The Moose in the Closet: Busted: Big Mouth

Too late for edits, I apologize in advance for any grammatical errors that might appear below. Four weeks of The Moose left after this. I need a break so bad.

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Ever since I was a kid my big mouth has gotten me in trouble.

I’ll never forget the first I said “fuck”. I was in PS 58s, fourth grade, a bit of a late bloomer with that one. We were playing tag in the schoolyard; there was this big-ass cement flagpole that we would use for base. I was running towards the pole and whoever was “it” was coming to intercept. When he got close enough I did this fucking Barry Sanders move – geeked left and went right – and the kid fell on his ass, busted his ankles, the only time I’ve ever been able to shake like that. I get to base and without regard for my surroundings I screamed, “Nice fall you dumb fuck!”

Then I hear the loudest, most manly, “HEY” a boy of ten can ever hear. I turn around to see Mrs. Gambino (or, as we called her, Torpedo Tits) barreling down on my skinny ass – big ass titties flapping behind her – the shine beaming off her balding scalp – spittle flying from between her gapped teeth. Torpedo Tits was easily the scariest woman God has ever created and all 300+ pounds of fright were huffing it towards me.

What the fuck do I do? I run. I run my fucking ass off and she gives up chase – her thunder thighs good for the quick sprint but lacking the slow-twitch fibers necessary to keep up pace. She bends on her knees and puffs and wheezes and forgets about me.

Here’s one I talked about last January but since it was two weeks into the site when five people were reading it there’s no harm in repeating. In the 58s cafeteria, sixth grade. This girl Nicole was ragging on me, saying how I wasn’t mature. In an attempt to counter her position, I tell her (loud enough so that anyone within earshot will hear my declaration), “I know I’m mature, I got hair on my dick!”

The school librarian, Mrs. Shea, comes right over and grabs the fuck out of my ear – pulls me to the side – and tells me that she doesn’t want to ever hear anything like that from me again and it’s disgusting behavior. She told my teacher, Mr. Ringston, who sent for me to meet him in the auditorium.

Now, Mr. Ringston – great guy though he was – was never the most masculine fellow. He had a yearly tradition where he hand sowed tuxedos and gowns for the sixth grade boys and girls, respectively, for them to wear during the dance festival. So – while I sat down with him and got his lecture – you need to keep in mind that he was sowing this outfit, right here:

He told me that it’s not gentlemanly to say things like that in front of girls and how I should watch what I say and treat women with respect. He then told me that guys don’t grow hair on their dicks, they grow it on their testicles, and I’m likely lying. I got dissed by a guy sowing a dress.

As I got older the things I got busted saying a bit too loud got a little more embarrassing. One of my ALL-TIME favorite stories right here. It’s so bad…oh man…

High school, probably sophomore year or so. I was hanging out with my boy David and his crazy ass brother, Jose. Jose had the license and apparently was going to pick up some girls and David and I tagged along with him.

We pile in the old station wagon and shoot out to Sheepshead Bay, the whole time Jose’s telling us how much better it is around here than in our “spic infested” neighborhood – I’m telling you, that kid was one self-hating son-of-a-bitch. We get to the house were where the girls live and Jose beeps his horn. The first chick out the door is all right, not the cutest girl to ever live but certainly a lot better looking than the type of girls one would expect to be hanging out with Jose.

Now, the second girl out the door wasn’t BAD. She was a little heavy, sure, a bit mannish from afar, but she wasn’t horrendous by any means.

Do you remember that remote control car called The Animal? It was the one that, when challenged by difficult terrain, would pop claws out of its wheels to help get over them? It was a pretty cool car back in the day and the theme song was pretty catchy. It was just some dude in a manly voice singing:

“The Animallll. The Animalllll. Nothing can stop! The ANIMALLLLLL!”

Anyway, I see this girl get out of the house and for some fucked up reason I just instantly start to sing that song in what I thought was a low voice.

Apparently I don’t have a low singing voice.

The girl goes back inside and the friend follows her in. She comes out five minutes later, we’re all sitting in silence and wondering what’s going on, and asks us if we were singing “The Animal” theme song when her friend came out.

Now, I should have said “no” or that it was in no way correlated to her friend. But, let’s face it, I was fucking amazed this chick remembered the jingle for The Animal and, well, that’s exactly what I said.

“Holy shit – she actually knew where that was from?”

Well, Jose works out a deal with the girl that’s essentially:
a) They get in the car
b) They drop me and David off back in our neighborhood
c) They go out
I’m pretty sure the word “spic” was in there somewhere as well.

That car ride back to the neighborhood was the most uncomfortable thirty minutes imaginable. The Animal is just sitting there – her eyes are red, she must have been crying – and you can just tell she’s fucking fuming. I’m sitting next to her in the backseat of a fucking station wagon, expecting her to fucking eat me at any moment. My friend David can’t stop laughing – just can’t stop – giggling like a mother fucker.

Jose drops us off as soon as he gets off the highway, doesn’t even take us the block, and peels off as fast as his wood-trimmed beast of a car would let him.

Labels: mitc

Busted: Big Mouth

Friday, January 06, 2006

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