When I was in Little League, they had to special order a batting helmet for me that could fit around my big dumb head. If one of the other idiots on the team wore my special helmet by accident and was on base, we either had to trade or I’d go up to bat with a tiny kid’s helmet perched on top of my giant head like a two-story goddamn disgrace. Before that, in second grade, my neighbor (an adult man) called me, “Box Head.” To my face. Because I bobbled all over the block with this thing on top of my neck.
But I think the first time I knew I had a huge head was when I was four years old. My parents were out of town and my grandmothers on both sides were babysitting my sister and me. My dad used to be a middle school social studies teacher and every year he would take a group of students on a bus trip to Washington D.C. My mom would go along to help supervise. I loved when my parents went on those trips because it meant that they would come home with all these cool souvenirs from the Smithsonian, like Native American headdresses or Astronaut Ice Cream. This particular trip, however, did not go so well for me on the home front.
One day, my two grandmas decided to take my sister and me to McDonald’s for lunch. After we were done eating, my sister and I headed outside to play on the playground. This was before the fancy pants McDonald’s PlayPlaces that began to emerge in the late ‘80’s and early ‘90’s. These were the days when McDonald’s had ash trays and a filthy aquarium and a playground with just a few slides, the shittiest carousel in the world and a spinner thing that made kids barf all day. Yeah, let’s have little kids spin around real fast right after they’ve eaten a hot pile of trash! Why wouldn’t you want the whole outside of a restaurant to smell like sugar barf?
Anyway, the whole McDonald’s playground was concealed with an iron fence. My sister and I both have cloudy memories of what happened next, but we just know that 1) our grandmothers were definitely not watching us and 2) my sister bet me that I couldn’t fit my whole head in between the bars of that fence.
Of the five or six people I’ve ever met in my life who have a bigger head than me, all of them are either comedians or members of my family. At age four, this thing wasn’t quite what it is now, but it was still massive. Despite that, inside of that head wasn’t a brain mature enough to say, “You probably shouldn’t try to stick your big ass head through those skinny ass bars.” I just wanted to win a bet.
I remember struggling, but being determined to squeeze my head through. After a while, a small circle of other kids had gathered around to see the free freak show. My sister turned to one boy and said, “He can’t do it.” And the boy shouted, “There’s no way! His head is way too big!” Other kids easily slipped their regular-sized heads in and out of the bars to test and compare just what kind of Joseph Merrick monster they were dealing with here.
I would prove them wrong. I would prove them ALL wrong. I pressed as hard as I could until I barely squeezed all the way through. Fuck you. Victory.
The next thing I remember is the Muscatine fire department arriving at McDonald’s to pry apart the iron bars to get my buttfuck head out of there. My grandmas fed me french fries from the other side of the fence like the dumb petting zoo animal I’d just turned myself into. I didn’t care. I liked firemen. And I liked french fries. And I just proved how fucking awesome I was to a bunch of kids, whose parents had probably led them away by the arms by that point, telling them not to look at ‘that boy.’
That was the last school trip my parents took to Washington D.C. The good news is, they did bring me back Astronaut Ice Cream - the neapolitan kind. And I also got a Native American headdress. The adult-sized kind.
I realized today that my first memory in life might be hating a boy named Timmy. That’s a sad fact, and it kinda shows you too much about what kind of life I’ve led, but it’s true. Hate, of course, is a strong word. And that’s exactly why the fuck I’m using it. I wasn’t even three years old. But I can still picture this kid. And when I do, I feel the tiny rage of a toddler building somewhere inside of me.
Timmy lived in my grandparent’s neighborhood in Iowa City. And I loved everything about that neighborhood, except for Timmy. My grandparents had a big backyard with a weeping willow tree in the center. And I loved weeping willow trees. You could grab a branch and swing around like a goddamn maniac. There was also a sandbox that my grandpa built for my sister and me. And I also loved sandboxes. Give me some Star Wars toys and a bucket and I’d have a day.
But every time I’d go to my grandparent’s house and look out the back window, motherfucking Timmy would be out there rooting through the sandbox like a hobo or swinging on the goddamn tree. That shit wasn’t for him. That was mine! Even worse, Timmy looked like an freak show to me. He was probably five or six years old. He had moppy brown hair and he always wore a red shirt, shorts and cowboy boots. My grandfather didn’t beat the Japs in World War II just to come home and build a sandbox so some dopey kid with cowboy boots could clomp on over and play in it all willy nilly, whenever he wanted! I wanted to murder him.
That kid would climb the tree too. I wasn’t even allowed to do that. Mostly, because I couldn’t. But it didn’t matter. It was against the rules. One time Timmy looked down at me from the tree and said, “These’re my boots.” Like I gave two shits about his fucking boots. Then this moppy dipshit had the balls to make fun of me for not being able to climb. I will grab one of your stupid boots off your foot and smash your fucking face in with it, Timmy. I hated this kid’s guts.
Anyway, in the Spring of 1982, I was nearing my third birthday and my Aunt Natalie got married in Iowa City. I was set to be the ring bearer. I didn’t know how to be a ring bearer (in fact, I thought it was called ‘ring bear’, which I liked), but I was two so I didn’t know how to do much of anything. I just knew I liked sandboxes, weeping willow trees and hated Timmy.
