I was a culturally intolerant 10-year-old (823 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 1.72 on 20 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by FlakMonkey (View user info) at 2005-12-21 19:54:41 EST
I was a little Hellraiser when I was younger. Now, I don't mean Hellraiser like most people mean Hellraiser. Most people use the term when they think some kid pulling apart a roll of toilet paper is being naughty. I was Satan incarnate.
No, really.
When I was younger, my mother and father put me in the Cub Scouts, which wouldn't have been so bad except for one thing, I was an asshole. I hated the cub scouts. Our Cub Scout leader was affectionately referred to behind his back as the Den "Mother". The reason for this was...Anyone? He was a flamboyantly gay middle aged man. Nowadays I see how wrong this was, as does my psychologist.
Everyone I knew called our Scout leader, Mr. Tinsy this. Even my father referred to him as the Den Mother. In fact, my father once got so angry at Mr. Tinsy, he called him Den Mother to his face. This event changed my previously neutral attitude towards Mr. Tinsy, since my father openly hated him, and, as a young boy, my father was *always* right. I guess it's good my dad hadn't called him "Den Queen" or "Den Fudge-Packer" or something like that. As it was, the screeching and limp-wristed threats were enough to get permanantly etched in my little brain. Now, as a 10-year-old, I was prone to some pretty mischevious behavior, but this stunt would prove to hold position in my top ten list for years to come.
Mr. Tinsy, in a rare moment of masculinity, and because the Cub Scout association required it, started us on a week long project to design, build, decorate, and race our own homemade wooden slot car. We were to have minimal help from our parents, and had to have the cars completed by the following Monday evening, when we would be racing against dens from three other local cities, it was intended as the culmination of our Cub Scout season, and would be the culmination of my boyhood mission to piss off as many people as possible, all at once.
Mr. Tinsy, gay as ever, passed out the minor parts for our slot cars. This included the axles, the wheels, and a sheet of xeroxed paper detailing the minimum and maximum dimensions and the required weight. Now, I had a pocket knife that my dad had given me, and I was determined to find a good block of wood and carve the damned thing out by hand. I was then going to paint it and drive the axles through, And dammit, I was going to win that slotcar tournament. When My mom picked me up from the meeting, I showed her what was going on so she swung me by the local lumber yard and had the guys there cut me a small 3x5 hunk of wood. When I got home I immediately went to the garage and started drawing on the block of wood. I drew areas where I knew I wanted to carve out, and I made lines in places that needed to be shaved down. My father was a prolific woodworker, and some of the things he had taught me had actually stuck. Once I had gotten a design I liked, I started carving with my swiss army knife my father had given me. A cut here, a shaving there, a notch here. I spent the better part of that week carving the slotcar by hand. Each day after school, I would go into the garage, climb on the stool, and resume working on the block of wood that was slowly turning into my baby. By Friday night, I had the shape I wanted and had it perfectly sanded before dinner. The block of wood now resmbled a wide flat missile with flared fenders. It sort of resembled a Shelby GT 500, only with huge, blocky fenders where I would have to drive the axles. The only tasks left were to decorate it, drive the axles, and weight it.
For two days I fretted about how I should decorate my slotcar. Then on Sunday, my father, who wasn't particularly fond of church, took me to the Demolition Derby. As we drove to the derby, I saw a car with a rainbow triangle on the back window.
"Hey dad, can I get a sticker like that?" I exclaimed as I pointed at the car bearing the sticker in question. My father looked over with a momentary look of disinterest on his face. The look changed to one more resembling horror once he saw what I was pointing at.
"Hell no!" He yelled, "There aren't any fags in my house!!"
I was puzzled, wondering what a rainbow triangle had to do with gay people, but soon forgot about the incident once we reached the derby. Once we returned home, I had about an hour before I had to go to bed. I went to the garage and regarded the woodgrain slot racer on the workbench. Suddenly an idea hit me. At first it was simple, and mostly innocent, but the longer I thought of it, The more horrible it became. I suddenly realized exactly how I would decorate my car. I pulled my paint set down and went to work. Once I was finished, I quietly took my car into my room with me and hid it and went to sleep.
The next morning, I had just enough time to sneak the car out to the garage to drive the axles on with a hammer, and weight it with the required two pennies on the front end. I slipped my car in a drawer and went to school. All day, I thought about my car, and how it would be recieved. I no longer cared if it would win. I was practically shaking with excitement when I got home. I wasted time, watching TV until my father told me to get myself together for the Slotcar tourny. I raced to my room and threw my scout uniform on. I raced out to the garage and stuffed my slotcar in my pack and waited for the rest of my family.
When we got to the school auditorium that the Scouts were using as the designated tournament site, I was awash with excitement. I shook and shuddered all over, waiting to unveil my prank. I knew instinctively that my father would be furious, and I would never again see the inside of a Scout meeting, but it all paled in comparison to the number of people I knew would see my creation. I signed in with my parents and found I would be number three in the racing tiers. I found a seat with my parents and awaited my turn.
"Hey son, I still haven't gotten to see your racecar, what's it look like?" my father asked.
