Just this past evening I was watching Mike Birbiglia’s new special on Comedy Central. In it he tells a joke about how sometimes it’s better to just say nothing; and as an example he tells a story about how once he basically implied to (I think it was his landlady, I missed the first bit) his landlady that he was a rapist. Later on in the act he “gives” the audience a piece of advice, to write down those moments and look back on them later (although it was clearly just part of the joke, and not a real suggestion). However, through some horrible misgiving, I took it upon myself to do actually do what kind Mr. Birbiglia told me; perhaps because of his intensely famous status. What I ended up with was a list of three situations; two of which are far too raunchy to be recited here. One however was pretty funny and didn’t end with any sort of life-marring situation and therefore seemed pretty appropriate to put up here, so here it is: The Story of How I Made Josie Hate Me
Once, a long, long, intensely long time ago there was a young boy and a young girl. Their names, respectively, were Michael and Josie. Michael and Josie weren’t really friends per se, but they would certainly exchange cordial greetings if they were to pass by each other in the hall during an average school day. Now, the thing about Josie is, she was a middle school girl with a tendency to be an absolute, ridiculous “bitch” (thank you Quinn) to the boys of the school she attended. Unfortunately for our protagonist Michael, he was a student at the very school wherein Josie practiced her evil arts. A prime example of these hideous deeds might be the occasion on which Josie, with zero provocation, kicked another young lad (by name of Quinn) squarely in the testicles. This event would solidify her position as class dominatrix and would further unite the boys of the class against her.
One afternoon, on a seemingly inauspicious day, three boys were screaming and shouting phrases from the popular television show “Dragonball Z” (as that was the hip thing to do at the park as a third-grader). Little did they realize that soon enough their peaceful midday frolic would soon be interuppted by a monster of the female specimen; Josie. The little woman strolled over to the three hollering boys casually enough, careful not to intervene in the action until she was quite close enough that escape would be entirely out of the question. Once her scrawny legs had carried her nigh into the midst of the play-fighting she stopped and glared with her cold, glassy eyes until the boys noticed her presence. “What are you doing?” she asked, tongue dripping with potent venom. The perceived “leader” of the three boys, one Quinn, stepped forward. “We’re playing Dragonball Z, no girls.” He was concerned she had maybe gotten the idea to join in their fun and wanted to make it clear from the get-go that it was a men-only affair. This was the point at which the conversation took a drastic turn. “You’re just yelling fake words. It’s stupid.” she seethed. Silence fell over the trio, how could anyone speak such, such blasphemy?
Now, Mike Birbiglia had said that should you write down the moment at which you shouldn’t have said anything at all, you “might be surprised”. When I look back at this moment, I find that I am hardly surprised at the reaction, but rather more surprised at what wonderful joy the result has brought me. Perhaps this is more meant for someone who, in the moment, found themselves to be telling a “light-hearted joke” rather than a bull-headed insult; but hell, what do I know?
The second of the boys stepped forward, fingers knotted into trembling fists at his sides. His eyes boiled over with the rage of a killer, his mouth forming syllables that should only be muttered by Satan himself. Michael, the quietest boy, finally hissed, “No, you’re stupid.”
Josie would leave the school a few years later, and her friendly relationship with Michael would never recover from the deadly, wicked blow that was dealt that infamous day so long ago. Michael would later learn that Josie would never grow out of her rudeness and would be glad that he had ended any possibility of her ever speaking to him again before she had grown old enough to realize that men actually rely on their genitals for certain activities and that kicking them was actually about fifteen times worse than she had originally known in middle-school.
