In my 21 years on this blue and green sphere, I have always struggled with the prospect of keeping my mouth shut.
You see, my fair readers, not all are wooed by my innate ability to point out their flaws in a humorous fashion.
As blasphemous as it may seem, Krum Lifers, my odious observations have at times been received with disgust, aversion and even physical violence from complete strangers.
However, the most damaging retort I have ever been dealt was at the hands of my own flesh and blood.
Devoted deviants, allow me to present to you,
The Tale of Cousin Jordan
It was probably eighth grade when Jordan, some cousins, and myself sat down to lunch following a family reunion of sorts.
Gentle Jordan was in the midst of that awkward early teenage stage, and it hit him hard:
Rather than the traditional maladies that afflict a 14-year-old, (the Acne vulgaris or a freakishly protruding Adam’s apple) Jordan was blighted with obesity.
He was a fat little fuck.
I’m talking “Get out of the shower and wear your towel like a woman to cover your stomach and man-tits” fat.
Like any rational relative, I took it upon myself to bring up Jordan’s unfortunate condition whenever I could.
We were pouring over the menus at the diner when--
Jordan: I think I’m gonna have the chicken sandwich
Evan: I think you’re gonna have that and then some, my friend.
While the others seated with us began to chuckle. I looked at Jordan’s face.
He was not upset, but rather, smirked with confidence; as if he knew the magnitude of the devastating parry he was about to throw after my slight jab.
Fear immediately seized over my body as he began to open his lips. Ever so casually, he spoke:
Jordan: Well, at least my dad didn’t sprain his ankle fucking my mom in the bathtub…
The table immediately grew silent. Faces crinkled in confusion.
Evan: What?
Jordan: You heard me…your dad told my dad how he was boning your mom in the bathtub, slipped, and sprained his ankle. The sounds of laughter from my extended family seemed muted. I couldn’t even see them.
Rather, the scene of my father, awkwardly attempting to thrust into my mother whilst struggling to maintain in stability in a cauldron of water, immediately materialized in my mind:
Dad: C’mon...a little…to the left…hold on…wait…ARGGHHHH!!!”
Oh, the horror!
It didn’t even matter that Jordan’s contemptuous comeback had nothing to do with my initial statement. I was beyond mortified.
I USED THEIR BATHUB ALL THE TIME! IT HAD THE WATER JETS, DAMNIT!
I attempted to rebound. So I came up with the cleverest quip I could, given the situation.
Evan: Um…Bull-shit!
Nice.
Jordan: Oh no, it’s true. It was like six weeks ago. He told my dad they were trying to ‘spice things up’...Haha!
Immediately the table erupted with laughter again.
As if I had any doubts, my memory quickly delivered confirmation of the event:
I recalled coming home after school one day, to find my father angrily icing his ankle:
Evan: Hey Dad, What happ—
Dad: TENNIS!
The rest of that meal was a blur, and although left unsaid, it was clear on that day, I was made the mockery, not my resilient relative.
Jordan's triumphant victory had riveting effects on all of us:
He blossomed into the slim stud I know today.
My parents, to my knowledge, have since avoided injury by sticking to the basics.
I have never taken a bath again.
P.S. If you have read any other story on KrumLife, it becomes acutely aware that I have never ceased shit talking.
Also, I never brought up this tale to my parents.
Until now.
So, Passover Seder should be interesting.
The End
