Blog of a Bully Read online

  The new word going around school is that I was the one who stole Buzz’s candy last night. I asked Donald and Hercules if they ratted me out, but they both swore on their lives that they had nothing to do with it. I guess they have just as much to lose as me, although they have yet to be mentioned in the rumors I have heard.

  If they didn’t tell anyone, than who did? Who could have possibly known? That is not what is important. The important thing is that Buzz is going to kill me when he finds out. I must stop this rumor before it gets to him.

  I gathered the troops and told them to make up any story they wanted just to prove that I wasn’t there and had nothing to do with the candy. I started a story saying that I was stuck babysitting all night while my parents went to a costume party.

  Donald started a story about how I was rushed to the emergency room for trying to swallow a plastic sword like performers do at a circus.

  Hercules spread a story about how Buzz dressed up as a ghost pirate and stole my candy and did it with a demented smile on his face.

  At the end of the school day, as I was walking to the bus, I waved to Buzz as he was getting on his own bus to go home. He hesitantly waved back, probably wondering, “Why is this idiot waving to me?” Then he boarded and was out of my sight. At this point, all I can assume is that my plan worked. Impressed? I sure am. I never thought that would work.

  Your ability to juggle many tasks will take you far.

  As long as it takes me far away from the wrath of Buzz, then I’m happy.

  Tuesday, November 9th, 2010

  4:30 p.m.

  Family

  Oh, today has been just fantastic! Yes, that was sarcasm. Some of my family came into town over the weekend, and more are coming. My mom likes to have a big Thanksgiving bash, so she invites everyone on her side of the family to come over. As for my Dad’s side of the family, they get a little jealous and invite themselves to our Thanksgiving. Don’t get me wrong, I like my extended family, but it’s not like they stay a day and leave. Thanksgiving is in two weeks, and they are already piling in.

  My room was the first to go. I now have to sleep on the couch. Jessica is being moved in with Mom and Dad so they can continue to baby her. Also, my extended family likes to help out my parents with little things like driving me to school despite the fact that I now ride the bus. It is so embarrassing to pull up to school in an old light brown Cadillac with your grandpa at the wheel dressed in his underwear. Whoever invented paper bags should win the Nobel Peace Prize because I am wearing one over my head today.

  I don’t know how often I will be able to type with these freaks living in my room. I had to sneak in while one was in the shower just to write this.

  The family that prays together stays together.

  That’s it! There will be no prayers in this house until these people get out.

  Monday, November 15th, 2010

  4:33 p.m.

  Too Much Info

  Today was just plain creepy for me. While driving me to school, my Grandpa asked if I liked any of the girls at school. I really didn’t want to get in a conversation like that with the old man, so I pretended I didn’t understand what he said and tried talking about the weather. Didn’t work; that guy had a one-track mind. So finally I gave in and told him a little about Angela.

  He asked what I have done to get the girl to notice me, and I said that frankly, I hadn’t done a thing. That’s when he let me have it. I need to get off my games, get off my computer, and get the girl. My grandpa told me all about the 1950s and how when he was my age, he had the girls begging to even hold his hand. He use to shove poems and love notes (addressed from a “secret admirer”) in the girls’ lockers and then later meet them for ice cream. He went on and on about how lazy I was and how amazing he was and how this generation doesn’t know a thing about girls.

  When I finally exited the vehicle, I could see that the crazy old man was still talking about the good old days even though there was no one in the car. I like that guy, but now I believe my parents when they say he has lost it. Why did they let him drive me to school?

  But something deep inside told me that he was right. I haven’t done a thing to impress Angela. What should I do? I would love to hear your comments. Sorry I haven’t responded to other comments; I’ve been busy. So let me know what you think I should do.

  You will spend old age in comfort and material wealth.

  Hey, whatever keeps me from intruding on my future posterity to the point that they have to sleep on the couch sounds good to me.

  Friday, November 19th, 2010

  4:31 p.m.

