay. Just pass by the nearest book
store and grab yourself some. Don’t forget to address it to yourself and lemme
know how that works out for ya.
Loser
There were about a
dozen and as I read through the messages, I realised that I had some really SICK
friends. Take Dora for example. This female had issues. Here’s what she wrote;
“Hey thug, you know u r sharp & I know u r
too. So go ahead & do wat u have to do. Pliz get a reasonable job other
than sell weed(on campus)!!! & marry a hot ***** babe…”
Don’t even get me
started on that one. There was Queen Mary MC who called me King. Well, mostly
so that I would call her Queen even though she still thinks I’m a downright
infant. She wrote;
“Tsup, I can’t call u baby now coz these papers
are mature *insert a whole bunch of success stuff* pliz don’t swell on Bukenya
coz he may show you derrty…”
I recently heard that
MC’s already sizeable ass had doubled over which probably accounts for her
permanent place in my memory. Unlike TJ, whom I don’t exactly remember but who
said to;
“make
your father’s girlfriend proud.”
There was one Reetah
who started her message like some ghetto yoot;
“Wazy d? All the Arthurs I
know r freakin good in all the B’s i.e books, bed minton, booze etc. N-we, mek
sure you pass and make a point to call me 0798765432 for some rounds. Bon
chance.”
Don’t bother trying
that number. I already did a number of times. It does not exist. There were
very many extreme messages which wouldn’t fit here but they were all intended
to make me feel worthwhile. Oh and how can forget Angela, with an inverted ‘A’
who addressed hers as “Hey Bro!”
The Bitch
For the record she was
not my sister in anyway. Not even in the gangster way. Plus she fucking hates
me now.
After receiving all
those cards and sitting my papers guess what was on my mind? You’re right!
Banging each and every one of these babes during vacation. Yes, all 23 of them.
What happened was my bro got with Doryn. Her sis got preggers. Another said “comeon,
we’re like bro and sis!”. Dora is happily married. Angela has a kid. MC is
chasing the world record for best-ass-ever. I never got to accomplish let alone
start my promiscuity mission. Maybe I was loser anyway.
You let me know what
you think. Make sure to leave a comment even if it sounds like-DOUCHEBAG! You
could save a tree from being burnt by doing so.
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