Supid as You Think You Are?

I left Dodge Hall and walked out to my car. After putting my bag in the trunk, I put the key in the door and got in.

“So?” He said

“Shut up.” I started the car.

He was dressed as a clown. Not like Bozo or Cookie, though. More like Pennywise in It or John Wayne Gacy. He was wearing rainbow checkered pants and big green curly-toed clown shoes. His shirt was one of those billowy sleeve numbers that came up to a big flamboyant collar that went around His neck. It was blood red. He had big curly Q’s painted around His eyes in blue paint. There was yellow paint around His lips to create the image of a big smile and He wore a big fuzzy red ball on his nose but it hung to one side.

“I told you,” He said in a sing-song voice to the music on the radio, “Sugar Sugar.” Rolling Stone called it the worst song ever and I couldn’t disagree with that assessment. I turned and faced Him. He was smiling under the mop of the wig He was wearing that was all dirty dread locks with maggots crawling in and out of them. A dead parrot leaned up against His head, the talons locked on His shoulders from rigormortis. He drank beer from the pony keg between His legs, chugging on the hose from the spigot right into His mouth.

“You’re so funny when you try and fail. Like a dog that chases its own tail and then loses and gives up. You’re so helpless!” He put His arm around my shoulders. “And you studied so hard too, that’s the kicker! I mean I admire the almost-a-C you got in the A & P lab test. But the “F” today! Whoo! Deeper and deeper in the hole you go!

Tears welled up in my eyes and I buried my face in my hands. He guffawed at this, reared his head back and cackled.

You know that scene in A Christmas Story when Ralphie just snaps and kicks the ever-loving crap out of Scutt Fargus?

I elbowed Him across the nose sending blood splattering all over His window. As He raised His hands to His face to look at the blood, I got out of the car and went around to His side. Opening the door, I grabbed Him by His big poofy collar and dragged Him from the car, repeatedly punching Him in the face as I dropped Him to the ground. Then, something inside of me snapped. I started kicking Him in the face and the ribs like De Niro in Goodfellas. Face bloodied and tears streaming from His eyes, He looked as though He had just gone 15 rounds with Tyson. I bent over and grabbed His collar again and pulled His face to mine.

“You don’t understand,” I said and punched Him again. “You don’t get to win.” I punched Him thrice more, cleared my sinuses and hocked a loogie into His face.

“This isn’t over. Not by a damn sight. I am going to study more and work harder than I ever have. There is a break coming up and I’m going to catch up and I’m going to pull ahead in my reading and I’m going to bitch-slap the rest of the semester.”
He crawled around, fishing for the pony keg hose. I found the keg first, lifted it up and dropped it on His head, sending more blood all over the parking lot. Some of it splattered on my face. I wiped it off with an oil rag from my trunk and threw the rag in his face.

“See you tomorrow then?” I got in my car and drove back to Omaha.