I read ridiculously slow on purpose when I read for pleasure. I can literally read an entire paragraph out loud and not retain a word of it. I have shit comprehension. So skimming in the morning is probably not a thing I should have ever attempted. I am just glad I was raised before the time when EVERYTHING was labeled some sort of learning disability.
When my dad was told I have poor reading comprehension he was the one who told me, not at all mockingly, just read slower and keep your hand off your pecker when you do, it's a distraction and gross.
What I'm saying is I still feel bad for calling Tim McGraw a coward.
|My fireplace was supposed to go there. I like it this way.|
I got in a fight once in sixth grade. Made some kid cry because I bit the inside of his thigh (sounds kinky, right?) because he had me pinned down and was pummeling me as he sat almost on my face. We both ended up bruised and battered. This was before the days of helicopter parents when schools let boys sort some things out on their own.
Anyway, I went home and dad noticed I was a little rough for ware and he asked. I told him some kid started a fight so I kicked his ass.
Dad had two rules when it came to fights. 1. Never start it. 2. Never let someone kick your ass without defending yourself.
Later that night my stomach turned and I got to feeling like I was going to throw up. I may have actually vomited, I no longer remember. What I do remember is dad calling off work the next day to take me to the doctor. The doc checked me out and drew some blood, but said I looked fine. He suggested it could be stress induced. My dad mentioned the previous day's fight and the doc thought that could have a lot to do with it, but that if I still was sick in a couple days I should come back.
On the drive home I came clean. I started the fight. I called a kid name Enis, Enis-Penis and he jumped on me. As soon I came clean I realized two things: 1. my stomach felt better and 2. I was probably getting an asswhooping when I get home.
Instead of getting an asswhooping I got driven back to school and my dad had Enis dragged out of class and into the Principal's Office. He didn't tell me what I had to do, I just knew. So I apologized to the kid with the unfortunate name. I didn't end up getting my ass whooped. I did, however, get the far-fucking-worse I have never been more disappointed in you.
But seriously, who the fuck would name a kid Enis if they didn't want him to get called penis?