Trouble


I like to think that I’m a pretty smart guy.  I know how to use punctuation, I know how to spell the word punctuation, and I read at a fourth-grade level.  While all of this is impressive, I am willing to admit that I’m not the most street-smart guy.  Oftentimes, either willingly or not, I get myself into trouble.  Usually, it’s for something minor, like throwing a sandwich, hitting a young child or rarely, lighting an exam on fire and screaming at it.  However, those are minor offenses, worthy of only a quick reprimand. I have never been involved in any kind of serious trouble, but I always find a way to make my little trouble into big trouble.  The problem lies within my reaction.  For example, let’s say that my teacher asks for my homework and I reply by throwing it at her face. Two day suspension, easy.  That’s not so bad, I can do that. However, if the teacher confronts me and asks me what’s wrong with me, or God forbid, why I’m behaving so poorly, that’s when it gets ugly.  You don’t even want to know what happens next.  There has only been one incident that got to this point and if you all don’t mind, I’d prefer not to talk about it.  Ok fine, you convinced me.  You guys, especially Arianna, know how to manipulate me so well.

I was four years old and I was at my day camp.  My mother, being the loving and thoughtful woman that she is, packed me some apple sauce.  I loved me some apple sauce. I would eat everything else before I got to my apple sauce.  It was so fresh and crisp and full of healthy nutrients.  It was perfection from an orchard.  Anyway, after an incredibly quick lunch, I finished all my food and opened my lunch box where, to my surprise, the apple sauce had vanished!  I was upset, but I wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it.  I mean, this is day camp.  You got to play it cool if you want to be popular there.  It’s an intense place.  Anyway, I look over to my right and this obnoxious kid, Chip Diggler, was eating apple sauce.  Keep in mind that mine was homemade and his was clearly marked Mott’s.  Needless to say, I didn’t notice and full of rage and adrenaline, I picked up a chair and threw it at him.  I was four, so the chair went about three inches, but Chip knew that I was for real.  I never got to confront him, because I was kicked out of the camp, but I could see that he was shaking in his Spongebob Squarepants themed Crocs.  The moral of this story is that you don’t want me mad at you.  If I am mad at you, you can run and you can hide because I am pretty slow and don’t have the greatest vision, but I will probably catch you eventually.  By surprise.

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About julian822

This blog is informal to say the least. It's almost like an online journal, filled with stories that I find funny, interesting things/links and anything else that comes to my mind. Enjoy.
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