I pushed harder. BLAM! This time I think I broke my other shoulder blade.

So I complete revamped this story. Its really long, probably my longest. and as always, 94.6% true.

We were at my cousin’s condo.

After mooching off the free swimming pool, billiards lounge, food, sports bar, game’s room, mah jong tables, bowling alley, music room, party room, and basketball court, I was ready to officially declare myself BORED. (There really wasn’t a whole lot to do…you know what I mean?)

We had been playing cards, and if you know me (get ready), I was dealing seconds so well (yeah right), that I had been winning the last few (like…50) games of Big 2.

Inevitably, they realized that I was somehow cheating, and so Cousin Ricky decided to shuffle the deck himself. (Of course, that did not help him at all…I had the 2’s and aces in my palm.)

So after I won another 100 games, they decided not to play anymore. Then, I asked the question that would change me forever. Well…at least until I found my kneecaps. (More on that later)

“Hey...uh…Ricky.” I said. “What do you do for fun around here?”

10 minutes later…


Thus, me and my other cousin, Jason (may God bless his soul) along with little ‘Cousin Ricky’, then decided to race down the stairs!

Yes! I LOVED RACING!!

We were extremely athletic Chinese (oohh) people!!

I mean, who actually runs down the stairs, if you can take the elevator? Not us!

(The fact that the elevators were not working probably had something to do with it…did I mention we were Chinese?)

We started in the hallway, and as we started the race towards the stairs, I ‘tripped’ taking everyone down with me. Due to my experience with ‘falling’, I was up and running, while they were still untangling legs.

I took the lead (a definite mistake for all involved) reached the stairs, threw them open, and began running down the stairs.

“Uh..Matt,” it was Jason behind me. But I couldn’t be bothered. I was in the lead. I was in charge. I was-

“MATT!” This time it was Ricky. What were they doing? They couldn’t be telling me to stop and rest already! They couldn’t be THAT unfit!

“WHAT?” I screamed over my shoulder. “Don’t cheat! I’m winning! I’m going to be first down to the exit!”

“MATT!”

“WHAT?!!!” This time I actually turned around. A …actually, it would be THE vein…the vein in my forehead threatened to cover my glasses. “WHAT, RICKY?! WHAT DO YOU WANT?!”

Spittle from my mouth frothed at the sides, and showered him.

“If we want to go down the stairs, why are you leading us UP the stairs?”

“Because. It is…hmm. Define ‘down ’.Wait…wait wait wait..not if we were racing….upside-down!” (The only thing worse then my sense of direction was my arguing skills.)

“Fine,” I said, starting down the stairs. “Restart! Let’s go!”

This time, I took off, determined to make up for my mistakes. I would show them who could run down the stairs the fastest!

“MATT!” Ricky, AGAIN! UNBELIEVABLE!

The vein in my forehead moved to the back of my neck (which is why to this day, I am hunched back).

“WHAT?! WHAT IS IT THIS TIME?!”

“You’re still running up the stairs.”

“?!!!!” I stopped. “OK. Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

So at that moment, Jason decides to say, “So we’re doing the right thing?”

I looked at Ricky. Ricky looked at me. We both looked at the wall, then at over Jason, who had in fact shifted places, and said in two-part harmony (with me as the higher voice, of course), “HUH?”

He explained: “Well, every time Matt does something, he ends up nearly killing us right?”

We all nodded in agreement.

“Well, no offense, but Matt isn’t exactly the brightest bulb in the pack, right?”

Ricky nodded, while I struggled to get the analogy. “Uh…bulb…as in…light bulb?”

Jason turned to me. “You’ve thought it over, and want to go down?”

I nodded.

Jason: “Well, we better hurry and go UP.”

Of course! It made perfect sense. Although, I had to make one comment.

“Uh…Bulb…as in light bulb?”

Jason looked at me. Without a word, I turned and started running up the stairs.

Ten minutes later, as I realized that I had actually been running DOWN the stairs this time, I caught up with the two of them.

I then actually PASSED them, and got to the penthouse suite first!

“I win!” I crowed.

“Nuh-uh!” It was Jason, two floors down. “You have to open the door first…”

“Yeah!” chimed Ricky who was 10 floors down. He had stopped for a pit stop, just like they did on TV’, and sat there for 15 minutes, before realizing there was no pit crew.

Come to think of it, there wasn’t even a pit area there.

Come to think of it, he wasn’t even driving a car.

But who has time to think? We were in a race!

