wickedflea | (no subject)

I was walking to my car in the CVS parking lot and noticed a little tennis ball. I said: "Hey, I can use that, by dog. There are any number of numbnuts in this city who could stand to be clocked by a tennis ball." So I picked it up. I noticed that there seemed to be something moving in the center of the ball, but I figured it was just water since it's been raining for about a year and a half here. Then I got in the car and shook the ball. It jingled merrily. ACK, DOG BALL! I HAVE DOG BALLS!!!

It sort of reminds me of the time in Mrs. Hoyt's seventh-grade English class when I was turned around in my seat and talking to Wes. All of a sudden Wes got this goofy look on his face and started snickering. I turned around and found that Mike Boyd had reached over and deposited a comb on my desk--one of those combs that looks like this:

In one motion, I used the tips of my thumb and forefinger to grab the comb by the end of the handle right where the little circle is, flung it to the front of the room (narrowly missing Mrs. Hoyt) as I screamed, "GREASY COMB!" That poor woman just shook her head and went right on teaching. She shook her head a lot in that class. I remember one time when she beat her head against a cabinet because Chris Simmons couldn't read the sentence "'Come over to my house, said Dick'" aloud without convulsing with laughter and sending the whole class into fits. Then there was the time that I tried to pull Wes's sweatpants down as he walked to his desk after returning from the restroom. Not that I wanted to see him naked or anything--I think it probably had something to do with his not telling me about that greasy comb on my desk.