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The Mentor or The Sweatpants

It all started with my fucking pants. I just knew that wearing these pants today was a horrible idea. But how could I resist? They were beautiful. If you’re thinking to yourself in a nasally voice “beautiful is a sacred word that I would only use to describe my girlfriend!” you’ve obviously never seen these pants. The most precious teal color you could imagine, a dime-sized hole in the left knee. Perfection! But the draw string had fallen out long ago.

Normally, I wear the pants around the house but I have yard work to get done today. Going to war with my front yard without those pants was the same to me as leaving a wounded soldier behind. I needed something to hold them up! I settled on some old rope that I found in my basement and went outside. Hey, at least I didn’t use a dress belt.

I’m outside doing man shit. Jumping off of ladders, using screwdrivers as hammers, and screaming words like fuck and God damn it. Just me and my sweatpants. As I ascend the ladder for one last swan dive, my beautiful companion stabs me in the back. Down go my pants! The screaming starts immediately. High-pitched shrieking that can only be described as the sound of seagulls fucking. Surprise, surprise; an elderly lady. I turn to look at her with my pants around my ankles. The shrieks get more intense. Words are finally formed.

“This man! He violated me!” she swoggles (yes, I just made that word up. Can you think of a better word for that weird old lady voice that they all talk in? Yes, you know exactly what I’m talking about).

I’m confused. I’m scared. I try to explain myself. All that comes out is “p-p-pants down!” which doesn’t help my case at all. The neighbors begin to yell words like “Scattergories!” and “taco truck!” at me. At least that’s what I hear. All hope appears lost, I dart inside and start to knit (don’t ask). The cops arrive within minutes.

Not this time China.

I’m brought into a dark room. Two police officers and the old lady. She starts to scream immediately. She swoggles and spits in my face by accident as her dentures grind together. The officers inform me that I will be in court in the morning facing public nudity charges. I’m brought to my cell where I stand in front of my toilet for three hours because of my severe case of Bladdoria (the pee-shy disease). I give up and borrow the harmonica that is conveniently located inside every jail cell.

“I got da pee jail blues, Lord! Got dem pee jail bluuuueeeess,” the harmonica squeals.

Court flies by. I don’t understand a single word that the attorneys say. I get called to the witness stand. I’m able to put together one coherent sentence. “I tied my beautiful babies with a rope.” The courtroom erupts. “Order in the court!” screams the judge as he pulls out a second gavel. “Crime of the century!” yells a reporter from the 1950s that’s stuck in a time warp. I want to tell him that he spelled “PRES” wrong on the index card that he’s taped to the side of his bowler hat.

The judge announces that the verdict is ready. Community service. I cry into my hands and think about how lucky I am.

Fast forward two weeks. I no longer think of myself as lucky. I’m trapped in the county’s mentorship program. State law states that a male can only work with a male and female only with female. But fuck that. The mentorship program is so neglected that there aren’t enough participants for that law to matter. I’m stuck with an eighteen year old female named Peggy that lives in the middle of nowhere. The last two weeks have been Hell. Luckily, I’m down to my last two visits with her. But I’ve been put through shit that no other human being should ever have to endure. High speed chases, threatened with a kitchen knife, you name it, it’s happened.

Peggy strongly resembles the character on the cover of this video game. Ironically, if Peggy doesn't clean up her act, the game's title says it all.

I get to Peggy’s house around two. Her mother is there like usual to give us directions on what activities we can do for the day. She tells me that Peggy has been dying to to chop her hair off and will probably try it today. I need to stop her if it’s the last thing I do. I say “yes ma’am!” and salute her because I’m cute. We walk to the car and Peggy tells me that she’s “getting that fucking haircut.” We start to drive, Peggy brings up the haircut again. I tell her no and she pulls a gun. “This really is going to be the last thing you do. Pull over!” she yells slowly. I get out of the car and the gun is pointed at me every step of the way. After five seconds at gun point, I pussy out. Let’s get that haircut, kiddo!

Peggy hops in the driver seat. One hand on the wheel, one hand on the gun. Gangsta shit. “Ride wit me, ride wit me” she raps out loud. I tell her that I am and she gives me a look like she doesn’t know how she hasn’t killed me yet. She swerves in and out of traffic and blows a red light. She sticks the gun out the window and fires two shots into the air. I’m hanging out of the passenger window screaming like a bitch. We cut across three lanes of traffic and start to drive through the woods. “Shortcut!” she says in her familiar, slo-mo voice.

Finally, Peggy Tokyo drifts into a parking lot. I look up at a sign that reads Big Pop’s Choppe Shop. Again, I feel the urge to point out a spelling mistake. Peggy warns me not to say a god damn thing about the haircut while we’re inside. I use a line from a Disney movie, I’m great with kids. She pistol whips me as a reward.

Peggy gets her hair cut. Actually, Peggy gets all of her hair cut. Peggy is now playing the role of GI Jane. I tell her that I can’t believe she would do this. She tells me that she doesn’t care and plans on telling her mom that I encouraged it. I think about arguing with her for four seconds. She has a gun, dumb-ass. I’m fucked.

Peggy pulls into her driveway, throws the car into park and hops out of her window. “See ya!” she yells as she runs into the house. I realize that she was the voice of Eeyore in the Whinnie the Pooh cartoons. I take off instead of chasing her inside. There’s no way I can face her mother.

Normally Peggy and I would listen to these tapes together. Today, she put on Ja Rule.

I’m five minutes from home when my phone rings. Peggy’s mom. Fuck. I answer in a British accent hoping she gets confused and hangs up. No such luck. There’s screaming coming from the other line. “Jason! Help!” can be heard over Peggy’s Hundred Acre Wood drawl. It’s apparent that Peggy is holding her mom at gun point.

“Tomorrow…Jason…I will be getting my nipples pierced. There ain’t a God damn thing you fuckers can do about it!”

Her mother screams in horror. Peggy whispers bang bang. I hang up the phone in terror. Nipple piercings!?!

I’ve learned my lesson. Don’t wear sweatpants without a draw string.

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  1. Ryan
    August 10, 2011 at 11:02 pm

    you need to sew on some tangerine colored belt loops.

    • August 11, 2011 at 9:03 am

      I’m not much of a sewsman. I think that’s probably the male version of seamstress, right?

  2. August 11, 2011 at 10:13 am

    I’m surprised, you seem like the seamstress type.

    • August 11, 2011 at 10:37 am

      What a diss!!1!1!1!!

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