  Your Comments

  Your comments have yet again amazed me. I was surprised how many of you agreed with my grandpa about this being a generation lost in electronics. I can’t help it if electronics are the way of today. I think it is sad how many adults refuse to learn about these electronics. So, we are just as amazed as you are, but in the opposite way.

  Back to your suggestions. Someone put “Don’t ask her.” Thanks. One person suggested I throw Angela a line like “Call the fire department because you set my eyes on fire.” That cracked me up because I pictured a guy with flaming eyes. I mean, there wouldn’t be anything funny about it if someone’s eyes really did catch on fire. Is that even possible? Never mind—that is a weird comment to say to someone.

  Moving on. My next favorite is a little boring, but I got a good laugh at it. The reader said to bring the girl home and make her a nice chuck steak. I like the idea of dinner at my place, but where would I hide the family so they won’t embarrass me? But the reason why I laughed so hard at this was I pretended that when we were eating the chuck steak, Angela started crying because we were eating a cow named Chuck. That is why you don’t name your animals: They eventually die, and having names for them makes the deaths harder.

  But the award of the week goes to the person who wrote, “Go up to Angela and say “Babe, your hot. Let’s get something to eat after school.’” Can you just picture me going up to Angela and saying that? It’s not me. I couldn’t do that. I can’t do a thing. I prefer to just sit in my room and never do a thing about my feelings for Angela. She will die an old librarian never knowing how I felt about her because I am too chicken to step up to the plate and take a sling. Besides, I’m only 13; it’s not like I plan on marring this girl. So I will start off very small.

  I have made a goal to ask her out after our Christmas break. I have about two months to get the guts to do something like that. Wish me luck in two months.

  A friend asks only for your time, not your money.

  I hope she’s not an expensive date, because I’m broke.

  Thursday, November 25th, 2010

  1:17 p.m.

  Thanksgiving

  Thanksgiving. Thank goodness it’s over. Now the family can leave … after they’re done sleeping off the turkey. We all woke up early this morning to help mom with the cooking so we could eat by noon. A favorite tradition of mine is to dirty dance with the turkey before it gets stuffed. Jessica likes to do the actual stuffing of the turkey.

  After that, it’s always a struggle to get ready for the day because family members dominate the bathrooms. So I am stuck with a turkey-smelling shirt until they let me in to shower and change.

  I love to see the different foods family members make. Mashed potatoes, coleslaw, frog eye salad, house salad, cranberry sauce, cranberry juice, cranberry dressing, gravy, Jell-O, Jell-O with fruit, green Jell-O with carrot peals, creamed corn, sweet potatoes, and not to mention the turkey with homemade stuffing. The different smells in the house are mouth watering. It is a true struggle to make it to noon without dipping my finger in something just for a little taste. But when you think the day is perfect and couldn’t get better, they break out pie. My favorite by far is the homemade pumpkin pie. It’s to die for. It’s some crazy recipe that has passed down through the generations. It really goes beyond opening a can and dumping in the filling. Then, when I’m ready to let
my mom know this is the best day of my life, she leaves me speechless by smothering the top of the pie with scoops of whipped cream on top of the pie. Breathtaking.

  Another tradition of ours is to go around the table and say what we are thankful for. I really don’t listen to the adults because they usually say things like, “I’m thankful for our kids.” Mushy stuff. This year, when it was Jessica’s turn, she shocked me by saying, “I’m thankful for Bradley.” What the heck? That came out of nowhere. And yet I felt a little closer to her for saying that.

  The pig fest went on, and we stuffed ourselves silly. Jessica managed to toss a spoon full of mashed potatoes with gravy at me, ruining my shirt. The family laughed and said it was an accident and she would never do that on purpose. Hogwash. She was in her right mind and knew what she was doing. So later I managed to accidently bump her face in her pie, getting whipped cream all over her face. Accidental revenge is sweet. Of course they all said I did that on purpose and was sent to my room. About time—now I can finally type in peace.

