We're All Fucking Crazy

It’s already been well established here that, among others, my mother hates me. You may be surprised to learn that all of my brothers (all three of them) are oddly similar to me. We’re all extremely sarcastic, highly politically incorrect, and willing to say anything regardless of the circumstances or present company. Needless to say, after raising four boys with attitudes like that I’m surprised my mother hasn’t developed a nasty rock habit.

My youngest brother, whom I will call “Don,” is six years younger than I am and is currently a senior in high school. Don has Asperger’s Syndrome. Asperger’s Syndrome is an extremely mild form of Autism. He operates just fine and you wouldn’t know he had the condition unless you were told; otherwise you would just find him quiet, introverted, and slightly obsessed with videogames. Regardless, because of this my brother gets some special treatment at school. While other students aren’t allowed to wear hoods, he can (in order to block out noise and such).

Now, there is this lovely assistant principal at his high school that my family absolutely loves. My other younger brother, currently a freshman in college, was part of a food fight his senior year of high school. This lovely administrator referred some of the people involved to the school resource officer who proceeded to issue all of them tickets for disorderly conduct requiring all of them to go to court. Basically, this guy is a overzealous dickwad. So we’ll refer to him as Overzealous Dickwad, or OD for short.

Don and OD had a run-in around November last year. Don came to school wearing a hat instead of a hood. Technically he isn’t allowed to wear a hat even though he had been wearing the hat for a while without anyone saying anything and regardless of the fact that the hat was serving the same purpose as the hood. OD decided to finally make some noise about this. OD stopped Don in the hall one day and told him he had to take the hat off. In response, a response that I am only able to describe as perfect, Don muttered to OD, “Fatass.”

So Don ended up with detention or something like that. In Don’s defense, according to my father OD actually is kind of a fatass.

Fast-forward about a month or so to sometime before Christmas. I had just arrived at my parents’ house in the freezing fucking north. Don was upstairs wrapping some presents for some friends because the next day was their last day of school before their winter break. My parents joked with each other, “Oh, I wonder if Don is wrapping a present for OD?!?.” The other parent would respond with, “Oh ha ha!”

I was out with my dad later that night when he told me what had transpired earlier in the day while I was attempting to sleep off my hangover. Apparently Don had decided to be nice and he bestowed upon OD a pleasant gift.

It would seem that several weeks prior Don had found, outside of the school cafeteria no less, a severed deer leg. As any seventeen year old boy pissed off at someone and seeing the opportunity for a joke would do, Don took the deer leg home, wrapped it in plastic wrap and kept it in his room just waiting for his day to come. He then wrapped it in a box, drew a picture to put on the box, and added his initials. He then lovingly dropped of the package on OD’s desk.

For some reason, OD didn’t quite see the humor in this. I described this to my parents as, “Fucking. Hilarious.” So my parents were called into school that morning to meet with OD. Don was sent home early with my parents and suspended for a couple of days.

My parents wondered why he give OD that present and also why he would make it obvious who it was from. I asked them both, “Well, it was funny, wasn’t it?” They both admitted, “Well, yeah. It really was.”

“Enough said.”

I stood up and walked to the kitchen to refresh my drink. Five minutes later while outside sipping my drink and smoking a cigarette while staring at the starry sky all I could think was, “Man; I’ve taught Don well. He’ll do just fine in life.”