K.J.
The Infamous Jerk Off Episode

What a great night! What an awesome night! This one kid, he was a real jerk; a real jerk-off! He was just hurting feelings, acting like he was tough, and then he started messing with me. He tried to make himself look better taking shots at me. I really could not believe the audacity.

Now normally I don’t mind this, but not when I don’t know you, and I’m with my girl, how dare you. He actually started mackin’ my girl. Who was this guy, and why was he flirting with my girlfriend trying to make me look bad? It’s quite obvious that she’s taken and here with me.

Zo must have observed this, and he knew exactly what I was going to do. Sometimes I think we share the same brain. I was going to blast this guy. I was itching to cold cock him and knock all of his teeth out—it’s that simple. He had enough casual contact with my girlfriend masked in friendliness; and he has certainly had enough casual contact with me. I couldn’t take him anymore. He wanted to shake my hand every few minutes when he ‘gave me one,’ or agreed with me, agreed with a comment I made; but I wanted no part of it. I didn’t want to engage with this jerk off.

This guy is just a big dumb ass, and a sneaky bastard to boot. A finger in the ass to boot—that’s him. Very much like a snake, an attractive, cunning snake. “No, but you are right. I’ll give you that. I’ll give you that.” Who the hell did this guy think he was to give me anything? And if I didn’t shake his hand on every ‘I’ll give you that,’ I’m the jerk? I’m the guy being an asshole because I don’t want to play with this moron?

Well, he pushed me to far when he called me ‘stupid.’ I know it’s a simple word, but being called ‘stupid’ is something I have an issue with. Everyone has buttons, and that’s a touchy issue with me. If you comment on a woman’s weight, or about a guy losing his hair, or accuse someone of being ‘chicken,’ being a ‘bitch,’ or being a ‘liar;’ you never know, some people will go bad on you. Everyone has a button, or two, or more.

There is a girl I know. I’m not going to mention any names because you might know her as well, and I don’t want to embarrass anyone. Anyway, she always wears her hair over her ears. I’ve only seen a little of her left ear poke through her hair occasionally. Once, we were studying together, she casually tucked her hair behind her ear, and the second she noticed my eyes were looking at her ear, she went bad. Just because I looked at her ear she lost it. She started crying. I’m not going to get into it now, but that bitch has an ear complex. And from what I saw her ear looked perfectly normal and nice; a small petite ear.

Back to the story at hand, the infamous jerk off. One of my buttons is being called ‘stupid;’ I just cannot and will not tolerate that coming out of anyone’s hole. Not even my own father’s. Call me a lot of things. Even call me a faggot. That makes you look horrific—it doesn’t tarnish my character. When we were younger, we used to call each other ‘fags.’ ‘Hey you’re a fag.’ ‘Get the fuck outta here you friggin’ faggot.’ We were joking around. We didn’t know what we were saying. We didn’t know how much that really hurt some people who really are fags. Now, at least I realize that a lot of people really mean ‘faggot’ when they say it, and they mean it in a hateful, violent, and ugly way. I never used it like that; it was more of a playful word. I still use it as a playful word occasionally, old-habits die-hard. I have been inventing more and more wordiolas.

So at this party, more than anything, this guy pushed my buttons; he clearly was not joking around in a playful manner, and I wanted to smack his teeth out. When he started talking about how stupid I am, I didn’t say two words. All I did was tolerate him. I tried my best to stay calm because I know he is not expert as to how intelligent I am. I also know if I said anything I’d feed into my own rage. The funny thing is, you could see this kid was a moron; a real rock head. I’m not saying I like to read the books they make me read in school. I’m not even saying I read them. Sometimes I’m bored to tears, but this kid never absorbed or read anything. He just got by never giving a shit and truly believing he knows things.

I don’t know where he came from, but I could see he was out for blood. I could smell it. I could feel it. He was itching for a fight as well. It was a high school party, and he was from another high school—whatever. All I knew was he’s the only person I could see not from around here, and I didn’t care whose friend he was. He wasn’t my friend. He wasn’t Vincenzo’s friend. No one I spoke to seemed to know who this guy was. He wasn’t anyone other than a jerk off. I started to rationalize why I should just explode on this idiot. I was starting my war dance, starting to pace around and spit back.

