Archive for July, 2006

July 19, 2006

bitter memories : the great escape (part III)

[continue from here]

“What’s wrong, PukeMachine?” (like I said, we 9 year olds used to speak all so weird like that)

Tears began to pour out of his beady eyes, and he sounded like some retard with speech impediment. I could hardly understand him, but from the way he looked, I reckoned that it must be something very serious. It took me about 5 over minutes to register what was happening there – he had just discovered that his school uniform shirt was missing. He was actually asking me this:

*sob sob* “Hav yu zeen my sgool univorm???? uwaaa waaaaa!”

To which I answered, “Yes”, and enjoyed that few microseconds seeing him light up like an LED display on some hippy’s cellphone from that false ray of light … His tears and mucus temporary ceased and he was looking at me like I was supposed to lead him the rightful path to his salvation… or something like that.

“I saw it on you. You were wearing it this morning”

His wailing resumed. Hey, I was just being honest. Sure enough, it wasn’t on him at that time. All the while walking home from the creek, he had been wearing his undershirt, which was a white perforated cotton singlet he wore under his school uniform everyday. And he didn’t even know his shirt was missing until when I was about to call it a day. What the fuck indeed.

Speaking of undershirts, I really don’t understand why most kids would wear them during my school days. I mean, it was so fucking hot around where I lived, and wearing something underneath was… is… a bad idea. When I was 9, I was all naked underneath that layer of uniform. No underwear, nothing. Just uniform. It’s the smart people’s way of living. Had he been as pragmatic as I was, none of this could have happened – as he would have realized it was missing, since he’s gonna be naked from the waist up, and it is so much easier to realize that.

Anyway, back to PukeMachine’s woe. His school uniform was nowhere to be found. Not inside his school bag, not tucked under his pants, not stuffed inside my schoolbag either (that was a bit ridiculous but, I searched my schoolbag nevertheless, just for the peace of his mind). If he had crowbar, he would have used it to pry open his puckering sphincter to search inside him too, but then, it was still nowhere to be found.

So where could it be?

“PukeMachine, back at the creek, you did dip yourself in the water, right? Did you do it with your shirt on?”

He didn’t answer me. He didn’t have to. I already knew I hit a bullseye. His reaction to that question betrayed what was going on in his mind. The very thought of his shirt lying wasted at the base of the murky creek agitated his emotion so fucking intensely, that he had to release it by opening his mouth and let out a louder wail. He now looks like a kid who had just lost both his legs, his parents and several pet dogs, all at once. For the first time in my life, I felt sorry for him…

Well, the whole episode of that dramatic event actually took place at a very busy spot, where there were a lot of passer-bys. And because PukeMachine was bawling like he was not gonna see tomorrow, it kinda grabbed a lot of unwanted attention (it was embarrassing yeah). Just as I was getting real uneasy about the mounting attention, a middle aged shapeshifter materialized out of nowhere to offer PukeMachine some sympathy.

She then asked him in that goosebump inducing buttery tone, her hand draping across PukeMachine’s shoulder… “What’s the matter, little boy? Why are you crying? Tell aunty why…”

I was about to reveal that we’ve been skipping school, swam at a creek, and how PukeMachine’s shirt is now lying at the bottom of the creek as a sanctuary for stray catfish to have sex… playing an important part in some marine ecosystem… But eventually, I decided not to. Instead, I had an idea that it might be good to let them catch up their good old times together without me.

So I chose to bail. I bade a quick insincere farewell, and made a beeline to where I was suppose to go minutes earlier, leaving that stranger with my still crying best friend (evarrrr). I did not feel very good about it at first, but then, I managed to convince myself to see things at an optimistic angle. Who knows? that nosy hag might buy PukeMachine a brand new school uniform? And send him home? (in exchange for sex?) It’ll be better for him, because there’s basically nothing I can do to help him. So, fuck it.

The next morning, I was all nervous about school again. I was worried about all the things that had occurred the way it weren’t supposed to. Questions kept popping up in my troubled thoughts – did PukeMachine survive his trip home from that imaginary pedophile? Did his mom find out we skipped school? And the most important of all, what to expect from my class teacher after skipping a day off and failing to summon our parents?

I found out soon enough. Miraculously, PukeMachine was all smiling on that day. He told me he lied to his mom about misplacing his school shirt somewhere after feeling too hot. Probably cried somemore to add credibility to his story

“Then what about your trip home? How long did it take for you to complete the journey?”

He bragged that it only took him another half an hour or so, and his mom did not suspect anything. I think he lied. But what do I care, really, at least he wasn’t kidnapped by that weird shapeshifter or gotten ass raped by rabid stray dogs (come to think of it, how I wished he was kidnapped, or at least ass raped by something).

