Today at lunch, I was at an outdoor table joking around with a bunch of people. Well, this guy was eating canned sausage (came in a can with water). He poured it in a small fruit cup type vessel and told me to drink it. I thought about it, but it smelled terrible. He was holding it in front of my face, so I took my hand and slapped it out. It then spilled all over the person next to us and got onto his nice Abercrombie and Fitch school clothes. He shoved me, I shoved him back, and then he went to the office to tell the principal. He came back in short gym shorts. While in biology class, the principal came to get me, but the teacher kept me in, as luckily I was in the middle of a test. At the end of class, I ran out fast to my parents car, as it was the last class of the day. On my way out, I ran into the principal. She is quite intimidating. Well, I just ran as fast as I could and made it to the car. I'm safe for now, but what about tomorrow? What pisses me off the most about this is the fact that the guy actually told the principal. Really, it's kind of the wimpy. It's just sausage water, nothing dangerous. It will dry.
That said, I didn't do anything wrong. I was not intending to get this innocent bystander wet. But he isn't innocent anymore...
I don't think I should have laughed, but it is funny when someone's Abercrombie and Fitch pants look like they just got pissed.
I do not believe in indirect consequences. They are bullshit. Any punishment should be given right then and there, by the victim.
This reminds me of a memory from high school. It's one of those weird memories that I shouldn't laugh at, like seeing my buddy's mom smoking crack out of a Milwaukee's Best Ice can, but it does anyways
I was one of those dopes like you that just wanted to get fucked up all the time (not on scotch guard, I'm proud to say) because I was an angsty teen who wanted to embrace every form of anti-conformity I could get my hands on. Anyways, I was smoking a bunch and always had crazy loogies when I woke up. As well, I'm a bad morning breath type of person. One morning, I wake up and coughed up this strange multi-colored phlegm ball that was unusually solid, but still spongy. I spit it into an empty water bottle, one of those shitty disposable plastic water bottles that people like to drink water out of so much--too good for a tap, they are--and set the bottle down on my nightstand. I then went to school and likely went through my usual routine of sleeping through first period, mouthing the teacher in second period, sitting in the disciplinary office for third and forth period, and that sort of little shit head stuff.
I got home and continued my daily routine by practicing guitar and vocals--I was planning to be a DM band frontman, of course. I then go to my room, which was always absurdly hot (think 80F, yes even you Aussies) because the house was an old, +150 years, plantation house (slave quarters in the back yard and everything) and thus didn't have central heating, so we had a stove for the living room, which my room was just over. I smelt something funny when I went in my room. I, being a distant cousin of a K9, followed my reptile brain to the source: the little spongy thing I coughed up that was in the bottle. It was the worst thing I had smelt my entire life. A friend was coming over in a few days. I must make him smell it, I determined. I did and agreed that it, indeed, smelled putrid. Therefore, I should keep it longer and get more of my friends to smell it. Great idea. Will do. Should be funny. And I did.
A few months later, the little discolored phlegm sponge dissolved into a half ounce of mildly viscous red/brown fluid (reminiscing of the smell still makes me gag). Naturally, it smelled even worse. My friends and I determined that the joy must be shared, so I brought it to school. The original plan was to find somebody to dump it on. This wouldn't be out of the ordinary for us--one of my buddies once put a dead baby bird we found in the parking lot in the vending machine for some unsuspecting victim to pull out, expecting to see a candy bar in his or her hand. Fate had different ideas, however. As it turned out, one of my friends--a real trip, used to microwave his shirts right before school because it worked faster than the dryer, then one day the nuker broke and he put his shirt in the oven at 325 degrees for 15 minutes, then had the shirt slowly disintegrate over the course of the school day--happened to bring a rotten piece of flank steak with him in his book bag. We met up and all of them smelled my decayed phlegmball. Laughs ensued.
My microwave/flank steak friend asked if he could keep my stinkbottle, as I had intended to get rid of it that day by water the most amusing means possible was. I obliged and trusted his judgement. At lunch, he poured the viscous liquid on the lunch table--one of those ones that have the seats connected to them and can fold up to be filed against the wall--slapped the rancid flank steak on it, and proceeded to wipe the flank steak in the liquid in a circular motion, though in a jutting fashion because of his laughter, before he threw the steak, or something or the other. Not as sinister a use of my progeny as I'd hoped, but funny anyhow. He got staph as a result, which is the best part considering that the dumb ass rubbed his hands in that putrid shit.
