Fuckness Read Online Free

a school.
    So, anyway, I got to school that Thursday only a few minutes late. All I could think about was that big, bulgy green sucker in the right front pocket of my pants and I couldn’t wait until recess. I didn’t think I’d be able to eat all of it and I’d have to save the wrapper so I could store the rest of it until after school. That way I could enjoy the hell out of it on my way home, too. Drifter Ken, if he was still in the park, which he almost always was after school, would be happy to see me enjoying the hell out of that sucker. And the thing kind of kept me behaved, too. A lot of times I’d have to skip recess and stay inside with the surly Miss Pearlbottom, who was one of the biggest blobs I’d ever seen.
    There was this one time when I had a fantastic vision about fat old Pearlbottom. In the vision, she wore one of those hideous floral-patterned dresses. It hung flappingly from her giant buttocks. Her ass was so huge it looked like she had children stuck in there. For no reason whatsoever, there was this cow in the hall of the school. Pearlbottom, with a grace I’d never seen her obtain before was on this creature in a heartbeat, driving it to the ground with her girth. After wrestling it down to the floor, she began to rapidly devour it, poking her fingers into its flesh, moving pieces of it around with her pudgy little fingers in search of the choicest bites. The entire cow was gone in minutes. In my dream, I looked on, horrified, like it had been a brash act of cannibalism or something. Finishing her meal she looked up at me, wiping the blood from her mouth with the back of her hand and picking some of the cow’s coarse hide out of her teeth, looking as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Needless to say, I was shaken upon awakening.
    Most days, I’d have to stay in from recess for doing something real stupid like sitting back in my little desk and flipping my head back and forth on my shoulders while singing some stupid shit like, “Da doo doo doo,” or some fuckall like that.
    Pearlbottom reminded me of someone who should be working at a truck stop, not in a school. She’d tell me to stop acting out. Sometimes she would tell me that I was way off task, like I was supposed to know what the hell that meant.
    It didn’t matter. I’d keep flicking my head and making the sounds. Mainly, I kept doing this because of the real soft but sort of mean way she had of telling me to stop, like I needed to be reminded of what I was doing. I knew exactly what I was doing and figured it was disruptive as hell, but I just didn’t care. I was more entertained by the way my hair would briefly raise up off my scalp as I snapped my head and I would try to snap it quicker and quicker every time. I tried to make the sounds loud and clear, yet distinctly my own, by adding occasional flourishes to it. Like sometimes I’d see what it sounded like with a lot of spit in my throat or with a bunch of paper in my mouth. And Miss Pearlbottom, she just kept shoveling on the fuckness.
    My desk was in the back of the classroom, which had two doors—one in front and one in back. I knew I was intentionally sat by the back door so that when I started in with something like the head snapping and sounds, Pearlbottom could open up that back door and pull my desk out so I was sitting real lonely and all in the hallway. She was a very burly woman and she didn’t have to extend a lot of effort to do this.
    Simplified, the breakdown went something like this: I would be immersed in my own little world, managing to have a decent time because I didn’t want to be at school to begin with. She would yank me out into the hall for having a relatively good time when nobody else was. Then her brashness would make me cry. I’d felt like that for about the past three years, always on the verge of crying. I always felt so sad and sorry for myself that it didn’t take much to send me on a crying jag. Then, Miss Pearlbottom would