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Many times, especially when visiting my small, half-abandoned and rural hometown, I find myself in the uncomfortable position of knowing and being known by other people. Somewhere between fifteen and seventeen minutes after my high school graduation ceremony I spoke my final voluntary words to fellow schoolmates and the teaching staff and rode out of town in a '78 Chevy pick-up to get high as goosecocks on chemicals I'd never heard of and to drink cheap beer until I woke up at noon the next day face down in a muddy cornfield and spattered in some person's vomit, though not necessarily my vomit. I do not attend class reunions. I am not "friends" with any old schoolmate in any social venue real or virtual. I do not engage in casual small-talk with acquaintances who want to say "hi'ya" and learn "how I've been doing" and ask if my father "survived his amputation". During my last visit back home, while walking through a pharmacy parking lot, I witnessed one thirty-something-year old woman tell another "There's that rear end in a top hat. You remember him. Dick" while pointing my way. So I decided that maybe I should try to reconnect a bit with my roots and community and be more friendly and social with the people and places that helped shape me into the man I am today. Faceless strangers on the internet are going to help me. The winner of this popularity contest will be acknowledged by me as a real-life human person with whom I am familiar the next time I run across him or her while mingling with the public in my home town. The losing contenders will continue to be ignored. Anything he or she may say to me will be treated as I would a monkey's gibberish instead of words like my name or cries for help and, if upon cornering me into inescapable eye or, god forbid, physical contact, will be stubbornly denied and, if needed, threatened with my notifying the local police department and/or gas station attendant. Here are a few kids with whom I grew up that I still see from time to time during my visits home: Fart Cup - he would entertain the other kids on the school bus by farting into a plastic cup and trying to talk someone into smelling it. Years later, in an incident conceived and perpetrated by a young man I am by law and tradition bound to call a second-cousin on my mother's side, Fart Cup would find himself helplessly forced at gun point to stand on a farmer's milking stool in the all-revealing daylight of a Summer afternoon, and gently caress a horse. Wiffle Dick - he earned this name by being held down by several other boys and shown Penthouse, Hustler and Oui magazine back-issues until he developed an erection. His erect penis would then be hit repeatedly with a bright yellow Wiffle Ball bat until returning to flaccidity. After a cool down period to allow for the exchange of high-fives and the consumption of room temperature Milwaukee's Best the Porn-Erection-Wiffle Beating cycle would repeat multiple times. Dawn-Tard - in a better world she would have been placed in special education classes away from the school's general population or maybe sent away to some state-run institution staffed by professionals educated in the art and science of toilet training two-hundred and ten pound sixteen-year-old girls. Instead she took a desk among the rest of us in a ghastly and cruel mockery of education and socialization. As an ever-smiling, sweet natured, nearly perfect sphere of blubbery pink retardation this girl was from kindergarten through 12th grade the student body's defacto mascot/universal victim. She belonged to us all and we had to do something with her. She was right there in front of us for 13 years. A kid can't leave that sort of thing alone. Dawn-Tard would receive multiple daily proposals of courtship, vows of love and offers of romantic dates couple-skating to Tesla's hit ballad Love Song at Harold's Roller Rink and Arcade. Each night her saint of a mother would drive Dawn-Tard to the roller rink and idle in the gravel parking lot, waiting for her daughter to eventually decide her boyfriend must have forgotten about the planned date and that it was okay because she'll see him at school in the morning. In our 9th grade public speaking class Dawn-Tard informed us of all the reasons french fries were the world's best food. The reason was ketchup. Tape Mummy - remaining the inspiration behind many meth-scented giggles to the present day, Tape Mummy involuntarily spent an entire weekend at our school, from Friday afternoon through Monday morning, trapped in a shower stall of the boy's locker room, cocooned from ankles to nostrils in dozens of layers of white athletic tape. The gym teacher spent nearly an hour cutting him free but not before the industrial arts instructor had doused the boy with several coffee cup's worth of mineral spirits in an attempt at dissolving the tape's glue. Tape Mummy never named his assailants and was himself given a week of in-school isolated suspension for refusing to snitch to the school administration. Best Buddy, Summer of 1988 - this dude came up to me in the Dollar General check-out line while I was in town for my dad's birthday last May. He came upon me by surprise, grinning in what I took to be an unnatural and threatening manner and opening wide his arms in anticipation of the long-overdue and needful embrace he was certain was about to occur. In a surprisingly cat-like evasive maneuver I ducked and weaved my way to the exit doors and said "what the gently caress, dude? The gently caress?" In the following few minutes I learned that during the Summer vacation of 1988 he and I were the best of friends and that we had participated in a series of memorable adventures, iconic coming-of-age hardships and life-defining lessons which became