‘What did you just call me? What did you just say about me! I don’t think I heard you!’ Right then and there, Vincenzo stepped in and said, “This guy thinks you’re stupid? I don’t know, he might be right? Let’s give you a test. I think.” Then this guy opened his mouth interrupting Zo mid-sentence and Zo silenced him. I started to silently laugh and actually had to turn my back briefly because that’s how terrifyingly funny Zo was. I know his routine cold.

Vincenzo continued, “Shut the hell up! I’m giving you a chance in a civilized fashion. More importantly, I’m talking. I have the stage. I have the mic. Maybe this guy is stupid, and that’s why you’ve been allowed to bust his balls all night, but I’m not stupid, and I’m also violent by nature. I’ll drop you just as fast as you dropped ‘A’ ‘P’ Physics!”

Zo was wearing a blue collared shirt, and he started to roll up his sleeves the same way you would if you were going to let a few punches go. He rolled his shoulders and neck a bit, looked like he was limbering up, and then the curve. He adjusted his watch in a precise manner, really focused on it for a few seconds, and then started to talk. “Now I am staring at my watch. Gather ‘round people! Gather ‘round! This is the Test! This is a human experiment! I think K.J. is not stupid. I also think this guy, the gentleman to my left, is a complete jerk off. I don’t know if my hypothesis is correct.

K.J., when I say ‘go,’ I want you use as many different phases as you can, all of which mean ‘jerk off.’ Do you understand? You must give me at least one answer every two seconds for sixty seconds. You can of course exceed that time for bonus points and prizes. In any expression, you cannot start with the same word more than once. And finally, all answers must be in alphabetical order starting ‘now’ stupid!”

He made me mad; my best friend made me mad, and purposefully. He pushed me giving me just what I needed. I began immediately skipping ‘a’ and I was on fire. ‘Ball off, bang yer wanger, bash the bishop, beat the bishop, beat yer meat, beat off, bob yer noodle, choke yer chicken, circle jerk, crank, crank one off, dash the doodle, do yourself, donate DNA, drop a load, fire a wad, fire a blank, fist one out, fist fuck, flip it off, flog the bishop, flog the pork, flub one out, frig off, gallop the fingers, go on a hand diet, going hot roddin’, grinding off, grip ‘n rip.’ At this point I was flying because I so wanted to lay this guy out, but the antonymic phrases just kept coming. I guess you could say I focused my energy positively.

When I said ‘husk it,’ a tear of laughter came to Vincenzo’s eye as he held up his right arm and with a straight face tried to say, “Two points! That phrase is from the 19th Century.” At this point everyone was hysterically laughing. They were laughing not only at all the ways I came up with to say ‘jerk off,’ but at this moron that didn’t know where to look or where to hide. He wasn’t about to interrupt me, and everyone was curious to see if I was going to make the full sixty seconds. Who the hell knows about “husk it?”

Sure I made it to sixty seconds, and then some. What were my other ones? ‘Jerk the gherkin, jerk the jewels, kick-start yourself, make a milk shake, makin’ love with Rosy Palm and her five lovely sisters, milk the cow, old one two, play pocket pool, play solitare, pound yer pud, pound yer pork, prime up yer pump, pull yer putz, pull yer prick, rub one out, shake hands with your best friend, shoot the cat, shoot a blank, spank the monkey, squeeze one off, squirt a seed, stir yer stew, strangle the stranger, take matters into yer own hands, take your sock on a date, tap-dance in yer pants, toss-off, toss-off on a napkin, twist your top, wave the wand, whack-off, whank-off, whip it, and yank your yankee- doodle-dandy ya jerk off!’

Then I stopped. I went through the entire alphabet up to ‘y’ without the possibility of backtracking, lasted over sixty seconds, and punctuated my last entry. I couldn’t have imagined the situation happening any more perfect than that, and it did—just wait.

