Stories (brief, I promise)
When I was in fifth grade, I sat in the classroom for ... an hour or so I think ... while my teacher chewed out the entire class. We later found out the entire fifth grade got it, whether we were there for the incident or not. But apparently a bottle of spilled apple juice resulted in pants-wetting jokes which resulted in a sudden feeding-frenzy which apparently resulted in five or six of our social-climbers beating the most effeminate boy in the class for being a girl. The part of the classroom my teacher spent the most time
yelling at was the first-tier cool group cloistered on one side of the room. Apparently, the alphas of the herd chose to cheer on the beating.
A faggot-related aside in ninth grade ended up with me in two fistfights and I eventually assaulted a teacher. I got away with it because the administration knew, schoolwide, it was a matter of time before one of the lone wolves started devouring people. (At that school I got away with
every fight I ever got in on the grounds that people really were stupid enough to start it with me. I even got away with taking a chick up on a challenge to a fight, but that's because they were busy managing the near-riot that resulted in a Hollywood-like flash escalation of several fights. It was an ... amazing day. Everybody in a PE class of forty who had a problem with someone else in the room suddenly decided to have it out after the mega-obese special-ed student went stratospheric all over the teacher and one of the metal-stoners that were of the mold that would eventually inspire Beavis and Butthead. As to my contribution to that morning, I quote Tim O'Brien:
Boom-down. Like a sack of concrete. Needless to say she had a better, attitude for the most part after that.)
One of my junior high school's top agitators and suave operators would eventually see his world collapse. People "thought" he was gay. He shot himself with a shotgun at 17. I heard about it a year later. The last day of school in ninth grade I passed on an opportunity to fight him because I was ready to kill him. Needless to say, I was not dignified when I received the news. The dead through my high school years hurt dearly. That one of the worst people I knew of chose to kill himself rather than simply change his image or be thought of as gay ... well, I always knew he was that stupid; I won't pretend I received the news with anything other than zealously angry glee.
In a non-faggot issue, I was once attacked by three people for looking too Asian. The school chose to hold me accountable for being in a fight. And I learned for the second of about four times in my youth exactly how stupid my parents are. ("Well if you didn't do anything wrong, why are they punishing you?"
Because they punish everybody in fights. "Well why did you get in a fight?"
Because they jumped me. "Well what did you do to upset them?" How do you look at your white adoptive parents and say ...
I exist.)
By the time I got to Catholic school, people had generally gotten over it. They simply presumed I was Satan.
May good fortune continue to smile upon you,
TheEnd. I'm glad you were spared the battlegrounds. I knew how to make explosives in high school. The big difference is that we never actually blew anyone up. Then again, when the Beavis-and-Butthead metal-stoners set the vice-principal's truck on fire in junior high, it didn't even make the local
Herald.
:m:,
Tiassa