‘Evening Blag Hags,
I was thinking to myself today, “You know what not enough bloggers do these days? Write about themselves and how they feel about stuff.” Well, boy oh boy, are all of you in for a true gift. Why? Well, if I may quote Dickens for a moment:
Scrooge: “What’s to-day, my fine fellow?”
Intelligent, Fine Lad: “Today? Why, today it’s motherfucking-Christmas Day!”
Thanks, Dickens. Yes, today I will give you a rare look into the birth of the twisted worldview that has spawned the Internet’s finest (and only) Blag. It is the brief, yet awesome, story of my only childhood memories that bizarrely remain intact. Frankly, I could do without them, because they suck.
OK, I’ve already started lying, because I’m not sure I actually remember this first one (I’ve been told about it), and it might explain why I haven’t been able to really remember my life experiences since. The place and time: Scargo School preschool, and whenever it was I was in preschool. Let’s say 1989. The players: me and this kid that I’ll only refer to as The First Asshole I Ever Met (I’ll call him Firsty for short). I looked a lot like I do now, only I was wearing Osh Kosh B’Gosh, was like four feet shorter, and I didn’t grow a beard every fucking five minutes (on my neck). I also, appropriately, had the motor and reflexive skills of a four-year-old — a disadvantage that I would learn to rue for the rest of my life. Firsty was significantly larger and, if memory serves me, the size of an adult water buffalo — pure muscle. The “Childhood Memory Device” (CMD): a “toy” wooden block.
So now that I’ve amply (no … perfectly) set this stage, I’ll get down to brass tacks: Firsty fires the wooden block at my head as hard as his pudgy little arm-cannon can, nailing me square in the forehead. I have no idea why he did this, but the result was me spending the next week or so with a lump on my head the size of a hard-boiled egg. Mind you, I was a painfully shy and kind child who tried best to keep to himself. I did not deserve this. But I’m not mad. In fact, I thank Firsty. I thank him to this day because he taught me a valuable lesson: Assholes exist, and they will treat you like shit for no reason.
Let’s fast forward to memory number two. The place and time: Nathaniel H. Wixon Middle School, playground, recess. 199… 6? I don’t remember (bear in mind that I was brained with a wooden block in 1989). The players: me, by myself on the playground as was customary (personal preference, I didn’t even want those kids to pick me for baseball teams ever), and everyone else in my school. I was probably a couple feet taller, was likely wearing the kind of animal sweatshirt that the skinny guy in “Flight of the Conchords” wears ironically (but I was serious, dammit), still far less body hair than I have now. Everyone else in my school was just a bunch of other stupid kids with dumb clothes and also collectively less body hair than I have now. The CMD: a rock.
Man … perfect. OK, so I’m standing there by myself, completely alone, minding my own business. This is when I have my great Sir Isaac Newton’s Apple moment. Because just then, out of nowhere, something completely magical happens: Someone totally nails me in the back of my head with the aforementioned rock. Just as hard as they could, really put some mustard on it. Just like that apple that some asshole tree threw at Newton’s head. I was shocked, perhaps even heartbroken. Who would ever do such a thing? Looking around, I couldn’t find any sign of the culprit. In that moment, I realized something. Sure, there was the one kid who threw that rock. But beyond him, there were at least one or two more who laughed, maybe dared him to do it. Then there were the kids who saw it and said nothing. And beyond them were all the kids who didn’t want to hang out with me, thus singling me out as a weak member of the herd, a prime target for those fucking jackals.
In ’89, I had the epiphany that “Assholes exist.” Now I’d stumbled (literally, I had some equilibrium problems) upon another epiphany: “The World is an Asshole.” More specifically, the human race is an asshole. I don’t say this to in any way evoke a pity apology — it’s too late for that, you dickheads — or to express anger at these people. Rather, I thank Firsty and the anonymous masses of my middle school social microcosm. They taught me a priceless lesson in human nature that far too many middle class young people only encounter later in life, when they meet up with the rest of the world.
Again, I must emphasize that the point of this story is not to complain that I had things rough. Far more people have gone through far worse, and at a young age. I supply the above merely as an example of how I learned a lesson about the triviality of petty cruelty for the sake of entertainment, and it’s cozy place in the human condition. This is not an example of how people are terrible. It’s an example of how people are dicks. Blag help me if I ever cross the terrible people, because I have some sort of pheremonal target on my head and they will wreck the shit out of my shit with a toy block the likes of which I never, ever want to see.
Keep your heads down in public,