Parents, beat your kids!

          "I think I'm going to go insane if I hear George pronounce the word "think" in her unique, incorrect way. I feel as if a long, rusty nail is being hammered into that part of my brain purposed for English coding every time I hear her articulate it. She knows English, no doubt about it, but this word is really the bane of her life. If there was a group on Facebook called, "I wish I could pronounce the word 'think' correctly", I'd suggest it to her. Another short comment; Chain has the stupidest Facebook statuses in the history of Facebook statuses. I mean, seriously. His current one is so stupid that another degree of adjective comparison would have to be invented only to fully conjure up this fail of a Facebook status: "So I cover my little bike with some kinda tarpaulin... without knowing that's my mom's tarpaulin for... I dunno what. And it starts raining and my, I mean, my small old man says: 'You're not takin' care of your bike, it'll get wet', to which I say: 'Well I covered it up...' He then says: 'No, you didn't!', so I go outside and see my little bike all wet and now what... I just move it into the garage... Fuck..." Alecia smacking me with that Oxford dictionary made more sense than this status.

           This Friday, we had a colloquium on Corpus linguistics. Couple of hours prior to it, I arrived to Alecia's apartment. Since I hadn't even touched the materials, my intention was to use those two hours I had at my disposal to the fullest. Also, I needed a good-morning coffee, darker dan night itself, as if scraped from the bottom of the coffee machine; the one that would slap you silly and crush every last ounce of sleep from your eyes - Alecia's coffee. Blair eventually joined us and we started studying together; each in our own way. Blair's idea of studying was forming her cheating papers with scissors to a more adequate size; fits-in-your-bra-size. Alecia's strategy was more honest. She grabbed her materials and began poring through. Ten minutes passed before she realized she had been reading Christian's instructions on how to set up a wireless network instead of her exam papers. Two more passed before she grabbed Blair's scissors and began resizing her own cheating papers. I led a fierce battle with my own materials, struggling hard against composing my traditionally handwritten cheating papers. To a certain extent, I gave in. I decided to write down most of the definitions on a piece of paper and then repeat the theory one more time. After the writing part had been finished, I was alluringly seduced by Alecia's list of top 50 male actors, which made me forget about Corpus linguistics... plus my common sense and sense of decency. 

          To cut a long story short, even though I'm completely retarded and handicapped for such an action, I'm proud to say that I managed to cheat on that exam without twitching and grabbing professor's arm in foul confessions of the materials in my left pocket. I sweated out a puddle while doing so, but I didn't fail. After that, we had English language in contact, a class where time stood still. I cut it short by reading "Alice in Wonderland". Meanwhile, Jane brought us the pair of fingerless gloves we had ordered online for Alecia's birthday. Thank God for Jane. Had it not been for her, we would have probably ended up buying Alecia more booze. The gloves were new and the rubber emitted a strong scent which caused May and me to constantly sniff them in a really loud and sadistic fashion.

           Affirmative drama class was interesting, as always. Before it, I even talked to George in the gazebo. She made couple of animal-related statements which made me hate her little bit less than usual. She talked about her pet cat and her incredible fondness of animals. She also added how she believed her mother when she had told her that all the animals gained a temporary ability to talk on the night before Christmas. Heh. I'd still beat her with a stick, though. Maybe I wouldn't hit as hard. Anyway, we had our class in the gazebo. It was a lovely day. We were discussing a play called "I Remember Mama", which was pretty decent for an affirmative play. It's about a supermom who is so amazing that she keeps all the characters glued together. During that period, we had all been invited to comment. Cassandra was the first one to speak. She claimed that she was emotionally moved by the story and that she cried five times while reading it, to which we just exchanged can-you-believe-such-crap gazes and vomited inside our heads. Most people liked it. Babka didn't and Dwayne Marley remained indifferent, saying that he couldn't feel the story. Alecia subtly added that he couldn't connect to the story because it spoke about love, happiness, honesty and friendship, which he didn't have. Plus the story didn't contain any lying, cheating bastards. I sat across from him and I observed him during those 45 minutes. He seemed strange; flavorless. His skin had acquired some unnatural and unhealthy color, it wasn't just plain pale, but bordering on fungi green. He appeared as if his happiness not only ran out on him, but brought along his enthusiasm and motivation along, then moved to another state in another universe of another dimension. He looked as if he was rotting on the inside. It's a shame. If only Dwayne Marley had left to another dimension and Hans stayed with us. We like Hans. Everybody likes Hans. Dwayne Marley? Not so much."

         

           The four of us all had a different childhood. If I had to pair us up according to methods of child raising our parents applied, I'd have to say that Alecia and I had been raised in a similar manner. May and Blair were the quiet ones who never got spanked with any type of an object, while Alecia's and my mom practically had them all alphabetized and lined up against a wall or in a suitably equipped suitcase. Let me recall couple of such situations. For example, Alecia grew up in a village, so it was only natural for her to try and jump over a disc harrow; an attempt which resulted in stabbing her leg through, along with her new pants. Her mother's reaction was to patch her up and then beat the shit outta her for ruining her new pants. I recall begging my mom once to buy me a new bike and when she did, I drove it straight into the sea. However, I missed the deeper water and crashed against a pile of rocks, peeling off the skin of my forehead. The same procedure followed; she first took me to the hospital to make sure that I didn't have a concussion and then we returned home where she beat me silly till I was convinced I actually had one. I can't say that I blame her. At the time, she was a single mom and I was a rogue child. Alecia was very similar. Their village had obviously, at one point, suffered from a serious deficit of balls, because they played a game similar to dodgeball by using bricks. I was the demon child who crashed the property of our local bishopric in order to steal fruit from their orchard, got caught on a daily bases and then got dragged home to my mother by one of the priests who had been situated there at the time. I was a terrible thief. 

          Alecia's and my mom had so many common statements and policies. For example, when we misbehaved in public, they'd always say: "You just wait till we come home." Often was the case when days would pass and we would spend them by scraping down enough courage to antagonize them and when that rebellious moment finally took place, they would just look at us calmly and state: "I've given you life, I can just as easily take it from you." Oh, and my definite favorite is when I did something really bad and then returned home. My mom would be standing next to an open door to a room, just pointing with her arm, suggesting I got in without further ado. I'd obey, slowly walking in, bent down, wallowing in my own misery, despair, self-pity and fear of what's to come. My mom never immediately followed me inside, but she'd take her sweet time, walking past the window and into the garden (where I could clearly see what she was doing) and straight to the willow. Willow branches were the most effective. During those three minutes, I would thoroughly plan an escape route, ponder running away from home or calling social services and so on... However, all of these ideas were as pointless as yelling a 'fuck you' into a jet engine while speeding towards it on a skateboard because in the end, the only realistic option I had was to face the music.