But the most surprising thing that happened that day, was that the class teacher seemed to have forgotten all about the calculator incident, and didn’t ask us or anyone about it. She was all smily too, just like PukeMachine’s cold, lifeless and spastic smirk. It was as if… nothing had happened.

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bitter memories : the great escape (part II)

[continue from here]

The long walk home with PukeMachine. We skipped school to avoid the scheduled disciplinary trial for the calculator heist I never committed. It was a day of dread that was somehow turned into an exciting adventure… thanks to the ingenuity of yours truly.

We must had walked for an hour or more. We were both thirsty and perspiring profusely from the thick sweltering humid plod alongside the burning tarmac. It all started to look like a big mistake then. Like, what’s a whip of a cane or two compared to this? Man, does this worth the blisters that I’m gonna get from all these walkings? – I thought. The journey gradually developed into a quiet business as we lugged along our 9 year old asses in a marathon of desperation to cheat fate.

Halfway through our journey, we came across a creek that ran through my school bus’ route home (we were following that route to go home). Of all my kid life inside that school bus, I had always wanted to swim inside the creek for a long time, but never got the chance. And that day, I spotted the opportunity to do it, and without thinking much, I jumped into the creek. I didn’t bother about my uniform. Just jumped. I was soaked from head to toe in that yellowish murky water, and continued to swim about inside it, totally ignoring PukeMachine who was totally stunned with what I just did.

Not long after that, he joined in. I was too busy enjoying myself, and I didn’t quite notice him soaking himself into the water. Or did he? I don’t remember. But he was around alright. Probably just sloshing the surface of the creek with his doughy feet, but that was not important to me. The most important thing for me that day, was to have lots of fun, to forget all about the troubles at school.

After dicking some dogs for a while, we moved on. We still had a long way to go after that creek pitstop. Another 3 – 4 clicks. It took us another hour and a half to reach my final destination (PukeMachine’s half journey stop) – my home. Didn’t really feel like an hour and a half, it felt like forever. I had blisters on my feet that day (from the wet creek water) and I smelled like an eel with hygiene problem.

The sight of my apartment foyer couldn’t have been sweeter. I did not even have the capacity to think about PukeMachine, for I was too exhausted to be thankful for his company. So I didn’t plan to say much. Just before I slither myself up to my apartment, I turned around to bid my partner-in-crime a wave of farewell, and hoofed the final few meters to eternal bliss.

But I didn’t make it for more than 10 feet, for I was startled by a loud shriek from behind me. More or less sounded like a fowl who learned that it was about to go through an ancient throat slitting ritual. “Wheeeekkkk!!!! Wheeeekk!!!!”. It was unmistakenly PukeMachine’s voice. He was in trouble. I frantically turned around to check him out, and saw him with an Oh-My-Fucking-God look and acting all alarmed like he had lost his mind.

I stormed over.
[to be continued here]

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If I were to play for Brazil, what would my name be?

And I would not headbutt when I’m angry. I’m gonna plant my boots on the person’s face instead.

click here to get your own Brazillian jersey

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July 18, 2006

bitter memories : the great escape (part I)

*I’ve been too free at work as of late, expect more long entries*

If PukeMachine were to clone himself over and over, he’d need to replicate himself an entire population of India to collaboratively reach the IQ that of a lab rat. No shit.

That calculator incident had put our brotherhood into the state of quandary. Like, I’m going be in a real deep shit tomorrow, how am I going to tell my mom about it? I was innocent enough. I didn’t do it. It was that kleptomaniac freak PukeMachine that got me into this. But that was not important then anymore, as I knew my mom would kill me irregardless of the truth being explained, or not.

Being a smarter person I was, I quickly came up with a backup plan, and suggested it to my panic stricken partner-in-crime (who was about to cry like he’s just lost a kidney) that we should bail school the next day and get out of this. That way, we won’t have to get our parents to meet up with the teacher, and hopefully with all the busy schedules and workload, she would forget all about it the day after that. (Trust me, it sounded very much more plausible back then). It was a brilliant idea.

Now, some of you might be wondering, why should I help PukeMachine with that, after all he had done? Well, I had to. Why? Here’s why

a) If he was to bring his parents to school, there would be a slimmer chance for that teacher to forget about the whole incident, and she would have realized that I am missing from her class.
b) I already had a very ill reputation with PukeMachine’s mom. It would be a very BAD idea to let her know that I was involved in this. It will only aggravate the situation if she somehow relates that underwear incident to my school teacher.
c) When I’m missing, it’ll be that much easier for PukeMachine to twist the fact and frame me stupid. It will be very UNWISE to leave such a volatile character alone by himself.

