M. Roy - Stories. Not a blog.

Working on The Endeavor. Freedom of speech is part of the first amendment. Use it or lose it. Rejection is God's protection, I think?

(Spongebob Smackdown)

When I was in the first grade, I hit a boy in the head with a Spongebob umbrella and got a teacher into a shitload of trouble in the process. Let me be clear about this: that boy was a bully. We used to ride the bus together and he would always go out of his way to make fun of EVERYTHING AND ANYTHING about me that he could think of.

Looking back, this entire thing is incredibly ridiculous, but when you’re seven and have less than a year living in the United States, things of this sort feel a lot worse than they actually are.

Anyways, that day, this boy had the nerve to slap me. We were about a minute away from school and he got up from his seat, went over to mine and slapped me. This was definitely shocking because it was the first time that he had resorted to using physical violence. I honestly don’t remember what went through my head at that point, but I do remember that he started laughing and that the group of boys he was with were laughing too. It’s always the laughter you remember when being bullied as a kid; you never forget it.

I didn’t cry, surprisingly enough. My head was filled with rage and I think I both did and didn’t process what had just happened. The bus came to a screeching halt and kids began getting off. I remember he pushed past me and ran towards the bus door, trying to get out first. He felt no remorse and if I hadn’t done anything that day, the pattern would have continued. Over and over and over and over again. Until what? Thank the Puppy Lord Jesus I’ll never know.

I grabbed my backpack and went after him. Just as he stepped off the bus, I raised my Spongebob umbrella high above my arms and whacked him across the head as hard as I motherfucking could. I heard a loud wailing sound and next thing I knew, my music teacher had grabbed me by the arm and was escorting me inside.

To this day, I still remember the look of fear and surprise in his eyes. He was so shocked and confused about what had just transpired that all he could do was cry. I think he was a little afraid at that point, because he didn’t want to look at me. Was it out of embarrassment? Did he know that I had hit him because he’d slapped me? I’ll never know. A teacher was comforting him and that’s the last I ever saw of him.

I remember my music teacher pushing kids out of the way to take me upstairs to her room. When we got there, she yelled at me for about two minutes and told me to wait while they called the principal. A few minutes later, a teacher’s assistant came and escorted me downstairs to the main office. She asked me why I had hit him and I told her that it was because he had slapped me.

The boy was in the nurse’s office and when they asked him what had happened he had the nerve to DENY EVERYTHING. I told the T.A. to talk to other kids on the bus and they confirmed my story. Everyone kept telling me that what I had done was bad and that I was going to get in trouble. They did the usual “I’m going to call your mom” bullshit and they got angry when I said, “Yes please. Call her so she can come.” I have never been afraid of people's threats or blackmail attempts and that isn't about to change anytime soon.

They took me upstairs again to this “behavioral counselor” who was the literal embodiment of Ms. Trunchbull; except this decrepit witch had short blonde hair and wore the ugliest make-up you could imagine. Her lipstick was constantly on her yellow teeth, she sweated like a pig and always wore the ugliest New Balance sneakers. On a side note, why are those awful things in style? Seriously, who thought they were a good idea to bring into the forefront of street fashion?

Anyways, when she came in, she stood with her arms on her waist and yelled down at me for about ten minutes. I still remember her disgusting spit hitting my face and shoulders. BLAH! Fast-forward to an hour later and my mom gets there and she’s angry. ANGRY AS FUCK. She’s furious and she wants ANSWERS; answers from me. The people at the main office had tried to talk to her but she wasn’t having it. After a few minutes, they took her upstairs and when she found me in a dark room crying she went INSANE. She took me to the staircase and asked me what happened. When I told her, she turned into a DRAGON and she literally began roasting everything and everyone in her immediate vicinity.

She asked the administration why I was the one in trouble and not the boy. The school tried to explain to her that I had been the one to physically assault him (clearly forgetting that I had hit him BECAUSE he’d slapped me first) and that I was in the wrong. When the lady said that, my mom turned into the Lord of Darkness himself and began yelling. By the time she was done, everyone in the office looked like the witches after Luke gave them the poison meant for kids in The Witches; bald, confused and unable to process what was happening.

My mother then asked to speak to the principal and to my teacher. Both of them tried to wiggle their way out of the situation and it wasn’t until my mom threatened to sue the school and complain to the district office that they started to change their tune. She even threatened to call the police to file a harassment report against the school and the boy and that’s when they really decided that they didn’t want to push it.

On several occasions, my mom had spoken with my teacher and administration about this boy. I had gone to every single meeting with her and told them that he was bullying me. Time and time again, they did nothing; so one day, my mother sat me down and told me that if he bullied me again, I had her full and unconditional support to get back at him. She said that I would not get into trouble and that if the school tried to pull anything they’d be sorry.

My teacher’s face when she said that? You can only imagine. She looked terrified because she knew that we were right. She had failed to do anything to protect me despite repeated attempts from my mother to get her to do something. Fucking teachers man, I swear.

