When Your Principal Thinks

That Your Dog is Your Mom

 

Author:Bonnie Speed, in the approximate year of 1993, the summer of the Blood Sucker Story. Truly mentally disturbed.  This is where it all began to change…

 

After my teacher recovered from having her teeth blown out by the explosive candy I gave her, she whispered the words to me:

 

"Get your butt to the principal's office!"

 

At first I just smiled at her, but she looked pretty angry.  So, I left the room to go visit my merry little principal. Me and him (Him and I) are (were) great buddies. I burst into his office and yelled...

“HI!”

That scared my principal very muchly.  So, of course, I laughed.  Hee! Hee! But I laughed very berry quietly so he wouldn't hear me. Hee! Hee! But he still heard me and immediately called my Mom. My Mom is very strict and mean too.  So I felt very threatened by my principal.  He laughed hysterically as he picked up the phone.  I'm sure he was thinking about how he was finally going to get rid of me.

 

But fortunately, my mother was not home. But my mom did answer the phone, because my cute little dog Farley was impersonating my mother.  My principal did not know the difference though.   I did notice the difference because my mom would never say that I was misbehaving because of the rotten kibble I had for breakfast.  My dog is so silly sometimes.

 

My dog told my principal to send me home, and then and there, I would be properly disciplined.  After a lot of arguing (my principal thought he was the best discipliner in the world) he decided to send me home because my mother (dog) sounded quite mean. He would love to see me properly disciplined by a mean mother.

 

But before my principal hung up the phone, my dog asked to talk to me.  I nervously picked up the phone (because I might call my mom, Farley by accident).  I talked to Farley and he told me that he wanted to go for a walk when I got home and to tell the principal that I would have to walk home by myself because he was not in possession of the car right then (which was true because my real Mom had the car).   So my Principal agreed to let me go (which was really dumb on his part.)

 

I took the long way home, walked through rivers, yards, public buildings, open houses, stores, construction sites, broken windows, birdbaths, dog houses, gravel pits, cars whose windows were slightly open, train cars, green houses, manure piles, forests with rabid animals, candy shops, libraries (I did that quietly), police offices, ballparks, puddles, those fenced in areas with that warning sign with a lightning bolt on it...ZAP!!, swimming pools, airports, big trucks carrying cows, tents, horse barns, the Prime Minister's office, outhouses(occupied or not), dart games, the shooting range, somebody's prize winning rose garden(they were really mad, I don't see why), corn fields, wheat fields, bean fields, the recording studio, a used car lot(those dealers were really annoying), the boxing ring(it's square), oh yeah!, and I interrupted some ceremony when a lady dressed up in an ugly white dress and held hands with some guy in a hideous suit.

 

Well, I finally made it home and Farley REALLY had to go to the bathroom.  I put his leash on and let him outside for a walk.  He prefers to go for walks by himself.  He tells me it's because he's hoping some rich person will think he's lost and take him to a huge house where Farley can eat fried liver all day long except when he's going to fancy balls with delightful French gourmet or when he's flirting with a long-legged German Sheppard front his boiling hot tub, or when he's gleefully jumping on all the waterbeds in the mansion and laughing hysterically when they burst as a result of his beautiful filed and painted toenails.  But that hasn't happened yet. He hasn't a prayer for that to happen.

 

So, while Farley was out for his walk, I cleaned up a little.  I cleaned up myself. You see, after my long walk home I found myself in kind of a slightly disheveled sort of appearance.  So I changed my tremendously stinky clothes and tried to control my hair. I'm not sure what happened to it, but later I thought that I could have been exposed to some sort of electricity on my walk. I don't know. But then again, if I was exposed to some kind of electricity, my memory of actually being exposed would be slightly distorted somewhat. Who knows? Not me.

 

After I was finished dressing and scrubbing and washing and rinsing and combing and brushing and hair spraying and moussing and watering down and perfuming and disinfecting and drying and flossing and deodorising and finally laughing, I figured that Farley should be arriving home in a couple minutes.