People were on the floor at this point crying with laughter. Vincenzo said to this moron, “I don’t know. I don’t know if he passed yet? The results aren’t in. While we are waiting for the results, if you can think of one way to say ‘jerk off,’ before he thinks of another way to say ‘jerk off’—I’ll give you it. I’ll give you it man, and I’ll agree with you that this guy is stupid.”

While Vincenzo was putting out his hand to shake this guys hand, it was a conditional handshake. I understood that, I also understood that this guy was stupefied and his brain was completely on overload or empty so I shouted out, “shoot a pearl necklace, or rub off.” Then this guy, he must have had half a brain, but half a brain isn’t enough. He said, “Hey man! That stupid bastard already used ‘rub off.’ He already said ‘rub off,’ and what the hell are you guys trying to say about me? I’m gonna fuck you up first man!” Then he pushed Vincenzo out of nowhere. Vincenzo barely moved more than a nickel, stayed calm, and didn’t physically react.

Zo said, “You are the stupid bastard. I can’t help you now.” Then he moved out of the way, and I blasted this guy into the pool. One punch—an uppercut, and with all his clothing, electronic gadgets, wallet—all of him just the way he was went splashing into the pool. Let me tell you something about his pool, the water was gross—it was green, it was brown, it was yellow, with dirt, and leaves, and insects, and all types of dead shit.

I probably didn’t need to do that, but I don’t feel bad. I didn’t feel bad at the time either. He deserved it. How many people has he done this two? Apparently he always got away with it, because he had no fear. He never expected to lose a fight. He always expected to be the cool guy, or the big shot. He wasn’t such a big shot soaking wet and freezing with major water damage to various pieces of personal property.

When I say ‘lose’—not in a sense that you are so much hurt—in the sense that you know you have been and are defeated. There is such a thing as losing and losing. From the second Vincenzo stepped into the picture, this guy was pretty much like a deer mesmerized and caught in a pair of oncoming headlights. Vincenzo made him think and threw him off guard. It’s really funny how unnatural this guy looked thinking. Zo threw him off guard and I punched him once. He flew into the pool. It was over after that for both of us. He didn’t want real pain, and wasn’t stupid enough to not know the second he climbed out of the pool if he was to retaliate everyone at the party would have kicked the shit out of him. Even some of the calmer girls wanted to smack him.

Gina Gagliard rated his splash into the pool a perfect ten and told me my punch was an eight at best—more like a seven point seven. Then said, “Who the hell invited that guy. We should kick him out of here.” I think she likes me. I had a crush on her all of seventh, eighth, and ninth grade, and now she likes me. Now she’s starting to insult me a little.

While I was taking my verbal test, the legend of why Zo and I were engaging in this little game was growing. Apparently everyone wanted to know what was going on, and why was it going on. By the time I punched him, everyone saw the snake, saw what a jerk he was, and they were able to do this only because we forced them to see. We brought him out and pushed him into a corner. You can only poke a snake so many times with a stick before he tries to bite you. Both Zo and I were ready—we knew just what we were agitating. I think his name last name was Biella or something? What a jerk off. What a snake! He physically and jokingly touched my girl on multiple occasions.

The best part of the story is, as he was getting out of the pool, Zo said, “And, a, no. Actually he didn’t. Wait! Let me think about it again. Yea…I have a few types of photographic minds and, no! After reviewing it from every angle K.J. clearly said, ‘rub one out,’ and ‘rub off.’ According to the rules, those are both different responses. Sorry. You lose. I think you should leave.” The guy just left and never took his eyes off the ground. I don’t even know how he maneuvered his way out of the backyard.

I’m going to miss High School. I cannot believe it is almost over—after this year, our senior year, and that’s it. Senior year is balls to the walls! The grass is greener. I’m going to enjoy myself as much as possible. That will be the last year I get to see a lot of my friends. After this summer we will be returning to school seniors. That’s going to be so cool! I’ve been waiting for this. All the younger girls walking around—it’s going to be awesome. I love watching the tenth graders turn into eleventh, and the ninth into tenth—there are so many girls that are going to love getting a ride from K.J. in the morning. A little coffee, a bagel, perhaps chocolate milk, and we’ll arrive casually late for first period—that’s what I’m talking about!

