My So-Called (Retarded) Life!

A while ago, I told the story about how, when I was in high school, I was giving blood and a retarded girl thought that it was necessary to hug me in order to make me feel better. Well, my interaction with the mentally handicapped doesn't end there, my friend. That same year, I had another encounter with a large-headed wonder, but in a much more disgusting (and surprisingly more sexually arousing) fashion.

In high school, I was friends with a girl whose mom was the nurse. So, a lot of days when it was too hot outside or whatever, we would hang out in the Nurse's Office. Well, here's something that not too many people know or even think about: The Special Ed kids use the bathroom in the Nurse's Office instead of regular bathrooms because of the potential for harassment from other kids or because of the fact that retarded people's genitals glow and it frightens the "normals." Also, a lot of times girls would go in there to get their feminine hygiene products that they needed (I don't know what feminine hygiene products means, but I'm assuming it involves things like vagina shampoo).

So myself and some friends are just hanging out in the Nurse's Office being 17 and very awesome, when one particularly ornery behemoth of a tard named Wayne enters. He was the stereotypical retarded kid. He was about 5'8", 230 pounds, but looked like he had been pulling a plow around for the past ten years of his life. On the spectrum of mental deficiency, he was much more toward the "can get in near-PCP-induced rages" end than the "thinks fart sounds are hilarious" end. Whenever you talked to Wayne, you were always gambling with your life.

Like many days, he went in to use the bathroom and, of course, was taking a while to make his way out. Everybody just assumed he got lost in there again. So he finally comes out and he's not wearing anything but his much-too-tight-for-him tighty whities. I'm no scientist, but I know that if my underwear is too tight, that could possibly make me retarded over a period of time as well. Actually, that wasn't all he was wearing. He was also covered in blood. There was blood on his mouth, all over his chest, legs, and big-ass retarded hands.

The other nurse frantically ran to him to check him out to find where he had cut himself. After a minute or so of not finding a single cut, she opened up the bathroom door to have a look inside. The walls were smeared with blood. There was nobody else in the stall for this retard to beat up, where did all the blood come from? Apparently, the used pads and tampons in the tiny trash cans by the toilets were a treat much too enticing for Wayne to pass up this day. He had himself a field day. Maybe in a past life he was a retarded Indian and this was his warpaint.

Ever since that day, this story has been my go-to on a first date. I have never, in my life, had a second date.

Interesting thought of the day:
If you're like me and you've always wanted to get shot just so you can tell people that you were shot, you should wait until the next time one of your appendages falls asleep to fulfill that dream; that way, it doesn't even see it coming, just like a baby.