"It's a surprise!" I blurted with a huge grin on my face.
While other slot cars were whizzing down the angled tracks, painted red and gold and white, some black with skulls on them, some with stars, I sat and sweated the wait until it was my turn. I felt my slotcar through my backpack and shivered with anticipation.
Finally, it was my turn. I stood up, backpack in hand and shuffled over to the steps leading up to the head of the raised tracks. Everyone was too busy with their own business to notice what I pulled out of my pack. I waited until everyone was settled down and placed my car on the track. My father, who had just approached the side, looked up at my car and froze. His eyes widened as they travelled over the painted beauty. Suddenly, Mr. Tinsy looked up at my car also, his eyes widened almost identically and his hand went to his mouth to stifle a scream. Slowly, more and more people looked at my car, which suddenly went racing down the track at the sound of the judges whistle.
The car was a sight to behold. It was painted black, with a rainbow triangle on every surface I could fit it on. Along the sides I had painted in bold white letters "FAG DRAGSTER". I noticed as my car flew down the track that the entire auditorium was silent. Not a cheer could be heard. before I could see my car all the way to the finish line, I felt myself being jerked off the steps by my father. He dragged me unceremoniusly behind the stage curtain, took one look into my face with some flavor of intensity I still cannot image to this day, and proceeded to beat my ass. All the while, a tumultuous uproar was taking place in the auditorium, yelling and shouting reached my ears just as the hard slap of leather belt reached my ass.
A few minutes later, as my father escorted me back out to the auditorium, I could see what was going on. Scout masters were passing the offending car around, commenting on it as if it were a piece of fine art, parents were shielding their children's eyes and trying to explain what the words on the car meant. I myself had a very dim connection with the word "fag", but I had known enough to understand using it woud cause problems. Mainly I wanted to get back at my old man for not letting me have the sticker. Finally, the head Scout master pulled my parents aside. Our Den Mother was there, looking as if he was about to choke me out, and my father stepped between him and me.
"Well, Mr. and Mrs. FlakMonkey, I'm sorry, but I've talked to all the other scout masters and we agree, your boy is simply not cut out for this organization."
"What place?" My father asked stonily.
"Uh, this place, this organ--"
"No, what place did my son's car finish in."
"Oh, ah, second."
"Then give him his award and we'll leave."
The Cub Scouts refused to give me my trophy, and confiscated the car, so my father dragged the entire family out to the car without saying a word. When I got home, I was summarily beaten and sent to bed. It was worth it though. Thereafter, every shcool I went to up to highschool I was known as the kid who fucked up the Cub Scout slotcar Tournament. I never went back to the Scouts and thereafter, my father got me any sticker I wanted. He said it just wasn't worth the trouble to say no.
User Reviews
Submitted by Fey (user info) at 2007-05-23 04:08:29 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
I assumed Slotcar was something along the lines of a go-cart. Apparently not. It did make for some confusion there in the middle somewhere.
Submitted by FlakMonkey (user info) at 2005-12-22 16:16:13 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
It seems kissmyarse has a short attention span.
Submitted by inion_de_trua (user info) at 2005-12-22 12:48:32 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
you are brutal man, brutal.
Submitted by loki (user info) at 2005-12-22 11:44:05 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I am so not having kids.
Submitted by kissmyarse (user info) at 2005-12-22 11:39:13 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
Way too long
Submitted by redskieslookfake (user info) at 2005-12-22 11:38:19 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
This is a good post.
Submitted by MistressFist (user info) at 2005-12-22 11:27:42 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Fabulous.
Submitted by HighVoltage900 (user info) at 2005-12-22 09:15:32 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Well done.
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2005-12-22 09:05:24 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Nellypaal (user info) at 2005-12-22 07:48:55 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Nice one.
Submitted by MyNameIsTim (user info) at 2005-12-22 07:18:18 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
not bad.
Submitted by ellsmall (user info) at 2005-12-22 01:31:26 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2005-12-21 20:21:57 (#)
Ranking: 2
Funny as shit!!
Submitted by Skribbez (user info) at 2005-12-22 00:13:55 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
"FAG DRAGSTER".
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That's gold. I was expecting you to carve your car into a penis, but this didnt dissapoint.
Submitted by williamson (user info) at 2005-12-21 23:56:33 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by MrSparkle847 (user info) at 2005-12-21 20:02:44 (#)
Ranking: 2
<mr_slave> Jesuth Christ! </mr_slave>
Submitted by Ferretnose (user info) at 2005-12-21 21:31:29 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
haha! That's priceless.
Submitted by DanielH (user info) at 2005-12-21 20:50:14 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
That's a keeper. ++
Submitted by jagmcmanus (user info) at 2005-12-21 20:44:08 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
not bayd
Submitted by Walker (user info) at 2005-12-21 20:27:06 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Your dad acted a real hard-ass! I would've laughed being in his place. "Show no shame!"
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2005-12-21 20:21:57 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Funny as shit!!
Submitted by MrSparkle847 (user info) at 2005-12-21 20:02:44 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
<mr_slave> Jesuth Christ! </mr_slave>