Surprise surprise. The class started off with Scarfy McGee asking a question. A stupid question. With a scarf. The dog doesn't even bother me anymore. The puppy looks resigned to its fate, so why should I get up in arms? Scarfy has eaten puppies before, and this one isn't even mine. Donning that same stupid, stupid beanie cap day after day will do weird things to a man, I suppose. What is under that beanie cap? I've never seen a man so dedicated to a piece of clothing as Scarfy McGee is to that hat. Scarfy has never been capless, and I'm beginning to wonder strange things (and question my masculinity).
Speaking of things that make me question my masculinity--or more to the point, my heterosexuality--I just watched a fat girl pick her thong out of her butt, and then pick at what I can only imagine is a thick, fat head of pubic hair in the front of her pelvis. In the middle of class. Right in front of my eyes. And I'm not talking about a quick itch right below the belly. I'm talking about half-an-inch-from-where-it-smells-like-the-dumpster-outside-of-a-bad-sushi-restaurant. She dug her hand in there and just scratched away. I herefore dub her...Pubus McCrabs.
Beardy McFace is wearing a Charlie Brown sweater today, zig-zags and all. If not for the beard on his mcface, I would cast him in the movie now. His head isn't very round, but we can work on it. And we can use Scarfy's dog to play Snoopy, postponing its death sentence for a few more days.
And most importantly, there is a new character in this classroom. I wanted to name her "The Single Most Beautiful Girl Ever to Exist on the Planet of Earth, and Probably Pluto as Well," but that was far too large. Instead, I will call her Curly McSue, named after the brown mane of curly locks that sits atop her beautiful head like a crown of thorns or perhaps human hair. Curly McSue and I went on a date last week for a fine steak-and-potatoes-dinner at La Testarosa, and we hit it off immediately. We started our conversation as most of my dialogues start--Scarfy McGee. What a fucker. After that, we realized we have the same taste in music, movies, television, and heroin dealers. And after that, we were joined at the hips. For five minutes! And then I went home.
Curly McSue and I shared a smile as Scarfy made yet another inane comment. "I don't know what to do. I keep telling myself that 'are' is a verb, but I just can't believe it." Shut the fuck up, Scarfy. Curly McSue and I laughed.