 

So, I eagerly sat at the door, waiting for his return.  But he did not come.  I knew it was late when I decided to go and look for him when I noticed quite intelligently that it was dark outside. Aside from the fact that my mother had come home, made supper and gone to bed, I knew that it was doubtlessly past my bedtime.

 

So in order to avoid that fact, I scrammed. I ran through the pitch-blackness, until I realized that my subconscious mind, had led me to my school!  The mind does do mysterious things doesn't it?  I knew in fact that my whereabouts were as a result of my subconscious, because everyday I walk to school.  Sometimes I go one way, sometimes I go another, but nonetheless, I always end up at school.  So, when I set my foot on the pavement just previously, my subconscious knew (or thought it knew) where I was headed.

 

Good thing the doors were locked, or I would have walked right through the halls, into my classroom and sat in my desk for 6 hours before I noticed that I was the only individual present. Pretty wild, eh?

 

So without thinking about where I was going, I started to walk again. And a strange thing happened to me. I had this weird feeling that I required to go to the bathroom. But I knew that I had gone when I got home. No that's not right, at lunch. No, no, I was walking home from on school at lunch. Ah, yes, in the morning. I did go to the bathroom in the morning.

 

I distinctly remember my mother saying to me after I had rolled over in bed for half an hour while my radio alarm was blaring and I wandered aimlessly for fifteen minutes, trying to decide what "Rice Krispies" were made out of, brushed my teeth and then remembered that my “Rice Krispies" were drowning in milk on the kitchen table, and then got dressed and fed Farley his "Kibbles'n Bits'n Bits'n Bits 'n Bits'n Bits'n Bits'n Bits'n Bits'n Bits'n Bits'n Bits'n Bits'n Bits'n Bits'n Bits"(there were a lot of Bits'n that bag of Bits):

 

“Did you remember to go pee?" She gave me a couple minutes to recall my morning schedule.

 

"Um, no, I don't think..."

 

"That's right, you don't think.  You always forget to go pee in the morning.  And don't you try to tell me any different. You're not the one who gets phone calls at work telling you that your child is in need of some kind of control because every time the bathroom sign says "Go" and not “Stop”, your child GOES!!  I don't think so! And no buts, just go!"

 

So I was pretty sure that I relieved myself that morning.  But nonetheless, I really knew while I was walking down that cold, dark, street that I needed a Johnny on the Spot.

 

So, I began to wander around, looking for an outhouse.  And then, it hit me. OUCH! Somewhere along my long voyage home from school, I had seen and been through an object that closely resembled an outhouse. But then again, outhouses stink, so I decided I would have better luck trying to find home.

 

But home I did not find and soon I was wandering in the country. And it was not soon after I found that I was walking with some cows I discovered that home was not near.   But I really had to go pee.  So quickly, I ran to the nearest farmhouse and knocked on the door. Okay, so I pounded, I yelled, I kicked, I punched, I screamed, I hit, I mutilated and I broke.  And it was not until the glass shattered and fell to the floor, and the door flew off its hinges, that a person came to the door.

 

"Excuse Me," I said calmly, "Do you have a bathroom I can use?"

 

The person was a man, probably a farmer because he lived in a farmhouse, owned cows and a barn, had a tractor in his driveway, and most importantly was wearing a pair of dark grey coveralls and steel-toe boots with the steel exposed. But who am I to say that? Can I question the man's taste in clothes? Anybody can live in a farmhouse.  Maybe those cows just wandered in from another farm. And maybe he's just borrowing his neighbour's tractor to mow his lawn.

 

Hut there was something about that guy that told me that he was a farmer.  On his coveralls there was a little tag.  It said: "Farmer Jack".

 

It's Farmer Jack, savings time!

