Updated: Apr 15, 2020
written by Luke Boots Curley
Picture this - when I was about six years old, I was enrolled in a private school. My dad, a
Lutheran Pastor, was also the principal for a span of time for this school along with his regular duties as
Now, depending on who you asked, I was either a celebrity or a little piece of shit fucking brat. To teachers and some of the student population, I was an intelligent, well behaved, nice little Lutheran boy. I was named after a Skywalker and a gospel. I would show up in my little dipshit uniform and say good morning and get straight A’s. This wasn’t always the case, and some of my more inner circle saw me for the little piece of shit fucking brat I was.
The following is a list of some of most reprehensible moments in adolescence:
I once bullied a fellow student with a speech impediment. It wasn’t necessarily my idea, but to fit in with my peers and with my elevated status as the pastor/principal’s kid, I was practically untouchable. So I would call him crazy and refuse to let him play Pokemon with us. Not exactly cruel behavior, but not exactly morally sound.
I told another kid he was going to hell, as if I was the local shot caller for deciding who was going to be allowed into the afterlife and where they were going. Ironically, a much older kid who was by all means a bully narced and took me to the principal’s office, where I did little more than sit in silence and draw. Some punishment you snitch fuck.
I got a hockey stick from my 2 nd grade teacher because I was heavily into hockey at the time, and because the teacher wanted to get in good with my dad, and by extension, God himself. I told everyone else in the class I was the universal favorite and that’s why I was rewarded and they weren’t, and no, they couldn’t touch or even fucking LOOK at my prized hockey stick.
I gave this one bowl cut sporting asshole the worst pink belly of his young pathetic life. He cried, I snickered, and I was sent to draw in an office.
I could go on, but you get the idea. I was feared and adored all at once, that’s the only accurate way to describe it. I ruled with a tiny iron fist, but didn’t have a lot of “real” friends necessarily. Only two kids who were also bullies I could honestly call my real pals, my chums, my amigos.
Now hear this.
As was the custom of the time, elementary school wide, kids were given the task of choosing people, and when kids are given the task of choosing people, feelings are never spared. Be it to line up for recess, lunch, or whatever the fuck, it’s never going to end well for some individuals.
This one particular day, which watching some fucking VeggieTales bullshit, I had to take a shit. Now I had used the bathroom already to urinate, and in this particular classroom, you could only go once while class was in session. Whether or not this rule was ever really enforced or meant to be taken seriously, one can only guess. But goddamnit, I took it seriously. Remember, in contrast to my young douchebag actions, I was well behaved for the most part, or more accurately at certain times. So I didn’t want to disrupt the Citizen Kane of animated religious propaganda anymore than I absolutely had to. Maybe I was even enjoying the film, who’s to say?
Anyway, I had to shit. And as the time ticked closer to recess, I thought I could make it. I sat there grimacing, sweating, trying my best to keep my tiny body subdued. After a lengthy struggle, (here comes the pain!) I couldn’t hold it any longer. And I shit my pants right there in that seat. In the middle of class. I sat in my own pile of shit and finished the movie.
“What’s that smell?” one little narc asked.
“Dang! That sure does smell like shit!” I said, to remain anonymous.
The bell rang, and upon it’s ring one little asshole got up and began picking people to line up. This particular kid didn’t love me. How the mighty had fallen.
As I sat there in my shit pants, the entire class was called to line up until I was the only one left. Finally, my name was called. I didn’t move.
“Luke, can you get up?” the teacher all but demanded.
I didn’t budge an inch. The stench was potent. I was slick with sweat.
“Luke you’re making us miss recess!” this dumbfuck yelled.
“I pooped my pants!” I burst out.
I couldn’t help it. What could I do? Get up, and have the shit run down my leg through my private school ordained shorts? I was fucked.
As I burst into tears, the kids were ushered outside, and I sat there in my shit. The teacher called the school nurse, who wiped my childhood ass and gave me a new uniform. I cried and cried. I even cried and ran to recess anyway and slid down the slide, which no one else that day would attempt to ride, on account of I had just shit myself.
There’s no lesson to be learned here, or at least I didn’t at the time. I wasn’t called “poop pants” for the remainder of my days, I returned to being a smartass and continued as such until middle school, where I learned to meet my match, and became as much the bullied as the bully. I grew to love punk rock shortly after and eventually grew up to tattoo “fuck u” on the interior of my bottom lip and put holes in my ears. Such is life.
Now, it's 2020, I’m 27, and I’m writing this after a long day of work in my bed at a sober living. Karma is real? Is that my point? Did I not get mine when I shit my pants in class? Did I have to be arrested a number of times and ruin my life to make amends for my childhood antics? I don’t know. I don’t know why I became what I was. Maybe I did heroin because I shit my pants during VeggieTales. You never know where life will take you.
Luke is a member of the wrting staff at Faded Morgana, as well as the Creative Director for the Film and Television projects releasing later this year. Luke comes from a pop-culture fueled background including healthy obsessions with Quentin Tarantino, Alkaline Trio and Wes Anderson films, as well as unhealthy obsessions with old school punk and the Smiths. Luke rates stories by Ewoks rather than Gold Stars.