Still, that whole bit about opening the door was pointless. I was still going to win, obviously. I reached out, and pushed against the door with all my might, expecting it to fling open, and have everyone in the hall notice that I had won. I pushed, bracing myself for the onslaught of the rushing, cheering crowd, and the dramatic music, complete with balloons and purple dinosaurs!

Nothing.

I pushed again with all my power, (which, we’ve already agreed is pretty powerless) and it STILL didn’t open!

Ten minutes later, I was still been struggling. (As Erik would say, ‘struggles, ill dawg.’)

By this time, Jason and Ricky had already caught up to me. “HURRY UP MATT!” They started chanting. But I wasn’t worried. I had enough practice on this door already. The door had to give way any minute.

I pushed harder. BLAM! This time I think I broke my shoulder blade.

I pushed harder. BLAM! This time I think I broke my other shoulder blade.

I pushed harder. BLAM! This time I think I broke my other shoulder blade.

Before I could wonder just how many shoulder blades I had, Ricky had a brainstorm. He reached past me, and turned the knob.

The door opened.

But that wasn’t all. No. That would have been too easy.

Of course, it had to open, bang on the door stop, and swing the other way into MY face.
(I have no idea how it managed to swing back like those doors in restaurants.)

I staggered this way and that, forward and back, to and fro. However, you see, you cannot really stagger ‘to and fro’. It’s not proper language, according to Microsoft Word 2003…they say you have to use back and forth. Besides, I ran out of analogies of how I was hoping not to fall down the stairs.

Therefore, I fell.

Of course, when I was rolling down all 40 floors, Ricky and Jason shouted words of encouragement to me, such as, “Matt you moron! Stop clowning around!”

They both chased me down, but Ricky ever the follower, not wanting to be left out of something cool, like idolizing his cousin by falling down the stairs WITH me, conveniently tripped and knocked Jason over as well.

So as I lay at the bottom of the stairs, looking for my kneecaps, they both landed on top of me.

FALL FALL!

LAND LAND!

SUFFOCATE SUFFOCATE!

Suddenly I was at the bottom of a giant two-man pile. “Jason…can’t breathe...”

“Sorry, man.” They both said, as they got off.

“Let’s never do this again. EVER.” I said, reverently. “I’m sure we’ve learned our lesson.”

They both nodded in agreement.

Then, Jason realized an even more important truth. “Say, is that your kneecap over there?”

The vein in my back popped.

BYRON CHRONICLES part. 1, 2.

Yeah. So these were back from request..ah...yeah. Some people were looking for these...and couldn't find them. so here they are. "STOP GAYING ME", and the Byron Homicide, both taken from the BYRON CHRONICLES.

***

This is something that happened to Byron at Weedlands.

Setting: second period English
10:43, Tuesday October 34th. 2003

What happened: Anyway, yeah these two guys were in the front. One was in grade 10. The other? Also grade 10. The rest of the class? Also grade 10.

Anyway, these two guys were in the front. The teacher was writing something on the board, and so her back was turned to the class. Then, it happened.

One of the guys, a tall, gangly, pale fellow reached over...and poked his friend.

His friend was a short, pimply, pudgy kid, who had been eating some candies. Because he had been pushed, his skittles now..well, skittled across the ground.

The pudgy kid (from now on known as pudge-pudge) slowly turned his head. There was this huge vein in his head, his forehead really, and now it bulged out like it was going to pop. And then, it did.
(okok, joking.)

What really happened was that Pudge-Pudge then poked tall gangly man(from now on referred to as tall-tall) a little harder then was needed. Now as we all know there are three types of pokes.

1. The kiddy poke: as in..hehe!! i'm poking the clown!
2. The Industrial-size poke: as in..ok! i'm going try to take out your eye with this poke!!
3. The Economy-size poke: as in..ok! You might as well cut a hole in your side..it would be neater then the hole I"M going to poke there...

So of course Pudge-Pudge didn't do pokes number 1 or 2. But neither did he do 3. No. He did his own poke, which was like a poke level...16.

Tall-Tall then used his awesome spider fingers to tickle the chin of Pudge-Pudge.

Not smart.

So a poking/tickling match ensued, while the teacher, COMPLETELY OBLIVIOUS continued to talk of "binomials."

Then THIS happened:

Tall-Tall, had a high, high nasel voice and, at this moment he decided to scream: "STOP GAYING ME!!"

The whole class stopped in shock at this pathetic attempt at a "diss".

The teacher turned around. Just in time to see Tall-Tall scream once more: "STOP GAYING ME!!"

