Alright, do you ever think back to when you were a kid
about some of the screwed up or embarrassing things
that you took part in?
You know what I'm talking about.
Maybe you're the kid that peed his pants
in the second grade during a spelling test,
or maybe you drop-kicked your best friend off a trampoline
and broke his pelvis.
Whatever it is, I think it's safe to say
that we all have some deep-seated childhood regrets
that we all carry around with us.
Like for example, one time when I was a kid,
me and my sister decided to order pizza.
And the only problem with that was
it was the middle of winter
and it was like a goddamn stage 3 blizzard outside.
(Whoooosh)
Now, what kind of asshole
makes somebody deliver a pizza in this hellish nightmare?
There's fucking wampas outside and shit.
Who does such a thing?
Well, nine-year-old me and my older sister, that's who.
So after like two hours of us ordering the pizza our doorbell goes off
and like a piece of shit
my sister sends me out to face the poor bastard to get our pizza.
So I open the door and of course,
the delivery guy is this old dude all hunched-over freezing his ass off.
"Uh, hi there, sonny, sorry I took so long.
I almost slid into oncoming traffic getting here.
And I have arthritis in both of my cankles, so I can't move so fast."
Holy hell,
what a complete perfect asshole I felt like taking this guy's pizza.
And to make matters worse, all my sister gave me to tip this guy
was some crumpled up crusty-ass dollar bill,
that looked like somebody blew their nose into it.
So I hand it over to the guy, when all of a sudden
(Whooosh)
a fucking gust of wind rips it right out of my hand
and the thing goes tumbling off into the abyss never to be seen again.
So now this feeble old man's just staring at me,
arthritic cankles and all.
What the hell am I supposed to do in this situation?
Well, what I should've done,
was got old man river out of the elements there,
served him some hot cocoa and made him my honorary grandpa.
But instead I just fucking shut the door in his face.
(Thud!)
I was like 8 years old, alright?
I didn't know what the hell to do in a situation like that.
"Oh okay, have a good day then. I guess I'll die now."
And that was it.
I sat down and ate some pizza,
and I never told anybody about that experience ever in my life.
So now as a grown-ass man, 20 years later
I'll be laying in bed at night
and I'll just randomly start thinking of that old guy freezing his ass off.
Yeah, that's gonna be a fun one to explain
when I'm standing outside the pearly gates and shit.
"Uh, it says here that when you were nine,
you attempted to murder an old man for a Little Caesar's 1 topping?
Do you have anything to say for yourself?"
"Uhm, yeah, I'm gonna have to plead the fifth on that one, Pete."
But you see, that's kind of shit that I'm talking about.
Childhood regrets that you'll never live down.
Now, another childhood regret of mine
was when I was over my friend Zachary's house
that lived across the street.
And Zachary was a weird-ass kid.
But we'd always put up with him,
because he always had the coolest toys growing up.
I mean, he had the Talkboy from home alone,
he had Furbies coming out the ass,
he had the fucking robot from Rocky IV.
The kid had it all, what can I say.
But the thing that we were most envious of,
was his gigantic Pokemon card collection.
And this was back in the '90s,
when kids valued Pokemon cards more than life itself.
"Michael, if you ever touch my holographic Charizard,
I'll find and murder your entire bloodline, do you understand me?!"
But Zachary didn't care about his Pokemon cards at all.
They're all spread out in his room, all willy-nilly.
They're all ripped and bent up and shit.
His ass would practically tap-dance all over him.
He had so many of them, he didn't care.
And that shit made us sick to our stomachs.
I mean, it would be one thing
if these were just energy and trainer cards we're talking about,
but the kid had a holographic Zapdos on the middle of his floor,
for Christ's sake!
To us it was like fucking animal abuse for fake animals.
Somebody should've called the fake humane society on his ass.
So after seeing Zachary's blatant disrespect
towards his holographic Zapdos,
what the hell did I decide to do?
Well, what I should've done was take Zachary aside and be like,
"Dude, I've seen a kid beat another kid over the head
with a pogo stick for a fucking holographic Zapdos.