 

So then it occurred to me, this farmer was so old, that polite speech was obsolete as far as he was concerned.  So, I quickly adapted my speech to what I thought he could understand. I asked: "Do ya have a John?"

 

“Of course," He replied.

 

"Can I take a leak in it?"  I asked.

 

"Of course," He said.

 

“Great," I replied.  But then I thought. "What if this John is a Johnny on the Spot?" So I asked.  "Is this John indoors?"

 

"Of course," he replied.

 

"Where is it?" I asked.

 

Because the question could not be answered with an "Of course," he just pointed.

 

I ran.  I ran to that bathroom and afterwards, I felt much better.  One reason I felt better was because I got to use the toilet paper for a special discount price.

 

It's Farmer Jack savings time!

 

So I bid farewell to Farmer Jack and went on my way.

 

I really missed Farley.  I was so frustrated that as I walked down Farmer Jack's long lane, I cried. "FARLEY!!!!!!"  To my surprise, I heard the clink-clink of Farley's dog tags clinking together.  What a sound for sore legs!  Farley could get me home!

 

And sure enough, Farley used his cellular phone to call a cab. The cab picked us up and Farley paid for the trip.  When I returned home, I crawled in to bed, and fell asleep immediately. Well, not immediately but after I had fluffed my pillow, set my alarm, realised that I did not brush my teeth (but didn't care), thought about whether it would be more comfortable to sleep in my pajamas, gotten up to change, decided to brush my teeth while I was up because I knew that my mother would know if I did not, then I flossed, and walked back into my bed, noticed that Farley was in it, kicked Farley out, pulled the covers over my head, and I slept for 2 hours. Then my radio alarm was set off.  It was in fact, time for school.

 

“Oh joy," I said to myself as I called Farley to come and drag me out of bed.

 

I fed Farley his Kibbles'n just a few Bits (that was his punishment for taking so long on his walk).  Then I fed myself.  I didn't eat any "Rice Krispies" because I knew that it takes too long to eat them when you're trying to figure out what they're made out of. That still baffles me. "Rice Krispies"... "Rice Krispies"... "RICE Krispies"... They couldn't be made out of RICE could they?  Naw, I don't think so.

 

Even though I did not have to look at the "Krispies", I still thought about them, so I forgot breakfast. Therefore I did not have to brush my teeth.  But, I did not forget to go to the bathroom. In fact, I dwelled on the "Krispies" while on the can.  But, despite all my efforts, I could not come to any conclusion.   So, I got dressed and all prettied up, bid good-bye to my Mommy, grabbed my pre-made in Mommiesville lunch, gave Farley a pat, opened the door in front of me, closed it behind me, and went to school.  As I walked, I felt a sensation, a sensation that was strictly connected to hunger. Did you say that my stomach was growling?  Very good children! If you did, you were right.

 

I was HUNGRY.  All I could think of was food.  All kinds of greasy, crunchy, chewy, salty, yummy, luscious, sweet, sour, runny, solid, hard, creamy, crisp, flavoured, not flavoured, liquidy, fatty, light, bubbly, fluffy, crusty, mouldy, stinky, smelly, lovely, delicious, chard, frozen, piping hot, preserved, fresh, rotten, bottled, pickled, zip-loc freezer bagged, boxed, trucked, grown, mutant, exposed to nuclear radioactivity, packaged, harvested, man-made, artificial, FOOD! Food wonderful FOOD!

 

Then, it struck me like a bolt of lightning. (Not like I'VE ever been hit by any sort of electricity before.)  But then again, if I was exposed to some kind of electricity, my memory of actually being exposed would be slightly distorted somewhat. Who knows? Not me... It seems to me that I have experienced some kind of French phenomena that I don't know how to spell so I won't write it. [Deja vu­ maybe]  I think I have said something similar about electricity in the past.  Oh well.)  I had a complete meal, pre-made in Mommiesville in my backpack.  But that was my lunch.  I could not eat ALL of it, so I decided to eat just a bit.  But which bit?  In order to decide that, I would have to look inside the lunch bag.

