Blog of a Bully (4 page)

Friday, September 3rd, 2010

5:25 p.m.

An Original Joke

I have decided I don’t want to be a bully. At first, it sounded fun. It sounded like the dramatic change I was looking for at the beginning of the year, but now it doesn’t sound like a good idea. Your comments reflect my opinion on the matter. Now I need some good ideas on how to get the principal to notice I’m a geek and a half. So think about that one for me.

I tried to have a good, productive day at school concerning Angela. I decided I would tell her one of my homemade jokes. I asked her in between classes if she wanted to hear a joke I made up. She gave me the stink eye and then finally said, “Hit me.”

“What does Fred Flintstone say when asked how much ketchup he wants on his hotdog?”

“A little-dabble-do.”

She gave a quarter smile and walked off. How depressing. That was my best original joke. That’s when Hercules came up behind me and asked, “Who’s Fred Flintstone?” Yet another generation wasted on pointless cartoons. To all my readers, if you don’t know who Fred Flintstone is, then you need to get off my blog now and look up an episode or two of
The
Flintstones
. It’s not that
The Flintstones
is the greatest cartoon ever, it’s just that you weren’t raised right. It’s not your fault; it’s your parents fault, and I guarantee if you ask them, they’ll know all about the Flintstones.

Well, hopefully that joke broke some of the ice for Angela and me.

Later, I realized I had forgotten to bring a lunch to school. I was tempted to ask Angela for money, but I wasn’t about to press my luck. So I asked Cowardly Donald. He was more than happy to lend me a couple bucks. I promised him I would repay him tomorrow morning.

Cowardly Donald thanked me from the bottom of his heart for beating up Buzz. I tried to clear my bully name by telling him it was an accident, but he wouldn’t have it. I think he likes the idea that I could possibly be a bully.

I got a reply from my old friends in California. They e-mailed me. I send each of them a stamped letter, but the most they could do is e-mail me. Cheap skates. Joe asked who I was, and Marcos asked if I stole his video game. I guess it is safe to say I no longer have friends in California. Looking back, I realize those friends were using me for answers on tests and as a partner for projects because I did all the work. And they loved my video games. I’m tired of having to buy friends. For once I would like someone to be my friend because he or she thinks I’m awesome. What am I doing wrong?

You will have a prosperous life.

Yeah, a friendless, prosperous life.

Wednesday, September 8th, 2010

7:07 p.m.

No Fear

When I got on the bus today, I noticed Hercules looked very intimidated by me. Was it the ten push-ups I did before going to bed last night? I don’t think so, because the other students were looking at me as if they expected me to snap at any moment. I did put on deodorant, right?

When I ran into Angela, I found out what was up. She was shocked that I would do such a horrible thing to Cowardly Donald. I had no idea what she was talking about.

Come to find out, Donald told everyone that I stole his lunch money and threatened his first-born child’s life. I was in complete shock. I told Angela that I could never do anything like that, but I don’t think she believed me.

 

I had to talk to Donald right away. I had to know if there was some kind of miscommunication on his part, because I definitely did not threaten his life (I might now). Something was terribly wrong and it was making me look bad.

I saw Cowardly Donald talking in the hall. Something was different about him. He was standing straight; he looked proud and happy as he was talking to a group of girls who were soaking up his every word and move. If he leaned against a locker, the girls leaned with him, and one even had her head on his shoulder. The story he made up about me has made him a star. I decided I couldn’t possibly destroy this for him. He was no longer a coward.

I endured the dirty looks, the pointing, and the attention. The story became rather funny. One version of the story was that I threatened Donald with a gun and stole his money.

Another was about Donald defending himself with martial arts like Bruce Lee until I sucker punched him in the back. But my all-time favorite version is that Donald sacrificed his wallet in exchange for me not harming a baby. When girls in my classes asked me how I could hurt an innocent baby, I would simply say, I was checking the baby for a bomb, and it was fully loaded.

At the end of the day, I caught up with Donald and asked him what was going on. He explained that if I can go from geek to bully in one lucky accident, then he could go from being a coward to the bravest kid in school just as easily.

Then Hercules appeared from behind a bush yelling, “I knew it! I knew it!” He knew I wasn’t a bully and this was one of Donald’s horrible plans. The sad thing is Hercules wanted in. He wanted the girls to notice him as well. He too was tired of Buzz picking on him, so he and Donald agreed to make me the biggest bully Texas had ever seen. That way they would both get the fame of being bully survivors and Buzz would get knocked out of the picture.

They never asked me what I wanted, but I was happy to see that I could make their lives better, and I now have friends.

Everyone is the architect of his/her own destiny.

I am ready for my destiny makeover.

To the weak-hearted reader, turn around; this is going to get ugly.

Saturday, September 11th, 2010

5:10 p.m.

Skating the Night Away

I watched
Rocky III
this morning. What a wonderful way to start a Saturday. That Mr. T is one heck of an actor. But what do I know? When I was cast in a puppet show in the third grade as the rat in the Pied Piper, I pretended to be sick and dying just to get out of the play. All I had to do was squeak several times, and I couldn’t even do that. So what do I know about acting?