Get your shit together and take care of your Pokemon cards!"
But instead I fucking pocketed that holographic Zapdos.
Yeah, that's right, I stole it.
I'm not proud of it.
But with my broken 9-year-old logic
I wasn't stealing it so much as I was rescuing it from a life of cruelty.
So now, after all these years later I'm still filled with regret
because I stole this kid's shiny fucking piece of cardboard.
But what the hell am I supposed to do?
Track down Zachary's goofy ass and be like,
"Hey, uh, I know we're both grown-ass men now,
but that's a Pokemon card that I stole from you
back when Bill Clinton was in office.
All right then, see you later!"
(Whistling)
"Oh, and by the way, you're a cartoon on the internet,
and I didn't bother to change your real name.
Uh, sorry about that."
So if you're watching this, Zach,
I just want to say sorry about the petty theft
and if you want your Zapdos back, well, I still have it.
Because I take care of my goddamn Pokemon cards!
All right, let's do one more memory about me being a piece of shit,
and we'll be done with it.
Now this time we're in my next door neighbor Michael's front yard.
And we're doing what most dirty little kids were doing in the '90s.
We're playing WWF front yard wrestling, that's what we're doing.
And this particular match-up was between my friends David and Michael.
David, of course, was Stone Cold Steve Austin,
and Michael, on the other hand, was Bill Goldberg.
Of course, we told Michael that he couldn't be a WCW character,
but naturally, Michael didn't give a fuck.
So there they are, fighting to the death in Michael's front yard,
I'm playing the role of referee in this shitty wrestling match.
And to call it wrestling to begin with was a stretch of the imagination.
I mean, you got David over there, like,
ripping the hair out of Michael's scalp and shit.
I'm just standing there like, "Uh, okay, I'll allow it.
That's a completely legitimate wrestling move."
Well, things start getting a little dicey
when these two idiots start getting a little too close to the sidewalk.
Now, what I should've done in this situation, would've been like,
"Hey, you idiots, get back over here,
somebody's about to crack their head on the sidewalk!"
But what I did instead was not say a goddamn thing.
I mean, there's a Styrofoam championship belt on the line, for Christ's sake!
I can't interrupt the match now!
Well, imagine my surprise when David pulls off a haphazard German Supplex,
and he cracks Michael's head on the sidewalk!
And I got to say, it was loud!
it sounded like a fucking .30-06 going off in the neighborhood.
(bang)
(bang!)
(BANG!)
At the time I thought Michael's brain just exploded on impact.
I was almost positive people on the street were calling the cops like,
"Yeah, hello, police?
Get the paddy wagon, I just watched a kid in a Scottie Pippen jersey
get murdered in cold blood!"
Thankfully, to our surprise Michael sits up,
and well, he's looking a little disheveled, to say the least.
"Uh, Michael, are you alright?"
(Wailing)
So now what did me and David decide to do?
Well, what we should've done was
run inside and get Michael's drunk-ass stepdad and be like,
"Hey, Mr. Michael's stepdad, we were being deeply irresponsible
and I think we might've just scrambled Michael's brains into oblivion."
But instead of doing that we just took off running down the road
and left Michael to die by the street.
I know, it was a shitty thing to do,
but again, we were like 9 years old and we didn't want to get in trouble.
Hell, we even went back and grabbed the Styrofoam belt
before Michael's stepdad came outside flipping out.
"Woah, what the hell is going on out there?!
Michael, fix that stupid look on your face and get your ass inside!"
Now, in the end Michael was all right from that whole event.
I mean, he probably had a mild concussion at least,
but, well it was the '90s, so it was no big deal.
"What? What do you mean your head is fuzzy
and you can't remember how to tie your shoes?!
Oh, rub some dirt on it and stop being a wuss!"
So Michael, if you're watching this,
I'd like to apologize on behalf of me and David.
We shouldn't left you there on the side of the street.
But at the same time, I'm gonna stand by my call,
it was a technical knock-out and David is still the champion.
So I guess you can suck it!
The end.
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