 

So, I seated myself on an old tree stump and opened my backpack.  Then I lifted my lunch bag out of it.  Slowly and carefully, I tore around the staple in my brown paper bag. Inside I saw many goodies, but only one caught my attention.

 

My mother had put a handful of "Crispers" in a small zip-loc bag.  I immediately opened the bag and shoved ONE in my mouth.  I'm sure if anyone were observing my actions at that very moment, they would have laughed at the shocked expression on my face.  OH THE HORROR OP IT ALL!!  "Crispers" were not chips.  And "Crispers" were NOT crackers.

 

"Crispers" were kind of crunchy, yet tasty, soggy, yet salty, strangely shaped, and yet powdery.  I had no idea what "Crispers" were, for all I knew, "Crispers" could be poisonous mushrooms in disguise. So, I, disgusted in my own little way, pushed the bag of foreign, yet eatable objects aside.  And then I carried on walking to school.

 

But unfortunately, I did not make it to school on time that warm, sunny, crisp, shining, clear, crystal clear, day, because just a couple blocks from where I ate the "Crisper", was an area.  This area was blocked off by yellow tape, and orange signs with little men shovelling something on them. I peered past the yellow tape with my curious eyes.  There, right before my eyes was a completely opened, completely exposed, completely rusted, completely empty, manhole or dare I say, me-hole.

 

Yes siree, I crawled under that yellow tape, and jumped right down that me-hole, and landed in a pool of raw sewage.  Yuk!  It did not smell nice (as you can imagine), so I tried to escape from the stench. But that was quite impossible, because the raw sewage was waist deep and I did not really want to swim in it. So I tried to walk calmly over to the edge of the raging river of raw, repulsive rubbish. And so I did, but when I emerged from the dripping, drooling, debris, I discovered that my entire body was covered with... CLOTHES! Ha! Ha!  Fooled ya!  Hee! Hee!  I bet you thought I was covered in bloodsuckers or something. Ha! Ha!

 

Well, anyway, it wasn't too hard to climb the small ladder up to the surface again. But then I thought.  What a terrible thought!  I had a thought!  I thought, that if the sewers followed streets of the town, I could get to school that way!  A way that I had never travelled before.  And you know how many different ways I get from place to place. So, I climbed back down the ladder and started to walk through the deep darkness.

 

As I walked, the smell of grossness became just another odour to me.  I got used to the gaseous fumes running up into my nostrils and making my brain feel like it was burning. An intersection in the underground tunnels told me that I was just below the police station.  I thought that maybe I should inform the police about how repulsive the sewers smelled.  Surely that was a crime. But then again, I smelled pretty repulsive and surely THAT was a crime.  But, nonetheless, I decided to pay my old buddies the cops a visit.

 

So, I, now fittingly called "Swamp Thing", rose to the surface of the world.  I passed by the donut store (to pick up my police pals a gift), but was sorely rejected. But I did not despair; because I knew that my police pals would gleefully welcome me, no matter how bad I smelled, into their humble station.

 

Sadly, they did not. Instead, at first seeing me, (although they smelled me first) grabbed me by the stenchy little arms and tossed me behind bars.  I was painfully hurt. Not because the police rejected me for my smell, but because my BEST police pal, Constable Friendly Harry had personally escorted me to the cells downstairs.

 

I know many people are frightened when cops say, "Let's take you downtown.” But let me assure you, downstairs is MUCH worse. However I did meet a lot of interesting characters in that cell downstairs.  Most of the people I met were the kind of people that you would remember after you go through college and begin to write a book on psychology, and others are guaranteed to keep you afraid of sharp metal objects for the rest of your life. But I can proudly say that I was not affected in the least.

 

Unfortunately, I was not quite able to have a long lasting experience in that small cell, because none of the other perps would come near me (I don't see why).  But there always seemed to be a distinct bare, unoccupied area between me and the others.

