A little story

So there I was walking down the street on a beutiful spring day. I was sort of minding my own business, as much as one can when they are as stunningly attractive and adult as I am. I was walking along and whistling. I like to whistle. It relaxes me, my Pop-pop used to whistle, he was cool, he was a quiet man, but he whistled sometimes, before he fell asleep on the couch. I also like to stick my hand in my left pocket my pop-pop didn’t do that, I learned it on my own. My right hand, I always keep my right hand out of my pocket in case I have to sign an autograph or shake a fans hand . As an adult I try to carry myself with some self respect. I have an image to uphold as Delaware’s Most Attractive blogger (c)  and I plan on upholding that image as much as one can and for as long as I can.

It is a chore being me. You see I’m special. I’m a pretty special citizen. Yes, beyond the good looks, there actually is some substance. You see I’m not an angry person like some people. We all know at least one angry person don’t we?

We all know people that are angry and just spit piss and vinegar their entire lives; the kind of guy that still reads comic books, criticizes everyone and calls them names if they don’t agree with there point of view. But that isn’t just like me (usually). I don’t do that it just isn’t my style anymore. I used to hate people, but that was before Sister Martin Joseph told me you should never hate someone, only the devil hates. I stopped hating right away (except for my ex). I believed Sister knew what she was talking about. At 200 lbs I listened to her (most of the time)

I don’t hate people I don’t understand it is something I guess I grew into over the years. In fact I don’t hate anyone anymore. I don’t have the energy to be so mean, I’d rather have a beer or scoop up my dogs droppings. I do accept though that there are idiots, retards, morons, bigots, racists and all around ignorant people on this planet that think they have all the answers and that everyone else that doesn’t agree with them is just wrong. I get it, I don’t get them, but I get it.

So when I walk down the street, with my left hand in my pocket, my right hand at the ready and whistling away I think about things. I think about what it must be like to have all the answers. I kinda wonder what it must be like to feel so good about yourself to make fun of other people.

Then I think about being a 5th grader. Man, I loved 5th grade it was the best! I didn’t whistle then or put my hands in my pockets though, I hadn’t learned how to be an adult yet. Mostly though, I didn’t put my hands in my pockets because Dominic would say I was playing with myself and call me gay.

Gosh, I remember Mrs. Williams teaching me at St. Mary Magdalen and learning all kinds of neat things. The state capitals, practicing for the Christmas play, how to sweep the floor during detention, stuff like that. I also remember recess and playing football in the parking lot that has now become a gymnasium. I remember other kids like Dominic that loved to make fun of everyone that wasn’t like him or cool like us.

This one new kid Christian, he threw like a girl. Man was it fun to make fun of him. That kid couldn’t catch a cold. I loved to make myself feel better at his expense. It felt GREAT to call him names. We used to play this game called Polish Hand ball. It was hilarious to watch him try to catch a tennis ball, he couldn’t catch to save his life. It’s funny I say “save his life” because if you know anything about Polish Hand Ball, if you drop a ball, you have to run to save your ass (or head) from being nailed by a 40 MPH tennis ball.

Gosh, it was so fun to peg Christian. He loved it. Hell, I loved it! It was sooooo freaking fun. Then when we made sure he’d miss the ball 3 times, we would get to take our spread eagle shot at him on the wall after his 3rd dropped ball. Man, I could throw so fast, we couldn’t hit him in the head unfortunately, but aiming for the ass was soo fun. I pitched for Brandywine little league back then, so it was easy to hit him. Did I say it was fun? It was fun. Man he would scream in pain while we called him a pussy. Yep, in 5th grade we were fluent in calling boys female body parts. They loved it, we loved it, I LOVED IT!

I remember this one girl back then that wasn’t particularly attractive, gosh she was so ugly in fact I get chills thinking of that mug of hers to this day. All the other kids made fun of her from the way she ran to the way she wore her uniform. Who says you can’t make fun of a kid that wears the same uniform? bunch of dopes they are. It looked like fun so I joined in the ribbing. So hey why not call her “pig face”. She loved it. I could tell, behind those tears, she knew we really cared about her and valued her as a human being. After all we were good Catholic kids, just having fun.

OHHH, (laughing inside as I think about this one) Man, this one time riding the bus. I was in fourth grade for this one. This girl Kim, she was telling us all about Santa and what he was bringing her for Christmas. “Duh!”, All the kids said, “There is no such thing as Santa, Stupid!”

She tried to defend Santa, after all, the guy had been bringing gifts to her every Christmas since she could remember, how could he not be real. I remember calling her dumb and telling her that Santa wasn’t real. How dumb did you have to be to be in the 4th grade to believe in Santa. It was so obvious, that Santa wasn’t real. Duh, Kim, you idiot! It was fun to call her dumb, an idiot, stupid, or retarded. (later that day I had to ask my mom if Santa wasn’t real, I was too afraid on the bus to admit I too still believed in Santa)

Later on that year the kids really would give have a good time with Kim, one girl even spit in her hair. It was great fun, you know making fun of other people and calling them names. I mean who doesn’t like that? I was particularly found of asking her if she was retarded. I knew she would say no, but It was still fun to watch the other kids start to ask her if she was stupid or a moron. Oh man we would howl and have so much fun making fun of her. Shoot, in 4th grade there isn’t much else to do.

So now as I walk down the street one hand in my pocket, whistling and signing autographs I figure it out. All those years ago I made fun of people I was being a kid. I figured I must not have known any better. Eventually my parents knocked some sense into me (literally) and then I stopped making fun of other people somewhere around the time I finished high school. I think I must have grown up I guess.

Yep, that’s it, somewhere along the lines I grew up and stopped calling people names to make myself feel better. I think I learned a long time ago that when someone makes fun of you it must be because they don’t like themselves very much.

So whistling away, hand in my pocket and stopping to be photographed I ask myself if people are always going to try and take me down a peg because I’m so damn hot, or because I’m smart or because in general they don’t feel good about themselves in some way. After I sign a woman’s left breast, (I only sign the left ladies…) After signing a woman’s left breast I feel good about myself and try to remember I am adult, it keeps me from squeezing to much.

I have to admit it’s great being the hottest blogger in Delaware, I just hope I can always carry myself with some dignity.

(insert Homer voice here) Hey look Thor Comic Books are half price woohoooo! I remember those when I was a kid!

(insert whistling sound)