I remember that the kid’s mom came in and tried to get -me- suspended, but by then it was too late. -HE- ended up with a two-day suspension and I got a written warning (I think, I might not have gotten anything officially added to my record) if anything. Turn out (surprise! surprise!) I wasn’t the only kid he was bullying. The teacher who had manhandled me (not my music teacher, the behavioral counselor) got into trouble too for her unprofessional attitude and the way she handled the situation.

She quit about six months after because other parents complained about her terrible attitude and disgusting behavior. One time, she grabbed a kid by the wrist and shook him so hard he ended up with bruises. I honestly hope she’s retired and not working with students any more. She was awful and I hope someone sued her ass at some point.

The boy’s bus route was changed and I never saw him again. A few years later my mother ran into his mom at the laundromat and we found out that her son was a gang member and had been in and out of juvie. I still think about what would’ve happened had I not stood up to him. To this day, I am very grateful that I did.

Godspeed.

M. Roy

Arty Parties

My sister and I have arty parties on random weekends. The end goal is for us to create an identical painting, chat and have a fun time, but our parties usually end up with me becoming frustrated and disappointed by what I draw while my sister looks at me with regret, anger and disappointment, wondering why she ever agreed to “paint” with me in the first place.

Our parties always start out like this:

  1. One of us (usually me) will ask to have an arty party

  2. The other will not be so willing at first, but will eventually agree because boredom is the whatever of creativity...

  3. We will start out by “painting” something that we both agree on WHILE watching a really crappy movie

  4. I will eventually become angry and discouraged by what I have “painted”, will rip said “painting” in half and lay down on my bed, eating unhealthy food and watching YouTube videos WHILE my sister looks at me with anger, disappointment and regret

  5. My sister will continue painting while throwing me dirty looks and wondering why she ever agreed to “paint” with me in the first place

  6. My sister will finish her painting, which is always perfect; we will clean up and go our separate ways...until next time

[To my sister, who actively reads this blog: I'm sorry. I know reading the last bit about our mother isn't going to be fun. I hope you can forgive me.]

I don't write about my mother very often, but I have been browsing children's books for the past couple of hours and my mind keeps wandering back to her.

I remember how after every single parent-teacher conference she would treat me to a book or two, sometimes three.

When she would go to every single student-parent lunch.

When she would attend the school carnivals with me and sometimes volunteer.

When she would chaperone my field trips.

When she would go to every. single. awards ceremony; always clapping the loudest when my name was called.

When she would go to math nights with me.

When she would put gifts under my pillow and wait for me to find them after coming home from school.

When she would pick me up from school or the bus stop.

When she would make my hair into ponytails every morning.

When she dropped me off for choir practice in the morning and always made time to attend my concerts.

But then I think back to the three instances when she really fucked up and like water passing through sand, all of the good thoughts I have about her disappear.

I would be lying if I said our relationship was magical and perfect.

Nothing in this world is.

But I think we are working on it.

Godspeed.

M. Roy

Today was another especially difficult day at work.

Despite that, I did win $5 playing the lottery, so I guess I'm not that unlucky after all.

02.21.2020

The Crayola Scar Horrors ft. Spongebob Squarepants

I am bored and in need of something to do, so I am going to tell you about how (the time...) I got a scar on my right pinkie finger and of how I discovered that band-aids were a thing.

[WARNING: This post may not be suitable for those who are (which should hopefully be everyone reading this) sensitive to child neglect/abuse. Read at your own risk. #nsfw]

[DISCLAIMER: As you read this and laugh at my misfortune, please keep in mind that I was FOUR YEARS OLD at the time and that this happened almost twenty years ago. I don’t remember EVERYTHING that happened, but I do recall enough to give you a gist of the most important parts and of what led to a life-altering discovery and a permanent scar.]

When I was four years old, my idiotic “teacher” thought that it would be a good idea for a group of pure and innocent three and four-year old preschool-aged children to make a project using melted crayola crayons as wax.

Read more...

(The Endeavor Update XXX)

The Tree of Good and Evil is revised (marked as completed at this stage) and is ready for the next update. 9:17pm. 02.12.2020

Despite everything that happened at work, today was another good day. They finally arrived and they were better than expected. I couldn't be happier or more excited. 02.04.2020

I almost passed out (at work) today. For as long as I can remember I've had “issues” with falling and staying asleep. These past couple of weeks I've been averaging 3-4 hours a night (of sleep) and today, the exhaustion finally got to me. I went straight to urgent care and was prescribed...sleeping pills. Fuck.

Despite everything that happened at work, today was another good day. 01.28.2020

I JUST spent $76.00 on this blog and as bizarre as it may seem, that may be the best thing I've ever done in my entire life.

I have officially crossed over to a point of no return.

I hope it's for the better.

I will update with a better explanation and more details in due time.

Godspeed.

M. Roy

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