So, I had to take him with me. I had to make him skip school on that day. Or banish him from existence forever, whichever fitted. I had no choice.

And because he was a guy with not much of a thinking aptitude, it didn’t take him longer than a second to agree with my plan, and we’re at it. That was how my first truant was conceived. It was a choice made out of desperation. For us 9 year olds then, saving our skin is always more important than anything else.

The next day, we met early at the school entrance, and from there, we walked. A lot. We had to walk because

a) We didn’t have much money with us to take a bus home
b) We didn’t fucking know how to take a bus home (we’re only 9, we’re supposed to be stupid and stuff)

Destination: My home. That was 8 kilometers (clicks) away. PukeMachine volunteered to walk me back to my place first, then he would walk back to his own place, which was another give or take, 6 clicks away (he must had astoundingly walked 14 clicks altogether that day, un-fucking-believable). I’m not sure if he did that out of compunction of his misdeeds, or was he just plain fucking stupid… but I didn’t object his intention. I could use somebody to walk me home anytime, no shit – like maybe, I might get ambushed by some stray dogs, and I could use him to cushion off the attacks… I was smart.

And so we walked and talked, leaving behind our baggage of troubles at school…
[to be continued here]

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July 17, 2006

bitter memories : the calculator incident

*too much time at hands again today, long entry, deal with it*

PukeMachine. The guy who couldn’t tell the difference between his mom and a bunch of 8 year old whipper snappers. My best childhood friend evarrr. If his stupidity is to be likened as a volume of water, he’d have flooded the whole planet many times over.

It was circa 1986, when PukeMachine suddenly came to me with a wry grin.

“What’s up, PukeMachine?” (yeah, we 9 year olds used to speak all so weird like that)

Out from the pocket of his undersized school shorts, he produced before me a worn out looking piece of calculator. Worn out, and dirty. One could tell from the first glance of it, that it had seen the time of its electronic glory. It was covered with enough grime and filth to grow a potato plant out of it.

“Wow, a calculator.”

I wasn’t that thrilled really. My mom used to own a metallic calculator which was a few gazillion times cooler than that piece of junk that came out of PukeMachine’s pocket. It was so cool, that my mom had to lock it inside her private drawer so that I wouldn’t drool at it.

“It’s Maqbul’s calculator. I stole it from him.”

Maqbul was one of our classmates. He was always the second last in class and his mental capacity was very close to that ‘retard’ red line. That day, he brought in a calculator to school to show it off to the rest of his dim witted buddies, and PukeMachine stole that calculator.

“What?? Why did you do that, PukeMachine?”

“I couldn’t stand that smug Maqbul, so I stole his stupid calculator”

From that moment on, I already knew that it was a mistake. It was dumb enough to steal inside your classroom, what more a worthless piece of shit from a loser like Maqbul. If it were to be me handling the situation, I would have opted to destroy that calculator (or Maqbul himself) rather than stealing it and confine myself dangerously inside the class. (you steal something, you peel off. You don’t just stay static waiting to get caught, get what I mean?) Needless to say, that calculator was generations ahead smarter than PukeMachine.

But it was already too late for any reprehension, for Maqbul had already realized that his calculator was missing, and quickly rose up from his seat to give a quick yelp. He made such a big commotion out of it, that PukeMachine and I got panic in the middle of our discussion, and had to immediately cast that calculator into a schoolbag nearby. And that was the second mistake I spotted on that day – it was my fucking schoolbag.

I hadn’t had the opportunity to even remove that evidence from my bag, because by a fragment of a second later, the class teacher had already instructed everyone to go back to their seats and was calling for a spot check to determine who was the mean thief that stole Maqbul’s fucking calculator.

The rest of you here can make your own guess what happened next. Fast forward a few moments later, I was made to stand in front of the class facing the rest of the students, to explain why did I commit the crime. Because I didn’t really do it, I decided just to tell the truth instead, and conveniently pointed out PukeMachine as the main culprit behind the whole act.

Well, some of you might think lowly of me to drag PukeMachine along into the quagmire … but what do I care, suit yourself. There’s a big difference between being stupid and righteous to your friends… and I wasn’t about to be stupid just to be righteous, so, fuck it. I got him square in the face. Hey, that’s what friends are for, right? To share the perils and pain together…

And that was exactly what I wanted to happen. If I’d be getting a disciplinary action out of this, he had to have the same share… I just didn’t fucking care. In fact, he should have counted his blessing that

a) I didn’t break his arms for getting me into HIS troubles
b) I didn’t break his legs for getting me into HIS troubles
c) I didn’t attempt to kill him for getting me into HIS troubles

We were made to invite our parents to school the next day… which, would be a story for another day.
[to be continued here]

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