Revenge is a dish best served…

wpid-wp-1430959547119.jpegAs a seventh grader, I only wanted two things-

.Make friends with the cool kids

. Be good at sports

Neither goal worked out.

But one thing did ‘work out’.

A fellow student named Al assigned me a nickname in Mr Sutter’s science class..

And it was the worst, most insulting and embarrassing name imaginable.

And it stuck- and spread like wildfire.  And it was always tossed my way in the most derisive way.  By everyone, occasionally teachers.

And since I was in 7th grade, I knew I would hear it for five more years, till I graduated.

That is what happened.

Everytime I heard the name, I winced, and it was like a spear to my heart.

Make friends?- no way.

Girls?- not even close.

Then graduation came, and I went far away.

No nickname.

Friends.

Tons of girls.

It was over.

Or so I thought.

About 40 years later, I was sitting in my living room and reading the paper.  Turned to the obits.

There, I noticed the name of Al, the nicknamer.

Got up, made myself a Manhattan, sat back down.

Al had succumbed to a lengthy illness.

That was good to hear.

Found out where Al was buried.

Hmmm…a vandalism run.

Needed to know-

.Did he die painfully?

.Was he a meth addict?

.Penniless?

Could only hope so.

So I raised my glass in memory of Al.

May his trip to hell be on the express with vile smelling co-passengers.

Then I drained the drink.

At this point, you might be saying, ‘Hey buddy, you need help.”

And you are right.

And I am doing just that.

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