a touchstone in his development into a fully-formed human being. I honestly had no idea who the gently caress he was or what events he was talking about and told him he must have mistaken me for someone else. But then he started rattling off names of my immediate family members and next-door neighbors whom he had come to know in the many, many hours and possibly days he apparently spent in my childhood home. He recollected details about our family's land, our pets, shared meals, VHS tape collections and the contents of mine and my siblings toy chests. He named a dozen mutual friends that I know to be real people that actually exist and talked of several instances of he and I and these other people playing together or going to a park or the movie theater together. Everything he told me was accurate. He described events I remember happening and other kids I remember playing with, but none of it brought back any memory of him. I've already forgotten his name again. If he wins the poll I'll pretend to remember him when I run into him again. Pregnant Mike - another special-ed kid tossed in with the rest of us but not cheerful or cuddly enough to make into a pet. He kept to the farthest corners of rooms and within shadowy nooks beneath the gymnasium bleachers and he paced abandoned hallways and was never the target of mean pranks or a bully's anger. He was left alone was because as a tall, thick, corn fed, work strong, leather-skinned farm kid nobody wanted to gently caress with him and risk being attacked by a savage, mighty simpleton who probably wasn't capable of recognizing when it was time to stop tearing away chunks of meat. Pregnant Mike spent our last three years of high school constantly smiling and mumbling to himself about how excited he was to be pregnant and how he couldn't wait to have a baby. For three years the baby was due the next day. Pregnant Mike planned to name his baby Mike, and little baby Mike would be taught to work the farm equipment and how to take care of animals and how to do all the chores big Mike could do. Over the years many theories were whispered across cafeteria tables and through toilet stalls about what twisted event or deranged idea had planted the idea in Pregnant Mike's brain he was pregnant. I've seen him recently, walking circles in the yard of his assisted living group home, but I've not been close enough to hear what he's mumbling these days. regardless of the results of this poll I reserve the right to remain an rear end in a top hat that pretends not to recognize or remember people
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Nov 15, 2015 08:38
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Nov 15, 2015 08:42
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im a little disappointed that your poll prevents me from voting for all of them
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Nov 15, 2015 08:43
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Wow, drat, the mid-west is hosed up. I'm sure glad I grew up in California.
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Nov 15, 2015 08:44
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Hm, yes. I see. *pays attention*
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Nov 15, 2015 08:44
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Smelly Bohemian posted:Hm, yes. I see. *pays attention*
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Nov 15, 2015 08:45
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If you just skimmed the OP, go back and read it. You're missing a good thing. voted FART CUP
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Nov 15, 2015 08:46
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um why isn't this a checkbox poll amateur hour OP voted 1
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Nov 15, 2015 08:47
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These are real people and real lives are at stake.
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Nov 15, 2015 08:48
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Rando posted:These are real people and real lives are at stake. That is precisely why we need the full freedom of democracy in the form of a checkbox poll, fool
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Nov 15, 2015 08:48
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What if there was a tie? He said he's only going to cruelly string one of them along
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Nov 15, 2015 08:52
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tl'dr
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Nov 15, 2015 08:59
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mdm posted:That is precisely why we need the full freedom of democracy in the form of a checkbox poll, fool Your lack of confidence in your own ability to come to a choice you personally feel is correct disgusts me.
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Nov 15, 2015 08:59
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Rando posted:Your lack of confidence in your own ability to come to a choice you personally feel is correct disgusts me. your ideology that only one choice can be correct is the real problem
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Nov 15, 2015 09:01
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mdm posted:your ideology that only one choice can be correct is the real problem NO YOU ARE REAL PROBLEM
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Nov 15, 2015 09:05
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Dawn-Tard seems chill & cool and I share her opinions about fries re: ketchup
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Nov 15, 2015 09:16
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I liked The Kids in the Hall.