  I ate today’s fortune cookie for you. I am so full I couldn’t stand the site of this fortune cookie, but I have to keep my readers happy, so this one is for you.

  He who laughs at himself never runs out of things to laugh at.

  Now I know I will truly die happy.

  December

  Friday, December 3rd, 2010

  8:52 p.m.

  Back in School

  This week has been a royal pain for me. Am I still a bully? Yes, more now than before. The stories that I thought had ended have started again, but with new thrills.

  Now there are war stories about when I served in Vietnam. I really wish these kids would do the math and realize I wasn’t even alive during Vietnam. But I must say, these stories are kind of cool.

  One story was about a time when I was captured by Charley (the enemy’s nickname) and I was forced to clean dirty toilets with my tongue because Charley refused to give me a toothbrush. After all, a toothbrush in my hands is a deadly weapon. So to show Charley how happy I was to be part of the team, I made the team flapjacks. But little did they know these pancakes were special. They were made with all sorts of alcoholic drinks. Before long, they were all laughing, fighting, dancing, crying, and singing. They didn’t even notice I slipped out with all the other prisoners.

  Hercules was the one who told me that story. I had to ask him and Donald why they decided to make me a war hero. Now for the scary part: They didn’t come up with these stories. Someone else was making up these ridiculous stories. I had no idea who.

  I did some investigating. I decided to follow the trail: I asked Donald who he heard the story from, then I asked that kid and so on and so on … you get the idea. Finally, I traced the trail to Buzz. It took me all week to get that far. I felt like I was interrogating kid after kid. Some kids were so frightened that I was talking to them that they started crying and tried to give me their lunch money along with information.

  Toward the end of the week, I was feared again but this time it was worse. And sad to say, I was starting to feel like a bully.

  A closed mouth gathers no feet.

  I didn’t say a thing, and I am more popular now than before.

  Friday, December 10th, 2010

  7:40 p.m.

  Guts

  I don’t know what came over me or what is wrong with me. I woke up this morning and decided I was going to ask Angela if she wanted to go see a movie with me. Was it the one small hair I found on my chest today that gave me the courage to ask Angela out? Or was it most likely the subconscious desire to be laughed at and possibly humiliated? Either way, I plead the fifth and claim that I was not in my right mind.

  I went to school feeling pretty confident in my ability to confront a girl. I went right up to Angela and said, “Angela you’re pretty and cool; one might even call you pretty cool. Would you like to go to the movies with me tonight?” She was shaking her head no halfway through my sentence, and when I finished she gave an immediate and demanding NO and walked off.

  Did that suck? YES. Was I dumb enough to ask her in public, assuming she would say yes? YES. Did the whole school get to see my rejection? YES.

  School went on, and I was made fun of in every class. I thought I was the school bully. Am I supposed to be made fun of? NO. In between classes as I was walking around, I saw Timid Tim, the kid who messed up the paper I forced him to write for me. He was snickering at me, so I went over there and gave that little punk a wedgy. I went easy on the kid and didn’t pull as hard as I could have, but the whole school saw, and I was feared again. No one dared to make fun of me for getting rejected by Angela. I don’t like violence, and I don’t like rejection. What a horrible day.

  It doesn’t matter. Who is without a flaw?

  Definitely not me. I let some colors show that I’m not proud of. I really can’t believe what I did. I stooped to new lows today.

  Tuesday, December 14th, 2010

  5:15 p.m.

  Moms Know Best

  I must have a lot of mothers reading this blog, because with your comments, you guys really made me feel like the scum of the earth for what I did. I agree with you. But I can’t think right now about what I should do. So hopefully over the Christmas break I will figure this entire thing out. I’m still sad about what I did and still upset that I was rejected by Angela, and on top of all this, I found out according to my current report card, I’m now a C student. My parents are going to kill me.

  If you have any suggestions that are actually helpful, then please share. I’m making this short. I have homework to do.