Was the point of this story to be funny? No. To be enlightening? No. The point of this story is to take up space in my blog. And you know what? It did. Mission Accomplished.

Oh, fyi, Byron still has nightmares in which people chase him yelling "STOP GAYING ME!!"

***

Exactly three...or four years ago, I almost killed one of my best friends. Twice.

How is this possible? Some of you may ask.

No one could be that klutzy! Others screech.

But never the less. Or is it nevertheless?


His name is Byron, Average dude. Rocker. Goes to Woodlands. Weedlands to most. However, when this happened, we were in grade 6.
Two wicko awesome asian dudes, chillin in down town brown town (Brampton), and we were taking a break from helping at this soup kitchen thing.

So we went out back. Some kids might have pulled out a cigarette.

But me? I decided to prod around in the dumpster.

At that age, dumpsters were fascinating. You never knew if some hobo was going to jump out at you. Anyway, there were no hoboes. After rooting around for awhile, I noticed this green stuff on my hands. Casually, so no one could see me make a fool out of myself (yeah right) I wiped it on the dumpster. Only it didn’t work. Two reasons.

One: The green stuff was more sticky then superglue. I mean, I still see some of it on my hand today.

Two: The dumpster wasn’t exactly clean. Which meant it was dirty. Which meant I just wiped it clean. And that dirt? Yeah, now on my hand.

So still casual, I casually walked over to Byron, and casually tried to wipe off this nasty gunk on his t-shirt.

Have you ever tried to pick off gum from your shoe, and deposit it under a table or something, WHILE trying not to have anyone notice?

Yeah, that was how hard it was . Only TEN-FOLD.

Not being a fool, Byron easily saw my hand coming closer, and jumped up. (He probably saw it because the added “baggage” made a massive shadow fall across the entire alley)

Being a total fool, I got up, and not-so-casually chased him waving my hand in front of me like a jousting stick, and screaming ”I JUST WANT TO HOLD YOUR HAND!!!”

This all happened in downtown too. As people stared, we raced down the street, when it happened.

Byron decided to cross the street.

Once again, not being a fool, he looked both ways, before using the agility of a NFL running back to jet across the road.

Once again, being a total fool, using the agility of a pregnant hippo, I ran after him. He turned in horror. At first, I thought the horrified face was because of me. But then, I turned around too. And saw a green van with 5 people inside headed straight for us.

The van itself was not in great shape. The brakes were probably shot too. The driver, probably the mother of the 4 kids at the back was yelling something about haggis when she suddenly saw us in front of her.

She swerved the van so hard, that one of the kids nearly went through a window. He probably would have broken a window. Only the van was so old, there WAS no window.

Anyway, that’s how I almost killed him.

Twice you ask?

Yeah. Unbelievably the SAME thing happened less then 5 hours later.

We were going to Wendy’s afterwards, and the intersection thingie was flashing

DON’T WALK

So of course we walked, thanks to my not-so-casual screams of “C”MON! we can make it!”

We got halfway across the intersection. Until the school bus nearly hit us.

IT veered away, and almost rear-ended a limo with the sign “JUST MARRIED” that just happened to be driving by.

i bite my thumb at you.

dedicated to my grandfather. RiP.


A soldier was finally comming home after having fought in the second world war.

He called his parents from San Fran.

"Mom. Dad. I'm coming home, but I've got a favor to ask. I have a friend I'd like to bring home with me."

"Sure," they replied. "We'd love to meet him."

"There's something you should know, first. He was hurt pretty badly in the fighting. He was hit, and ended up losing an arm and a leg. He has nowhere else to go, and I want him to come live with us."

"I'm sorry to hear that, son. Maybe we can help him find somewhere else to live."

"No, mom and dad. I want him to live with us."

"But-"

"No, mom and dad. I want him to live with us."

"Son," said the father." You don't understand. You don't know what you're asking. SOmeone with such a handicap would be a terrible burden on us. We have our own lives to live, and we can't let something like this interfere with our lives."

"No, mom and dad. I want him to live with us."

"I think you should just come on home, and forget about this guy. He'll find a way to live on his own."

At this point, the son hung up. The parents heard nothing more from him.

A few days later, they recieved a call from the San Francisco police.

Their son had died, after falling from a building. The police believed it was suicide.

Grief-stricken. the parents flew to San Francisco, and we taken to the city morgue to identify the body.

They recognized him.

But to their horror, they also discovered something they didn't know.

Their son only had one arm.

and one leg.