Trust me, I wouldn’t be writing this stupid blog if it wasn’t required at my stupid new school. I'm sure you've heard of the rule - Don't Ask, Don't Tell. That's right, my last phony school kicked me out because I told someone I was a Vampire. Keep that on the DL though. Mom will freekin' kill me (again) if I'm booted out of another school.
I’ve only been here 6 days and I hate it already. It’s so PHONY! That’s my new word. I got it from the kid who constantly complains in that book they make you read in school, 'Catcher in the
Since I have to start this lame blogging thing, I might as well tell you about my miserable existence.
My dad was murdered fourteen years ago by some freak who called himself the 'Self Proclaimed Anton Murderer', or 'SPAM', as they call him on the street. That's right - he murdered dad just because his name was Anton. I'm not even kidding! Oh yeah, that's my name also.
Anyway, after that phony killer became famous, he changed his name to some crazy crop circle symbol that nobody could pronounce. I mean, what kind of loser does that, anyway!
But then his Google search ratings plummeted so he switched back to just 'SPAM'.
Well, at least I don’t have to spend the rest of my life all hell-bent on avenging dad, because I killed SPAM on that same night.
I was only 1 year old at the time and my parents had taken me to the Never-Leave-Land Ranch. We were waiting in line to ride the Run-Away-From-The-PopStar Train, behind SPAM, when he overheard mom call my dad 'Anton'. SPAM freaked out and pushed my dad over the railing.
Mom had been holding me at the time and when dad fell, his hand got caught on my diaper and pulled it off.
As the story goes, mom turned to face SPAM and I got so scared, I peed right in his eyes. (That's the only part of this story I like.) Makes sense; I guess pee would sting if it got in your eyes. Anyway, he jumped around screaming that his eyes were stinging and fell over the railing, too.
Now I remember that ugly bald-headed SPAM every time I comb my hair because he scratched my forehead before he fell and left a scar.
But that’s still not the worst part; the scar is two ovals next to each other. I always tell people it's a ‘W’ that stands for 'Winner', but really, the first thing they see when I show it to them is a set of boobs, or worse, a butt.
And don't go thinking you phonies are so clever calling me Butt-Head, because like a thousand people before you already thought of it!