I figure if I am going to keep my bully reputation alive, I need to act and appear like a bully. Think like a bully. Be a bully. So I dusted off my old skateboard that I got in the fifth grade and never used. In the movies it seems like all the good bullies have some kind of transportation, and my bike is currently out of commission.

I practiced all afternoon, with Jessica there at my side, laughing every time I fell. Well, guess what? Every time I got on that stupid board, I fell. I don’t know if it’s the board’s fault or mine. Jessica was sure having fun. Every time I fell on my you know what, I could see Mr. T being asked the question, “What do you think will be the outcome of the game?” He would look at the camera and say with the deepest desire to hurt someone, “Pain.”

Pain was definitely the outcome of my afternoon, and I still can’t ride that ridiculous contraption. I will have to find another way to be a bully. Any thoughts or suggestions? I spent the rest of the day watching
Rocky IV
.

Even the smallest step toward your goal is progress.

Those cookies can keep their wisdom. It’s not helping here.

Tuesday, September 14th, 2010

6:28 p.m.

Stories for Everyone

As usual, your thoughts have not been helpful. One person flat out said, “DON’T DO IT!” I agree with you, but remember it is not me; it is Hercules and Donald who are keeping me in the bully position.

Speaking of those two, they are living it up. At school today they had so many followers listening to their stories. I wish I could keep track of all of the stories. Most of them, if not all, are ridiculously impossible.

One story was about how I robbed a bank while water skiing barefoot in Venice, Italy. I have never been out of this country, and I could never water ski, especially barefoot.

Another one I think is great is that in my spare time I like to sit on a hill and shoot candy out of babies’ hands with my Sniper-Slingshot 3000. Well, I don’t have a slingshot, and how many hills are there in Texas?

My favorite is that when I was eight years old, I escaped from prison by digging my way out with my baby teeth. The Tooth Fairy has been upset with me ever since.

 

What can I say? My new buddies really know how to make up a good story and sell it to the highest bidder.

You will have a long, adventurous life.

At least that is what everyone at school thinks.

Wednesday, September 22nd, 2010

8:52 p.m.

Tattoo

Nothing really new at school; just the usual outrageous stories that are being spread by Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. But I have wondered how effective these stories really are. I almost feel like my popularity has died a little. Not as many girls are hanging out with Donald and Hercules, and students have stopped trying to avoid me in the halls. Are my stories dying down because they are all talk but no show? Maybe I should do something to spice things up.

Well, as for your comments, or should I say comment . . . yes, I only got one. It was a silly one too. All it said was to get a tattoo.

Let me tell you my thoughts on tattoos. Some tattoos are very pretty. Others that I have seen (after all, I lived in California, so I have seen my fair share of them), they’re horrible. I can’t help but wonder what these individuals were thinking when they told a creepy-looking guy holding a needle gun, to ink some horrible looking design all over their body so the whole world can see their bad choices. I can only assume they weren’t thinking properly.

Let me explain something to those who are debating on whether to get a tattoo. TATTOOS ARE PERMANENT! I think that’s enough to indicate I don’t want one. I’ve had a number of fake tattoos that I thought were funny and cool, but after a week or so, I was happy to wash them off.

If the permanent thing is not enough to keep you far away from the tattoo shop and you just have to get your girlfriend’s name written permanently on your arm, then picture this: Pretend you are 98 years old, living in a nursing home. The nurse is giving you a sponge bath and notices that you have a tattoo. Well guess what? You are now old, so the nurse has to stretch and move your saggy skin to even come close to seeing what it used to look like. In other words, as you get older, so does the tattoo.

So to the one comment I got, I am not getting a tattoo to prove that I am a bully because they are silly. I will however put on a fake one.

It’s never too late to learn.

You can’t teach an old dog new tricks, especially if that dog is a tattoo on a now really old person.

Monday, September 27th, 2010

6:42 p.m.

Spicy Monday

Yes, I spiced things up all right. I got to class and with a straw I saved from a nasty burger joint, I made spit wads and shot them at the students. For the most part, the students were pretty good at fearing me and keeping their mouths shut; it was Angela who finally told Mrs. Logan what I was doing. I didn’t even shoot her. Mrs. Logan walked right up to my desk, and as I shrank in my seat she began to ask in a lecturing voice, “Mr. Bradley, I know you’re not the one shooting spit wads at these students who are minding their own business trying to learn, right?”

“No, Ma’am,” I replied, sounding more like a Texan. “Good. Because if I ever caught you or anyone else blowing spit wads at these students, well I would have to chop their head off.”

Feeling low, along with being publicly humiliated, I would have to say I wasn’t in my right mind. For when she turned to walk away, yes, you guessed it, I nailed her in the butt with an extra slimy spit wad. I wanted it to stick.

Detention, along with in-school suspension, Saturday school again, and a conference between the principal and my parents.