Disclaimer: All these stories are real. It is unfortunate that I am unable to consult with any of the individuals in them to confirm certain details of my memories of these events. I have refrained from writing the full names of those involved, but those who know me personally know who I'm talking about. None of the first names were changed. No one involved was innocent.
Part 1: Super Soaker Dicks
Every man worth his balls' weight in salt otta know how to fuck. At the very least, you otta know how to jack yourself off. If you were an adolescent dude in the early 1990s, you may have learned how from one of your favorite toys... The original jack-off gun, the Super Soaker 50.
-You pump and pump and then pressurized liquid spurts forth from its tip. Sometimes you aim it at a friend. Sometimes an enemy...
I remember when I was like 12. My friends Ed, Ambo and I got dropped off at the mall in the next town. (what was then, our equivalent to Springfield's Shelbyville) I remember Ed's father got in a huge fight with this dude about a parking space just as we were pulling in. So loud. Once we got inside the mall, it took almost no time for us to get kicked out. We farted on some kid at the toy store, causing Ed to almost try and fight the kid's father. It was crazy. Watching a child cuss-out an adult stranger in a toy store over a fart. Then we tried to steal lighters from the tobacco shop, and a Penthouse from the Waldenbooks. Smart.
In this same flash of assanine genius, we must've thought that by throwing away our swag as we ran out, knocking down chairs in the food court, and hooting obscenities like pubescent howler monkeys, we might recoil the security guards' pursuit.
It did not. Soon they were on us with both golf carts and cars in the parking lot. Those orange lights. We were already veterans of this bloodless war at 12. We knew what they wanted. To detain us and call real cops who'd come by to scare the shit out of us with tough talk and then call our parents, or worse, let us spend the night in Juvie to teach us a lesson. Wild shit for 3 little assholes from the 'burbs in a town none of us really knew. There was only one plan, now. Escape.
We were spotted several times during our evasion, which ended in success. Unabated by our inept trackers, we terrorized several strip malls in the surrounding area. In grocery stores, compact junk food was stolen. Bread loaves were squeezed beyond all recognition. Carts were misused. Syrups were opened and emptied upon other products, indiscriminately. Multiple chip bags were brutally punched. We escaped every establishment before we could be ejected, but the damage was done.
Like some proto-Beavis and Butthead mongols burning every bridge as we went, we eventually made our way to the Toys R Us. It was only a few teen yards from where we'd evaded the psudeo-gestapo mere hours ago. Inside, we ran amok. Though we were more stealthy about it this time to preserve the drug of adrenalized mayhem. Once we tired of doing a bunch more stupid shit, we bought Super Soakers. They were brand new then and only cost about 10 bucks. It was amazing the squirt distance you could achieve with some good jerkin'.
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| "Back in MY DAY, we didn't have no fancy 50-foot, jag-off guns. If you wanted to squirt somebody with water, ya jest SPIT it at 'em!!" |
We utilized our newfound range to super-soak several Toys R Us patrons and their vehicles in the parking lot. Most of them laughed it off. It was a shitty-hot summer night. Except some poor, old timer. It was just getting dark and the old bastard didn't say a word. He just started running toward us as fast as his old ass could move. As we slowly trotted away from him, we continued to super soak him. None of us, nor the ancient aggressor had ever experienced such range and rage from a squirt gun before.
Our taunts were horrible, the worst and most profane of which came from our buddy Ed. He was the kind of kid that would ride his BMX as fast as he could past some old lady and shout "FUCKIN' WHORE!!" as loud as he could in her ear. In retrospect, he was a fuckin' asshole, although fun to make mischief with. After the old man we'd soaked gave up his useless chase and went in the Toys R Us, we split. I don't remember who's parents picked us up, or where, but we all got home without any of our parents finding out about our suburban terrorism.
I wonder what might've happened if we'd gotten away with those lighters??
-2013 Wielgorecki
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