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Nov 15, 2015 09:27
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I was actually just reflecting on the idea of hunting Dawn down, I imagine she still lives with her mother, and taking her on a date to the abandoned sheet metal shell that used to be the roller rink. I'd bring along a cassette player and we could shuffle through the beer can and dope needle litter in a dance-like motion to Love Song or maybe Every Rose Has Its Thorn and I won't leave her to shift her weight from one foot to other in the gravel parking lot for two hours. I'll show her I'm not like those other guys.
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Nov 15, 2015 09:33
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Sounds like you could at least get a sloppy beej out of the deal. Give us a trip report
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Nov 15, 2015 09:45
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Bert Roberge posted:I liked The Kids in the Hall. Oh yeah? What are other things you like?
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Nov 15, 2015 09:55
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Best buddy one made me laugh irl FYI so voted for that one.
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Nov 15, 2015 10:11
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the only real answer is wiffle dick reconnect with him and get together with some guys and tie him down and instead of showing him porn just suck his cock before beating it with a wiffle bat take bets on if he shoots his ropy load during the sucking or during the beating
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Nov 15, 2015 12:19
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At this point pock marks and scar tissue may have turned him into Waffle Dick. Who's to say?
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Nov 15, 2015 12:39
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I feel bad for best buddy.
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Nov 15, 2015 13:33
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*squints at text*
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Nov 15, 2015 13:51
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Was it at least a girl horse?
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Nov 15, 2015 14:09
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Raptor1033 posted:Was it at least a girl horse? I don't think the difference in the measure of abomination and shame between homo and hetero bestiality is large enough to bother considering.
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Nov 15, 2015 14:46
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Rando posted:I don't think the difference in the measure of abomination and shame between homo and hetero bestiality is large enough to bother considering. but was the horse homo?
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Nov 15, 2015 14:57
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Team Dawn-Tard
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Nov 15, 2015 14:59
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Coolie Ghost posted:but was the horse homo? The gayest.
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Nov 15, 2015 15:15
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Voted for kitten. All of these people are terrible.
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Nov 15, 2015 15:26
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Best buddy cared and loved more than you ever did. Or will ever do
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Nov 15, 2015 15:36
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Tl;dr
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Nov 15, 2015 15:38
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Dirk Squarejaw posted:Tl;dr Words are hard.
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Nov 15, 2015 15:40
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if you stupid fuckers didn't vote for Fart Cup you are weak sauce
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Nov 15, 2015 16:22
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Fart cup seems to be a cool kid
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Nov 15, 2015 16:34
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Tape Mummy isn't a snitch and has proven he'll do time. Everyone needs a guy like that OP. Life is too unpredictable and cruel to not take in an excellent accomplice. He's obviously the right choice for a middling sociopath like yourself if you ever want to step up to the big leagues. Fart Cup is just a neat nickname and a dumb gimmick. Wiffle Dick is just going to be a victim his whole life. You Best Buddy of 88 is obviously a manifestation of a psychotic break you've been having and just your shattered ability to love another person trying to get you back in to caring for others. Don't fall for it, just push forward Dawn Tard and mike are too fargone socially and intellectually to serve a purpose in anyone's life aside from "pet taht the veternarian doesn't want to see" and probably should have just been raised on the other end of a rich old lady's leash as she walks to her weekly hair salon appointments. Booblord Zagats fucked around with this message at 16:43 on Nov 15, 2015 |
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Nov 15, 2015 16:37
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if youre not voting for pregnant mike gently caress you OP: how accurate his this image to his likeness 
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Nov 15, 2015 16:46
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semon demon posted:if youre not voting for pregnant mike gently caress you Frighteningly close though I doubt the assisted living house lets him play with the stove.
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Nov 15, 2015 16:51
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Booblord Zagats posted:Tape Mummy isn't a snitch and has proven he'll do time. Everyone needs a guy like that OP. Life is too unpredictable and cruel to not take in an excellent accomplice. He's obviously the right choice for a middling sociopath like yourself if you ever want to step up to the big leagues. I appreciate your astute analysis but the choice is out of my hands. Only the poll can decide.
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Nov 15, 2015 16:53
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