Tubular Tuesday, My Dudes

September 19, 2016
By Anonymous

Sitting at my desk, watching the clock slowly tick, and coworkers hurriedly bustling about the office trying to tie up loose ends before the vacation. I laid back in my chair, relaxing my tense back muscles, only to be startled back to to form by my boss’s hand on my shoulder. I turned around in my chair to face him, he had a jolly grin which was often out of place for his grim bearing.

“Congratulations!” he bellowed, I stared at him, bewildered.
“I know how you’ve been wanting that promotion, so I figured, since you’ve been doing such a great job, I’d give you an early birthday gift, good job on becoming a real, responsible adult, my boy.”
I looked around me in terror as my coworkers stood up and applauded me. The thunderous clapping continued to escalate until I couldn’t take it anymore.
With a scream I shot up in my bed, looking over to my overpriced Nickelodeon clock. It’s green frame beating in steady rhythm with the ear piercing bleeps. I reached over to slam the snooze button, and grabbed my Personal Digital Assistant, or PDA if you’re a cool dude. Today’s tuesday, TUBULAR TUESDAY.
“SQUELCHIN!” I exclaimed to myself. Taking one of the 53 flourescent blue and pink shirts from my closet, pair of jeans, and my stunner shades, I sprinted outside to the hallway.
As I slid down the stair’s railing, I could hear the sizzling of grease in a frying pan. I ran by the stove, knocking my mom out of the way, while grabbing some bacon coated in a layer of boiling grease, burning my cool fingerless gloves, and leaving my fingertips flushed with pain. I grabbed my skateboard, and almost crashed into the fridge as my mother’s pool of tears caused me to hydroplane again.
Annoyed, I shouted, “SMELL YA LATER, DWEEB!” over the sound of her sobbing and asking for her son to come back. What a nerd.
I rode my way through main street, being sure to pull off as many sick grinds and kickflips as I could. If a kid laughed at me out of jealousy, I made sure to body check him as I rode by, my 600 pounds of pure muscle was certain to ragdoll the punk anywhere from ten to twenty feet away with the amount of velocity I had, and I also made sure to hock a loogie on any of his nerd friends trying to wake them up or get them out of the road. I guess you could say I was King of the Playground.
With a couple more minutes of cruising through town, and maybe four knocked out brats, I finally made it to the school, beings as I too cool for it, I chillaxed out in the parking lot doing plenty of sweet tricks to impress the ladies. I was just in the middle of doing a grind over some dork’s car when an old dude began to approach the parking lot.
Beginning at a speedwalk, then gaining speed to a near sprint he made his way over to me, probably to ask for my autograph or my AOL account name. His face was a hot red, standing in stark contrast to his dark brown suit, loafers, and jet black hair.
I grabbed one of my headshots out of my pocket as well as a pen in anticipation
“Hey! You freakin’ moron, whadda you doing to my car!?” he gasped as he finally caught up to me. I lowered my shades, taken aback at the man’s gall.
“Excuse me?” I managed to blurt out over the laugh track blaring in my head.
“Excuse me? EXCUSE ME!? What on this blue earth made you think that you could have your skateboard anywhere NEAR my car!?” His face grew more and more saturated as he went on, starting to let spit fly in between his curses.
“Are you even legally allowed to be here? What are you? 40? 50? Jesus, man, you smell like you live off of nothing but stale Cheetos and Surge!”. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t impressed with his acute senses, but that didn’t calm me down. I pulled up my glasses again, and giving him my best John Stamos smile, I asserted myself.
“Eat my shorts, Gramps!” I shouted as I hopped back onto my board, using my yo-yo to bust one of his rear view mirrors. I started to push off, satisfied with rebellious ‘tude, until I heard the clopping of the man’s shoes gain on me.
I turned 180 degrees just in time to see a fist hurtling towards my face. The swift and sudden force took me right off my feet, sending me sprawling across the parking lot. I laid on my back, taking in the pain and humiliation, as the man walked up. Tears streamed out from under my stunners as he dropped a small card on my stomach.
“See you in court, Gramps,” he muttered as he returned to his car, his daughter laughing at me as they pulled away. I sat up, and wiped my tears, examining the card. It was a business card from some stupid law firm, his smug grin mocking me as I put it in my pocket with the others.
I trudged back to my house, ashamed that I had let my idols down. My mother, having worked herself out, sat at the kitchen table, clasping a picture of me as a baby. She looked up at me, seeing my bloody nose, and tear soaked shirt.
“Again?” she squeaked out, I only nodded in acknowledgement, opening another case of my sweet life nectar. She sighed, not with sadness, but submission, knowing that she’d probably have to take out another mortgage. I crawled up the stairs and back to bed, with the knowledge that Wicked Wednesday would be better day.

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