Alright, I don't know about you,
but when I was in third grade, yoyos were a big deal.
I remember being out in recess one day,
and I see these two kids showing off their yoyos.
"Hey everybody, check out our sweet yoyos, aren't they sweet?"
And at first, I really didn't understand this new trend.
"What the heck, we're playing with yoyos now?
What is it, the 1930s?"
It was just so old-fashioned to me. It didn't make any sense.
Those two kids might as well been out there like,
"Hey everybody, check out our sweet hoop on a stick, isn't it sweet?"
But it didn't matter what I thought, because like a week later
everybody on the playground has a yoyo.
And everybody's out there at recess having little battles against each other.
Not like... not like Gladiator style, swinging them around like a fucking mace.
No, I mean, like...
like Stomp The Yard style or You Got Served, if you will.
Except not as shitty, and with yoyos.
There'd be little face-offs on who could do the coolest tricks.
The only problem was we were all like eight years old and we couldn't do shit.
"Oh yeah, you think you're sweet, huh? Well, check this crazy move out!"
(Bloop-bloop!)
"Boom, you just got served. You look foolish!"
"Holy hell, he made it go up and then down! What the fuck?!"
Our teachers are watching us from afar, totally baffled.
"The hell are those kids screaming about?"
"I don't know, are they having a dog fight?"
"Hey, stop fucking fighting dogs over there!"
So I'm watching this whole thing go down and I think to myself,
"Wow, I better get a goddamn yoyo so I can defend myself."
I don't want to go and get served like Kyle over there,
and look like a fucking idiot, now do I?
Now, back then there were basically two different brands of yoyos.
You had the Duncan yoyos,
which I always thought was for the more sophisticated yoyoer.
You know, the kids that actually knew what the fuck they were doing.
And then you had the Yomega yoyos, the badass ones for the cool kids.
They were colorful and in your face and they had sweet names,
like the Fireball, and a fucking... Turbo Blast.
I don't know what their names were.
I'm pretty sure they just took the names from the American Gladiators,
to be honest.
"Hi, I'm Turbo from American Gladiators.
And when I'm not blasting people with a tennis ball cannon,
I'm fucking yoyoing my ass off with the Turboblast Yomega yoyo.
Now, since my ass was broke as hell,
I couldn't afford one of those sweet yoyos.
All I could get was this cheap five-dollar knock-off yoyo,
that I bought at a 7-Eleven.
And let me tell you, this thing was a turd.
It sure as hell wasn't a Yomega yoyo, that's for sure.
It was like a yo-might-as-well-fuckin- throw-this-thing-in-the-garbage-can yoyo.
So now I'm at my friend David's house, trying to learn how to yoyo.
And David was like the Mr. Miyagi of yoyos.
I mean his ass could do Rock the Baby for Christ's sake.
No other kid on the playground could pull that thing off.
You see, he was so good at yoyoing,
because his mom would take him to get yoyo lessons at the mall.
Yeah, that's right, they had yoyo lessons at the mall back then.
I'm not sure what it was like,
but I imagine it was just some nerdy guy up there like,
"All right class, first, I'm going to show you these cool yoyo tricks,
and then we're going to get our ass beat by these teenagers.
Any questions?"
So he's trying to show me how to Rock the Baby,
but I can't get it down,
because my cheap-ass yoyo will only sleep for like two seconds
before it violently shoots right back up.
But whatever, it's not a big deal, we all can't be champions.
At the very least, I can still Walk the Dog,
and that'll probably be good enough.
So I show up to recess for the first time with my off-brand yoyo,
ready to Stomp the Yard and serve some people.
And my first little match is against this kid named Jacob.
And Jacob, of course, was notorious for being the kid
that threw up in class the year prior.
So, you know, his ass was practicing yoyos day and night,
trying to shed that reputation.
"I'm so good at yoyos, I'm the yoyo kid."
"No, Jacob, you're actually the kid that threw up in class,
that's who the fuck you are."
"No, I'm not, God damn it, I'm the yoyo kid!"
So this bastard decides to do the Around the World trick,
and that's where you whip your yoyo around like a fucking pair of nunchucks.
And I'm standing there like, "God damn, that was impressive.
The hell am I going to do? I can't just walk the dog now.
I got to go for it, I'm going to have to fuckin rock the goddamn baby."
So I whip my yoyo down there as hard as I can,
and I'm starting to panic, because I know I only have
like a two-second window to nail this trick.
I make the first move, this fucking yoyo flies up,
(Thwack!)
hits me in the teeth and explodes on impact.
Everybody starts laughing at me, like I'm a goddamn cartoon character.
Even the teachers are standing there disappointed.
"Good Lord, that is not how you rock a baby."
"Yeah, that baby's fucked up.
Somebody needs to call social services on his ass."
So needless to say, I got served that day by Jacob.
But the joke's on him, because to this day his ass is still known
as the kid that threw up in class.
"Oh, God damn it!"
That was pretty much the end of my illustrious yoyoing career.
That is, until twenty years later, when I was drunk on Amazon one night,
I decided to order a sweet Yomega Fireball yoyo.
So here I am, thirty years old, trying to avenge my eight-year-old self,
trying to Rock the fucking Baby.
BOOM! Got it!
Take that, Jacob, you bastard!
You're still the kid that threw up in class, God damn it.
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