The High Skool Loser

                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.