Alright, now I think it's safe to say,
that middle school was a pretty rough time for most people.
Chances are you didn't have a lot going on for you,
when you're 12 years old.
You probably had braces back then,
puberty was hitting you like a ton of brick.
Or maybe you were the lucky cool kid,
that could finally grow a little dirt mustache to brag about.
"Hha-hah, hha-hah! I look like Burt Reynolds!"
Or perhaps you were the weird goth kid in class.
"I'm not cleaning my room, Mom and Dad!
Because I'm a sad brooding little bastard!
And my heart is an ocean of sadness!"
(Slams the door!)
"Oh, by the way, it's pizza day today, can I have 2 dollars?"
But for me personally, middle school marked
what I would like to call my 'Spikey Hair Face'.
And that consisted of me slathering a bunch of L.A. Looks hair gel to my head,
and then spiking my hair up,
so that it resembled the ass of a porcupine.
And you had to be careful,
because it was like having a lethal weapon on the top of your head.
You're screwing around, you accidentally trip in the hallways,
all of a sudden you're getting charged with second-degree manslaughter and shit.
Now, I have to say that my first day of middle school
did not go as well as I wanted it to.
I mean, it started off pretty good,
I hopped off the bus, looking fresh as hell.
I'm wearing my finest Limp Bizkit t-shirt.
My hair is nice and dangerous.
(Clang!)
My goddamn trapper keeper is the size of a small child.
I was all set to go.
But since this was a new school,
I had no idea where the hell I was going.
I wandering around the hallways, looking for my first class,
clueless as hell.
"Ahem, is this room 208?"
"Uh, kid, this is the fucking bathroom,
can you not talk to me while I have my dick in my hand?"
I'm asking random people in the hallway,
"Hey do you know where room 208 is?"
"Uh, I have no idea, kid, I'm the janitor,
I'm drunk as hell right now!"
So now I'm starting to panic,
and it's the type of panic that gives you nightmares later on in life.
"WOAH! WHERE THE HELL IS ROOM 208?!"
So now I'm running down the hallway,
like I'm in a goddamn Jason Statham movie.
And just when I'm about to get to the class room,
I trip over my own feet,
(whew!)
and eat shit in the hallway.
My giant trapper keeper soars through the air,
and smokes a bunch of children.
I go to stand up, and that's when I realize,
I totally just ripped a big-ass hole in the crotch of my pants.
There's teachers, peeking out of their classroom and shit.
"Wow, who the hell still wears whitey tighties?"
"I don't know, but I can see that kid's balls right now,
and I sure don't like it!"
So now I have to use my big-ass trapper keeper
as a shield to guard my crotch for the rest of the day.
Okay, not a great way to start your middle school career.
So let me give you a brief summary
of a few classrooms that I went to on that first day of middle school.
Class #1,
American History taught by Mr. Banks.
Now, Mr. Banks was old as hell.
Which is probably why he taught American history,
because well, he was alive for two-thirds of it.
He was so old, that back when he first started teaching,
they were still allowed to hit kids on the ass with wooden paddles.
Hell, he even had his wooden paddle up on display
in front of the classroom.
"Yeah, you little bastards sure do have it easy these days."
Back in my day, if a kid fucked up a spelling test,
I could knock them upside the head with a 2x4.
Class #2,
Algebra taught by Mrs. Sayloh.
Now, Mrs. Sayloh was also old as hell,
just not old enough to beat up children back in the day and get away with it.
Instead, she would beat kids over the head with mathematics.
I mean, this was our first dose of Algebra as a kid.
Our 12-year-old brains couldn't comprehend it.
"Uh, Mrs. Sayloh are you drunk or something?!"
"Why the fuck are you putting letters in mathematics?"
Class #3, Lunch.
Alright, not really a class, but I don't give a damn.
Now, the lunch room was ran by a guy, named Mr. Watson.
And Mr. Watson was a weird dude.
He wore a purple suit,
he had a Jheri curl, that was absolutely flawless,
(Bing!)
and he was the size of a goddamn Megazord!
This dude was like 6'7.
There was a rumor, that he used to be and offensive lineman
for the Indianapolis Colts.
Now, whether that was true or not, I don't know.
Because there was also a rumor,
that he beat up a goddamn Kodiak brown bear.
And I don't even know what Mr. Watson did at the school,
he wasn't a teacher.
It was like they just pulled some guy off the street, like,
"Hey, you're a very large man,
can you scare the shit out of a bunch of 12-year-olds
so they behave in the lunch room?"
"Yeah, I can do that!"
So he'd just stand in front of the classroom with a microphone,
"Aight, you kids, I want you to quiet down, damn it!"
This ain't an episode of Soul Train, quiet down!
"Episode of Soul Train? What the hell is that?"
"I don't know, dude, shut up!"
"You want to end up like that goddamn Kodiak brown bear?!"
Class #4, English class taught by Mr. Delato.
Now, there's no two ways about it,
Mr. Delato was just purely insane.
He was like the cross of Mr. Clean
and a drunk homeless guy, that had a concussion.
That was Mr. Delato.
He'd sit up at his desk and talk to himself,
"I don't know what we're gonna do today, what are we gonna do today?"
"Anybody knows what we're gonna do today? I don't know what we're gonna do today!"
"Is this guy possessed by the Devil? What the hell is going on?!"
He'd throw erasers at kids that weren't paying attention.
"You over there! Can you tell me what a preposition is?!"
"A prepo... what?!"
(Whoosh - thwack!)
Now, since I stood out,
because of my stupid-ass haircut back then,
it didn't take long for Mr. Delato to call on me.
"Hey you over there, with the hair!"
"Uh, who, me?"
"Yeah, you, tall hair!
Hey, you look like that guy on TV that sells meat sticks!"
"Uh... the who?"
"You know the guy on TV with the meat stick?
It goes, "Eat me!" You know the guy?"
Now, nobody knew what the hell Mr. Delato's incoherent ass was talking about,
but apparently, he was talking about the guy, that does the Slim Jim commercials.
"Oh yeah, snap into a Slim Jim!"
No, no, no. Not Macho Man Randy Savage,
I mean this weird guy.
- Snap into a Slim Jim! - Eat me!
So, apparently, to Mr. Delato my hair didn't look like a porcupine's ass,
it looked like a goddamn beef stick.
Go ahead and say what the beef stick guy says on TV,
say, "Eat me!"
"Uh, no, I'd rather not do that..."
"Go in front of the whole classroom,
and yell, 'Eat me!' god damn it!"
So there I am, in front of my seventh grade class,
crotchless, about to recite a goddamn TV commercial.
"Eat me!"
"Louder and with more enthusiasm!"
"Eat me!"
"Somebody kill me, please!"
Now the whole class is losing their shit,
"Wow, who the hell still wears whitey tighties?"
"I don't know, but I can see that kid's balls right now,
and I sure don't like it!"
So needless to say, when I got home from school that day,
that L.A. Looks hair gel went straight into the garbage,
and my ass never spiked my hair again.
So the next time you think you're awkward or weird in middle school,
just be glad you didn't become
Slim Jim's new 12-year-old crotchless mascot.
"Snap into a Slim Jim!"
"Eat me!"
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