I have no idea where I’m going to go, or what the hell I’m going to do after High School, but there is still time left to figure all that out. Why rush it. I know at the absolute best I’ll go to a state school. My parents aren’t paying for she-ite because they don’t have she-ite. I’m just going to concentrate on thoroughly enjoying myself. I know I’ll be able to get into some college. I’ll probably go locally to Stony Brook; that would be fun.

Sure a part of me wishes I could get into the same schools Vincenzo will get into, but not because I really care about where I go to college. I just know that I have to go to college and a degree is a degree. I’d really like to go to college with him just because of all the fun we’d have, but I know he’s going to an Ivy. That’s his dream; going to an Ivy has always been in the back of his mindeola.

He has been working towards that his entire academic career. Why the hell do you think he plays so many sports and is President of every club? I know he enjoys it, but really? There are many benefits, and he is the only student I’ve ever known that can write a hall pass, but he can’t like staying at school until eight and nine o’clock, or getting to school at six to organize something. He can’t like making thousands of photocopies, and organizing meetings. I’m surprised he went to the party at all tonight. He usually doesn’t go out like this. If he’s not studying, he’s on a date with a girl, or bullshitting with me.

I hope he gets into Columbia so he’ll be in the ci-ty, and he’ll be close. Could you imagine how wonderful it would be going to college in the city? I know he really wants to go to either Columbia or Brown. Why I’ll never know—all the former students of our high school that went to Ivy’s and came back to visit, or to talk to us about college—they all were complete assholes. They sounded like they weren’t even from this planet or ever a real person. And any of our teachers that went to an Ivy—complete assholes. Is that a coincidence?

Why he wants to be around a bunch of assholes is beyond me. That’s why I think it is very important for people to visit colleges while students are going to classes. It’s important to eat lunch in the cafeteria, and maybe go to a few parties. I wouldn’t want to spend four years around people I hated, and I know Vincenzo hates individuals that think they are super-smart when in actuality they are just phony-pompous-jerks. I call them cylopedia regurgitators. I’m going to a state school so it doesn’t matter. I don’t care about being with Chinese, or Indians, or Jews, or Blacks, or whatever—as long as they have a northern mentality. Besides, I love ethnic women. Now I would hate to be around a bunch of people from Boston—having to go to school in the town of Boston would be a nightmare.

We’ll see what happens—before you know it we’ll be taking an SAT course and the SAT’s. How do you say, I don’t want to take that? It’s so long and just pointless. We have to study for a test that is supposed to gauge how intelligent we are? Doesn’t it really gauge who can think and prepare for it?

Our mother’s signed us up against our will for Jenson’s SAT course. It’s not that we don’t love her, she is the best teacher I’ve ever had, and she is the best in the SAT business; that goes without saying. She really is—no one knows the SAT’s, and how to really teach for the SAT’s better than Mrs. Jenson. She teaches how to use your mind and how to understand what they are really asking. Any other course, like the Princeton Review, or Kaplan, or Yale—any other course is a bullshit course that makes a lot of money ripping people off claiming to teach strategy, when in actuality they can’t even teach strategy, and most of the time what they teach kids is incorrect. Everyone made the mistake of pissing away money to those bastards before. My favorite is the morons that work at the Huntington Learning Center—all a bunch of gimmicks.

When my mother was singing me up on the phone, Jenson forced my mother to put me on the horn. Said she can help me bring my scoreiola up to where it should be as long as I’m willing to not be a lazy slug and actually do some of the work. She is putting me in the same class as Vincenzo, and expects me to perform and get my ass in high gear. She said even if I am semiconscious she is so good that I will have to absorb something and increase my score 70-100 points. We’ll see what happens. It will depend on how many coffees and donuts I have, and how long I can sit still. I will tell you this, she is entertaining—better than any movie I’ve ever seen. I just wish I had her in a normal class setting rather than having to prepare for this stupid SAT nonsense.