The day of the wedding was exhausting for me. I had to tuck my shirt in and wear a
corsage boutineer. And then we took endless family photos where I had to stand still and smile and be good. Then I had to be quiet during the whole ceremony and couldn’t yell random shit like I enjoyed doing so much. Like, all day long this was happening. And by the time it was my turn to bring the ring down the aisle, I’d had enough. So I did the logical thing any two-year-old would do. I laid on the floor of the back hallway kicking and screaming, “I DON’T WANT TO BE THE RING BEAR!!!” over and over, refusing to do my job. Like, “Fuck this shit, nobody is getting married today. ‘Cause I ain’t doing shiiiit.” I held the whole wedding hostage for ten minutes while various handlers tried to get this spazz kid under control. Nothing would work. My sister, who was very excited to be the flower girl that day, gave me looks like, “This is my big break. Do NOT blow this for me.”
That’s when Grandpa Dave knelt down next to me and calmly said, “It’s okay, Michael. You don’t have to be the ring bear.”
“I don’t?” I asked, pausing my tantrum.
“No. It’s okay.”
A moment of huge relief. Then -
“We’ll just get Timmy to do it.”
I popped up faster than I’d ever moved in my life and marched down that aisle like I was King of the Fucking Ring Bears. Like my life, that weeping willow tree and that sandbox depended on it.
Fuck Timmy. Fuck him in the face.
- “Kony 2012” director, Jason Russell, was arrested for masturbating in public. He really should have stuck to tugging heartstrings and jerking tears.
- Joseph Kony might be hard to catch. Because, much like Michael Crighton’s movie career, he was last seen in the Congo.
- Rush Limbaugh defended Joseph Kony back in October. In his own defense, Rush said he would have never defended Kony if he’d known he was black.
- When asked about losing thousands of sponsors, Rush Limbaugh said, it was “like losing a couple of french fries in the container when it’s delivered to you at the drive-thru. You don’t even notice it.” I don’t know what he’s lying more about - not caring about the sponsors, or not caring when fries are missing.
- There’s a new documentary on Obama’s first term in office. If you play it backwards, it’s about a disappointing President who slowly becomes awesome in 2008.
- The GOP’s hardline stance on immigration is driving thousands of Latino voters to Obama… reaffirming the stereotype that one thing can always drive a lot of Latinos.
- Rick Santorum wants pornography off the Internet. If he gets his way, the only time people can watch videos with a bunch of dicks is if they re-watch the GOP debates.
- Rick Santorum appeared shirtless on his recent trip to Puerto Rico, reaffirming his commitment to making sure nobody in America is turned on ever again.
- There’s been speculation that Newt Gingrich is going to pick Rick Perry as his running mate, which is perfect because Newt wants to go to the moon and Perry wants to write, “Nigger Head” on it.
- TV star, Chuck Norris, has been doing robocalls for Newt Gingrich. The two have a lot in common, as Norris is a black belt martial artist and Newt Gingrich is a black belt in lasagna.
- Republican voters were recently polled on which candidate they think would be the most interesting dinner guest. They chose Newt Gingrich. Apparently what Republican voters find interesting is no leftovers.
- The only race Newt Gingrich has ever dropped out of early was a 40 yard dash.
- Dick Cheney recently canceled a trip to Canada because he said it was too dangerous. After taking some slack for his comments, Cheney clarified his statement by saying, “Too dangerous FOR Canadians.” And then he shot an old man in the face.
- Donald Trump’s sons faced criticism when photos from their big game hunt in Africa were posted Online. Maybe if they get enough practice in, they can finally kill whatever that thing is on Donald’s head.
- The TV show Shahs of Sunset is coming soon to Bravo. And since half of all Iranian Americans live in California, the show will give the rest of America a chance to have a horrible first impression of Persians.
- With Osama bin Laden dead, this show about Iranians promises to shine a spotlight on America’s new top enemy - reality TV stars.
- The ads for the new season of Mad Men sparked controversy when they reminded people of 9/11. The main thing they have in common is that people cared way more about both things five years ago.
- John Hamm called Paris Hilton and Kim Kardashian, “fucking idiots.” You know you have a bad public image when Don Draper won’t fuck you.
- It’s been reported that Whitney Houston’s will gives everything to her daughter Bobbi Kristina. The person who is obviously the most upset by this news: Bobby Brown’s crack dealer. And the person most excited: Bobbi Kristina’s crack dealer.
- Rihanna recently told People magazine that she wants her old butt back. In the meantime, she’s apparently just settled on getting back with an old asshole.
- Megan Fox has never seen an episode of Beverly Hills 90210 because her husband, Brian Austin Green, won’t let her. Apparently Brian Austin Green doesn’t want Megan Fox to think it’s as hilarious she’s married to him as the rest of us do.
- Can Tim Tebow still say he’s a virgin? Because Peyton Manning just fucked him.
- Peyton Manning recently signed with the Denver Broncos. Hey Tim Tebow, which Bible verse is about getting replaced by a REAL quarterback?
- March Madness started last week, which means that the only thing people care less about than their office work is the women’s tournament.
- There are rumors that Kanye West and Katy Perry are dating. Great. Maybe they could name their baby, “Green Envy.”
- Britney Spears turned down $10 million to be judge on The X-Factor. The X-Factor is going to have a hard time meeting Britney’s asking price, which is $20 million and an ounce of musical credibility.
- Anderson Cooper recently tried on wigs with Ms. Piggy. The two have a lot in common. They’re famous, they’re on television and neither can keep it a secret that men insert things up their backsides.
- The Pope has a new cologne. It smells like lime trees and grass. Or at least that’s what he tells altar boys before shoving a chloroform rag in their faces.