  The greatest danger could be your stupidity.

  Man, even the fortune cookies are mad at me.

  Thursday, December 23rd, 2010

  11:56 a.m.

  Winter Break

  My break has started off with a real bang. I was grounded for my bad grades. Not only that, but I was lectured by my parents for about an hour in their room about my grades, my attitude, why I’ve been getting in trouble at school, and how I use to be such a nice boy. They told me to have Donald over for a sleepover so he can be a good influence on me. Shows how much they know; he’s the one who got me in this mess. So I am grounded from video games and computer games. No biggie; I hardly play. Again, shows how much they know.

  I had Donald over, and he was more annoyed with Jessica than I was. Anything we did, she wanted to join, and if she cried enough then Mom would force us to let her play with us. I’m use to it, but Donald couldn’t stand her. We stayed up late watching a scary movie on the computer. It wasn’t that scary, but Donald sure jumped a few times. We wanted to pull a prank on Jessica, but we couldn’t think of a good one that wasn’t too mean. So we let that one pass, but in the morning I woke myself by smashing shaving cream in my face. I had an itchy nose. Yes, one of the pranks we were going to pull on Jessica, Donald pulled on me instead. He sprayed shaving cream in my hand and with a feather, he tickled my nose. This was done at four in the morning; Donald must be a light sleeper.

  You guys have given me some good ideas. One person said I should write an apology letter and read it to the school over the loud speaker. Another person said I should do more positive things with my time, like have a school car wash. But the winner of the week is the person who told me to make cookies for the whole school. That is doable, but what made the comment a winner is that the individual explained I should make the cookies with a few extra dashes of love. Brilliant—I love it. I’ll spread the baked love at school.

  Much more grows in the garden than that which is planted there.

  I hope it’s a garden of love, because I need some flour made of love for my cookies. After all, flour made of love doesn’t grow on trees.

  Saturday, December 25th, 2010

  9:19 p.m.

  Christmas

  Christmastime, what a wonderful nightmare. Trips to the store to look at last-minute toys, followed by dragging a screaming Jessica out of a store because some dumb toy. And i
f we go in another store, she will find another toy to cry about as if she is trying to scream her Christmas list all the way to the North Pole.

  Next we get our pictures taken with the big, fat Santa man who just had his picture taken with the hundreds of kids before us. I really hope the management do an extensive background check on the guys they get to dress up as Santa. Just like the toilets in a gas station, the staff should offer a seat cover for Santa’s knee or at least spray sanitizer on it. My mom likes to get Jessica all dolled up for these photos as if Jessica is auditioning for a beauty contest. But for how much my mom pays for these pics, she should do everything to get her money’s worth, including demanding an extra candy cane. Jessica is only good for one shot before she starts to cry. You would think if Jessica thought this was the real guy bringing her toys every year, she would worship the guy. But no, she sits on his knee and cries in his face. That’s my sister; no logic.

  The night before Christmas, we are allowed to open one present and I always pick the biggest one. This year I got a bike, and it’s a pretty sweet ride. Jessica got the stupid pony she earlier cried in the store for. There’s that squeaky wheel thing again, and she still thinks that Santa at the mall got the pony for her. I never really pay attention to what my parents get, but they sounded happy with whatever they got this year.

  After all my family is in bed, I like to guess what my other presents are. This year I was shocked to see that Jessica got me a present. I felt bad because I stiffed her this year. My curiosity got to me, and I opened it. A foam dart gun. SWEET!

  Right then I heard a door open. I loaded my new foam dart gun and hid behind the Christmas tree. It was my dad coming out of his room with some freshly wrapped gifts. When he was close enough, I leaped out from behind the tree, yelled, “Santa!” and shot him. Priceless! You see, some people think Christmas is about the presents, but as for me, I feel it is about the love and the memories. Fifty years from now, I will not remember what I got this Christmas, but I will remember how I jumped out from behind the tree and shot Santa.