D-D-Duh (c) Carlos Mencia

So I’m a bit late. Like two days late. That’s cool though. Doesn’t matter, right?

Anyway, I have no idea what to blog about. I was going to do something on my first week of school, but it was uneventful. I was going to do something on my new roommate, but it’s been uneventful on that front too.

Ah, I think I’ll talk about being called a retard.

So for my school’s newspaper, I have a weekly sports column. Excluding editors, other people on the paper and family, I’d say I average about the same number of readers for that as I do for this blog. But I still have one.

I didn’t really have anything to write last week’s about, which is a weekly occurrence for both the column and this blog, so I copped out and wrote about the Olympics. Nobody else on staff had yet.

But I didn’t want to write about Michael Phelps, because I kind of hope he drowns, or at least needs to be revived by someone after nearly drowning. It’s not that his accomplishments aren’t impressive, it’s that he’s doofy looking and gives awful interviews. That’s clearly all it takes for me to wish death upon someone, but I have a higher threshold for these type of things than others, so if you’ve wanted to kill him for less than that I’d understand.

Sidenote: Why is that fucker hosting the season premiere of Saturday Night Live? Like I said, not once in an interview has he come off as likeable, funny or charming. There is absolutely nothing about him that makes me want to watch him on television, and as one of the estimated 93 people that still watch Saturday Night Live pretty much each week, I feel like I should have a say in the host. At least for the fucking season premiere. At least have a sketch where he drowns. Please. Or just make him do a shitty monologue, put him one sketch and then just make sure we don’t see him until the goodnights. Fuck that guy.

Anyway, I decided to write about Angel Matos, a Cuban taekwondo fighter who was disqualified in the bronze medal match for taking up more than the allotted sixty seconds of injury time after hurting his foot. He didn’t agree with the call and kicked the referee in the face.

It was fantastic.

So I wrote about how awesome it was, and how it was the crowning moment of the 2008 Olympics. And I was serious. It might not have seemed like it, but I really thought that was the best part of the Olympics, which I happened to enjoy overall anyway. But kicking a referee? Amazing.

So online you can comment on articles, which doesn’t happen too often for my articles, as the student body has a general acceptance between them to just ignore everything I do. But for this article I got one comment. It read:

“You are a retard! How can you commend someone for kicking an official in the face after the referee was following the guidelines set? Not only is it an embarrassment to Cuba, it is an embarrassment to you for writing your entire article. And what should it matter if this Cuban was a former Olympic champion or not? No one who assaults a referee should be allowed to get away with it. Get a clue!”

It was from a guy I have determined is named Mark, because that’s what he said his name was when posting. Reading that hurt. I’m not a retard. I am quite the mediocre student, thank you very much. Hell, if I applied myself and put forth somewhat of an effort, who knows how smart I could pretend to be.

And I thought I laid out in the article how I could commend someone for kicking a referee. Mostly because I thought it was awesome. I certainly wasn’t embarrassed by writing my article either. So that doesn’t work either, Mark.

Plus, don’t you know retard isn’t a cool thing to call someone. Had you asked if I was mentally challenged, I wouldn’t have been so mad. I probably would’ve ever entertained the possibility of being mentally challenged, mostly because it wouldn’t be the first time someone asked me that.

That’s right, for the first time, in blog form, I’m going to share the story of how a teacher asked me if I was mentally challenged.

I’d say I was in seventh grade, and about to turn 13. I was studying up for my Bar Mitzvah, my Jewish right of passage into becoming a man, apparently. So the Hebrew school I had attended for years assigns each future Bar or Bat Mitzvhee (made up word) a teacher to one-on-one tudor each student leading up to their big day.

You have to learn lots of Hebrew and say it in front of people, and while technically, attending Hebrew school for at least 3 years prior to that, we should’ve known some Hebrew, nobody does. Well, not nobody. Faggots do. And really religious people do. I’ll let you try to decide the difference, if any.

So I was having some issues learning my portion of the Torah I would have to recite in front of a synagogue full of people. Looking back now, about 3 people in that room had any idea of what I was saying, and they worked at the temple. Nobody else gave a shit. Pressure off.

One day after my session, the teacher asked me if someone was picking me up. I said yes, Moses. No I didn’t. I’m not that cool. I said my mom was. She asked me to tell my mom to come inside and see her. I did, and my mom didn’t know why. Neither did it.

The teacher explained that I was a bit behind some other students in terms of how much I had memorized to that point, and the date was nearing and I should be farther along. She then asked my mom if I had a learning disability or was mentally challenged. My mom was flustered, or just angry. She said no, and that I do very well in school. I wish she said “real school, you know, the one that matters,” but she didn’t.

I just sat there, pondering whether my parents didn’t tell me I had access to taking the short bus to school everyday and was subjected to riding on long buses my whole life. Then I wondered what else they weren’t telling me, and decided I was probably adopted.

Well, my mom was pissed. She got me switched to another teacher, who coincidentally (well no, not at all) teaches the “special” students, and my appointments were bumped up from a half hour to a full hour. so needless to say, I’m pretty retarded.

So perhaps I shouldn’t have called in the reinforcement (aka a certain writer of this blog that isn’t me or hot.pork) to rip Mark a new asshole. Or maybe I shouldn’t have shown the comment to my parents, because then my dad also left a message, although his wasn’t calling Mark a retard. But my dad’s comment also sucked and was stupid, and contradicted the tone of my article, because he said it was written sarcastically, which it wasn’t.

Perhaps Mark wasn’t in the wrong to call me retarded then, as looking back, I am. Or perhaps if I ever meet this Mark, I’m to fucking kick him in the mouth and spit on his grave.









Oh, my kicks to the mouth are deadly, if you were curios.