Dick Cheney

Last night we were talking about time travel. Or, more accurately, we discussed what we'd do if we could go back in time and yet be essentially the same person we are now. In other words, I could inhabit, say, my seven-year-old body, but I'd know everything I know now. I'd do it in a heartbeat because I was something of a pussy when I was younger, and there are countless instances I can think of where I should have made like Dick Cheney on the Senate floor and told someone "Go fuck yourself."

I'm not sure why I was such a pussy when I was a kid, but I was deathly afraid of all my teachers in grade school. I never questioned authority, and my most ardent wish in any given situation was to blend into the background. I remember whenever my sisters and I wanted to order pizza, they'd make me call because they knew I was terrified of talking to the pizza guy.

I'm not sure when it is that I stopped being such a pussy. I think it probably happened in the eighth grade. A group of kids were harassing John Fisher, and I realized I hated John Fisher almost much as I hated the mongoloids pushing him around just because Fisher allowed himself to be pushed around on a daily basis. This particular day someone punched John Fisher in the throat, and when he managed to croak, "It hurts, you know," I finally stepped in and ordered Fisher's tormentors to leave him alone. The way I recall it, the crowd just sort of dispersed. But memory is a tricky thing -- for all I know, I probably got punched in the throat too.

My point is, I'm not a pussy any longer. I'm something of a badass, to tell you the truth. Maybe it's from watching all those episodes of Murphy Brown.

But back to the time travel thing. A no-brainer. I'd go back to fourth grade. Forestridge Elmentary in Richardson, Texas. Valentine's Day. Our teacher made the entire class give out valentines to every single fucking one of our classmates, and I thought it'd be funny to add a special postscript to the valentines that I gave to two kids named Tommy and Jay. Tommy was a skinny kid with a bowl haircut and freckles. Jay was grossly obese. I sent each a valentine that read "Happy Valentine's Day. P.S. Screw you." Both reported me to our teacher, who promptly sent me to the principal's office.

I have no idea what the principal's name was; I just remember he looked exactly like Don Henley with a mustache and permed hair. He angrily asked me how I'd like it if he called my parents on the phone and told them what I'd done. I know for a fact my parents wouldn't have given a fuck, but I pleaded with him not to do it, just because I was confused, scared and a gigantic pussy. Knowing what I know now, I would have told Don Henley to go ahead, call my parents, and then after school I would have beat the piss out of Tommy and Jay. I'd probably go after Don Henley too.

I don't know what it says about me that if I had the ability to travel through time I'd use it primarily as a way of acting out petty revenge fantasies.

Last Friday I went up to see my sister Hannah and my niece. My brother-in-law was there too. Before I left Hannah gave me her Harry Potter books to read, except she couldn't find the first one. She told me it'd be fine if I started at year two, and then she handed me a bag of potato chips. For whatever reason my sister Hannah feels compelled to give me food whenever I come over for a visit. Maybe it's because she knows I never cook, and I guess that particular night all she had in the pantry were potato chips. I took them, of course.

I read the first few pages of the fourth Harry Potter book while in line at the Taco Bell drive-thru last night, and it appears to be eminently readable. But reading these books seems to be a step backward into pussydom, don't you think?

Posted by john at September 21, 2004 12:36 PM