Luckily, She Was Well Aware That Her Son Was A Cuntface Shithead
This story in many ways consists of all the things I wanted to say but never did, or rather, scream in the faces of the people who drove me crazy. I found it completely reasonable to daydream like there was no tomorrow. I of course found a snobbish reason to be talking to myself, rather than talking to anyone else. I acted pseudo-schizophrenically at times, speaking to myself instead of others to avoid interacting with people.
I will never claim these were conversations of a genius, but they got me through trying times simply because they were distractions from what was actually going on all around me. One of the things from which I needed distracting was of course the presence of annoying people. Now there are different types of annoying.
There are people that are so annoying that it can’t be missed because it’s right in front of your face. And there are of course the smooth motherfuckers who you don’t realize pissed you off before they’re already knee-deep into annoying someone else. Let’s start with the smooth motherfuckers. Arlo was one of those people.
You didn’t even have time to gloat about the fact that you had saved a shot from him during a soccer game before he told you to go get the ball that had of course gone down a hill and into a muddy ditch. This made me want to put his head on a stick outside the closest kindergarten I could find. I had a hockey teammate who I actually liked called Mikael.
But being a sensitive, overanalyzing, pathetic son of a bitch, I of course would notice when even this guy thought me unworthy of his presence. See, Mikael was best friends with the only other guy on the team with the same name as me, but he spelled it with a K instead of a C, which basically made him a peasant instead of royalty like myself.
Maybe I should explain this, a couple of Swedish kings have been called Oscar, but they all spelled it with a C and not with a K. Sure, the royal court spelled it Oskar, but Oscar the first himself spelled it with a C, which is what matters. I don’t think I need to tell you that Oskar on my hockey team was a simpleton.
One day I arrived at hockey practice and sat down with my yellow, permanently sweaty equipment right next to Oskar. Mikael arrives and says “Hey Oscar, do you mind moving, I have something important to talk to Oskar about.” Then he winked. I think the wink made me feel warm inside as if I was going to go home with him afterward and let him have his way with me, hiking my dress up and taking off my knickers in the car, just to be ready.
Unlike some other people my own age, I was able to pick up on hints given off by people’s body language and here it was clear that I was too much of a dweeb to be in the presence of these two esteemed gentlemen, and by that I mean two tiny farts in the shape of human beings. Mostly it wasn’t so hidden though.
Usually, people made it clear that I was a fucking idiot in their eyes, to my face, with no sugarcoating whatsoever. Just on my hockey team, there were the two short twins who were horrible to most of the people they came across. Then there was André who in later years switched from being a goalie to being a forward.
Having been a goalie for so long, he couldn’t skate, shoot, handle the puck, or do anything very well, but since he had been a goalie, he did have a knack for putting the puck in the net since he knew how goalies play and how they think. Even though we were on the same team, I wouldn’t really be happy when he scored since he was such a raging asshole.
I’d rather he’d burn in hell than have him experience any kind of happiness at all. I wasn’t mad I didn’t score, just that André did because he was such a humongous cunt. Jens on my soccer team also had the ability to act like a complete sphincter. I didn’t think he was a huge rectum to begin with, but the others treating me like shit probably made him feel like it was okay to join in. I don’t blame him. Being a kid is hard, you do what you have to, to survive. It’s not like I would’ve acted any differently.
Jon liked to piss me off both to my face and subtextually. He had it all, that little golden shower of a shithead. This will sound irrational, and it is, but he said “Bye” to me in the same way he would say something to piss me off. For starters, he would never say bye to me with the intention of being nice. The guy hated my guts. At least I assume he did, or maybe he just liked bothering the giraffe who ends up being a carnivore.
His entire being just annoyed me to the core and he knew it. So I ran after him and before I even caught him, he was down on the ground cowering in the fetus position to make it seem like I was the bully, something I still claim I was not. I’m pretty sure I’m in the right, considering I felt the need to write all this to be able to finally move on. Though I’ve heard he didn’t turn out too great either.
Apparently, he’s got brain damage from drinking too much. Or something. Aaaanyway, Jon was lying on the ground like the cuntface coward he was and I kicked him very lightly because I felt like I at least should inflict some kind of physical pain, no matter how slight. I needed to get something out of this. And who catches me in the act if not his own mother.
Luckily, she was well aware that her son was a cuntface shithead, and she knew that I would not be doing what I was doing for no reason. Within seconds, she’s got us both by the arm and giving us a talking to.
“Why do you have to pick on me like that?” I asked him, to make it clear that I was doling out some retribution, although I’m one hundred percent sure she knew this already.
Jon of course claimed that he had done nothing and that I, as per usual, had decided to take out my unprovoked, uncontrollable rage on him for no reason. I’ll admit, the rage was uncontrollable, that was on me, but it was never unprovoked. Few adults ever actually believed it was because they tended to have fully developed brains that worked at least semi-okay.
Veronika usually said “But I don’t think Oscar did this for no reason…” when we were having our talks after one of the endless times that I had beat him up. The adults always said to me that violence was never okay, but sometimes it was almost as if they took my side because I at least owned up to what I had done. I really had no choice, dozens of kids always saw me do it, while Jon was sitting there with a smile on his face lying his ass off.
But there was never really anything that the adults could do. It was word against word and a thousand witnesses saying I beat him up, so more often than not, the game was up. I never completely abused them either. I never gave anyone a black eye, I never made anyone bleed. Maybe a bruise or two, but that’s it. I didn’t wanna fight, I didn’t enjoy it at all. I hated it.
Telling them to stop only made it more fun for them and ignoring it didn’t work either because they could see me suffer even when I did nothing, so it was still fun for them. So, I used minimal violence and got blamed every time for trying to get through my day with the help of some light punches. Of course, I looked like the bad guy. The stereotype is just too strong.
The big guy beating up the smaller kids. Inflicting pain was never something I enjoyed doing, it was just a desperate attempt to make them stop and to have some sort of livable educational situation. I could never put my full force into it because it would’ve been too much, even I knew that. But it didn’t matter what was actually happening. I was always fucked. After years of this, I realized it was time to finally give up.