 

It wasn't long before Constable Friendly Harry came down to speak to me. But before he would speak to me, he put on a gas mask, an airtight suit and some rubber gloves.

 

Another one of my police pals opened the cell and Constable Friendly Harry grabbed me by the hand, gave me some new clothes and threw me in the shower.

 

I spent a LONG time in the shower and I laughed a big belly laugh when the last of the sewage poured down the drain. Then I began to dress myself in the clothing given to me by the police.  And what a surprise I got!  The clothes were police clothes and they were way too big for me.  But who cares? It was a POLICE UNIFORM! WOW! AREN'T YOU THE LEAST BIT EXCITED?  And the first thing I asked when I opened the door, wearing my new suit was:

 

“Where's the gun?"

 

The police laughed and immediately realised who I was.  Then Constable Friendly Harry spoke to me.

 

"What in the world were you doing walking around smelling like that?"

 

At that point, I decided to use a little humour and told them that it was my new perfume.  The police of course laughed but wanted the REAL truth.  But because they didn't question me any further, I knew that they had finally accepted the fact (after all those times I had been at the police station for various acts during school, like, putting the Saran wrap on the toilets at school, putting the playground equipment up in flames, borrowing the school's photo copier for a week, setting the fire alarm off 4 times in a day, charging a dollar to anyone who wanted a drink from the water fountain, bringing Farley and his friends over to visit the drug sniff dogs--that caused quite a dog fight, changing the bathroom signs when visiting school were there for sports events and then locking them in before the girls noticed that urinals were not toilets, and the boys realised that [well, the boys probably wouldn't notice, "Ha! Ha! We're in the girls washroom!" DA!], and once I rewired the ovens for Family Studies class in order to produce REALLY Crispy Chicken.) that whatever I do, for fun, well, is just for fun, no harm done.  HA! Ha! I'm a poet and don't know it.

 

My police pals let me have ONE of their precious donuts, which pleased my hungry stomach, and escorted me to school, all dressed in my police uniform and in the back of a police car. They walked me right past my principal's office and directly to my classroom (they did not pass GO and did not collect $200).  They informed my teacher that I was helping to identify some criminals all morning and that was why I was late.  My teacher, disappointedly welcomed me to her class and began to teach again.

 

At lunch, I looked into my pre-made in Mommiesville lunch, and found an explosive apple (that my dear old Mommy had prepared for me to get a BLAST at lunchtime).  After I finished eating my delicious lunch of a peanut butter, banana, honey, margarine, bologna, ham, tuna, chocolate sprinkle, cinnamon, lettuce, cheese slice, "Cheez Whiz", "Rice Krispies", dill pickle, and liver sandwich, my thermos of my favourite drink, milk, orange juice, "Pepsi^”, spring water, blue Kool-Aid, and canned pineapple, all mixed together, ten "Jos. Louis'", a zucchini, 2 tomatoes, a couple raw hotdogs, and a milk bone rapped in tin foil (I'm sure that was for Farley, but hey!, they taste good enough, compared to my mom's cooking), I slipped into my teacher's room and put the apple on her desk.  On the top of MY desk, I left a note. It said:

 

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Wimpleton, I'm already there."

 

And then I hurried my little bum down to the principal's office and waited outside his large door.  Slightly before lunch-hour was over, my principal returned to his office. And not surprisingly on his part, I was sitting there patiently.  He asked me, as a matter of routine, why I was there.  I sat there innocently and waited, just for a second.

 

BOOM!!!

My principal ran and looked down the hall and observed the smoke coming from my teacher's classroom.  He also heard her yelling before he returned back to face ME!  He looked again at the hall filled with smoke, and once again glanced at me.  As he sighed, he motioned for me to enter his domain.  I rose and smiled.  I knew I would be seeing Farley VERY soon.

 

ATTENTION:as a result of the explosive apple, the teacher was not actually severely damaged.