I was born in the back of a Chrysler minivan outside a McDonalds in southeastern Tennessee. When I came out a Chihuahua named Phillip sitting in the front seat ran back and bit me in the left leg. That’s why I walk with a limp, and that’s why I am terrified of Chihuahuas. Unfortunately, my birth and the fact that I am wearing a Chihuahua coat right now have nothing to do with this article. The other week I was walking down Main Street toward CVS because I needed to buy some good, old fashioned sap chewing gum. On the way I was reprogramming my calculator for the next day’s physics test, and was wearing my favorite polo shirt. Suddenly, I heard something like a sewing machine roaring down the street, and looked up to see a cheap Honda packed with teenagers. The guys in the car were leaning out the windows, the driver was beeping the horn, and they were yelling profanities. One seemed to stick out in my head as I watched the 1987 Honda soar down the road: “You PA wussy…geek, loser!!!.” Hmm. Luckily I was packing heat, so I pulled out the bee bee gun in my backpack and shot out their tires. I have never seen a car light on fire so fast, and flip so far. To their mothers: I do not regret what I did, and I just hope that their recovery is quick, and that they should have better sense than to mess with a gangsta. Then again, how did they know they were messing with a Badman? I do ponder this. Well, after I watched the motor vehicle flip and take out a fire hydrant, I tried to think about how it wasn’t funny. Then I saw the fire extinguish, and I rejoiced. But it was funny, so I laughed. Townies pack into cheap low-riders, fly down Main Street, and try to act cool while they beep and yell out the windows. You know after they do a “hit,” they high tail it home because their mothers need the car to pick up the dry cleaning. You also know that they lose privileges when they are not home in time, and are grounded for the night, and then they resort to hallucinogenic drugs. Then they wake up 30 years later in a gutter in central Boston with a hangover and an empty stomach, and a hungry Chihuahua named Phillip gnawing on their legs (HA! Phillip was related to my story). And then they sell Phillip to a poor homeless man who just needs a friend. How can a townie wake up in the morning, look at himself in the mirror, and think, “Word, check this out. I’m the man. I think later today I’ll call up Tim and Henry so we can do some drive-byes. Yeah, that’s right, we going to straight up trash on some PA losers. Those PA kids man, always working and being productive, we’ll put them in their place…” Their thoughts are only interrupted when they are told to make their beds and brush their teeth by their fathers. If I truly am a “PA pussy,” I wonder what is it that makes them totally rad townie kids? Maybe. But if they are so damn cool, why do they spend their Sunday afternoons driving around yelling at me? Do they have anything better to do? I’m going to go with jack squat for 300, Alex. Townies talk a lot of smack and jazz, and say that their drive-byes really are gangsta and sweet, which makes me wonder what they’d do in the hood. Cause in the hood, when I hear a bunch of yelling and beeping, I hit the deck with my hands over my head. Some PA kids yell back, “clean my pool scum” and, “I own you.” You really shouldn’t. You see, it’s more fun to just watch them drive by, watch them yell, and watch them get really excited. Watch them high-five each other after the pass, and maybe, if you’re lucky one even gets overly excited and wets his pants, and the others throw him out of the car. So the next time a townie intimidates you, little freshman girl who starts crying after they drive by, just remember that you go to Andover. You are better than yelling profanities at others because they go to different schools. You are better than that…but if you do have the chance, yell something good back like, “sweet car man! Yeah, an ’87 Honda is sweeeet!! ^$*#er ^&$&er!”
