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Home Is Where The Joke Is

Home Is Where The Joke Is

I graduated as class president, valedictorian, and prom king. Man, I miss homeschooling. Sure at “Brandon Jones Academy” because my body was the entire student body things were different.

Roll call was shorter. Snow days were never canceled. Getting grounded felt like detention. And every time I looked in the mirror, it was a class reunion.

The craziest thing about Brandon Jones Academy: My mom was the entire faculty and staff which is so crazy that I thought she was crazy. One day I walk into homeroom (any room in my home) and she was talking to herself. I’m thinking she’s nuts, wacko, loony hearing schizophrenic voices. Come to realize it was simply a PTA meeting.

She was very disappointed with what she told herself. So my mom grounded me or my teacher put me in detention. I wasn’t sure which, all I knew was I was stuck inside on another snowy day. Second thought, it’s not that crazy at all.

As a kid, my parents told me I was the only child. I remember thinking, “I’m the last of my kind.”

Then my first day of kindergarten I saw another of my kind. I was suspended before the role call for inappropriate behavior. I told the principal I was trying to procreate to salvage an endangered species before extinction. The second day I got into a fight with a bully who called me four eyes.

I didn’t have glasses he just had double vision. The third day we began learning the alphabet which seemed to be a long word that was hard to pronounce but easy to spell. On the fourth day, my guidance counselor asked me: “How do you feel about homeschooling?”

My dad taught me things too. He was a spy and he taught me about his top-secret gadgets and gizmos. “Son, you see these cufflinks? Do you know what they do? When you press down on this hidden button it releases nerve gas.”

“What about your watch?”

“It’s a walkie-talkie.”

“What about your pen?”

“It shoots a thin red laser beam that can slice through3 inches of solid steel.”

“Your briefcase?”

“That just holds all my stuff…but it’s leather.”

I was born prematurely by about 9 1/2 months. I wasn’t born prematurely I was born immature. In my sonogram, you can see me laughing at fart jokes. I spent my entire childhood growing up in Virginia Beach, VA.

Tourists mispronounce it Vagina Beach. I’m not sure if that’s a real beach. If so I’d imagine it’s similar to any other beach. I bet it smells like fish and has crabs. The only difference would be if you put your ear next to shell and listen really close, you can hear the sound of… complaining. Oh yeah, and the lifeguards are off duty 1 week a month.

Now, I’m a Brandon Jones Academy Alumnus (highest and lowest GPA of graduating class) and am currently in college at the Institute Of Universities (IOU) where they don’t give you an education, diploma, or meaningful 4-year experience. So I transferred to Old Dominion University. This changed its name from New Dominion University after it got dusty and didn’t feel like hiring a janitor.

I’m majoring in English because I always wanted to be…homeless. I’ll hold a cardboard sign “Will do grammar checks for food.” Proper English was last seen on the back of a milk carton that expired in the Paleolithic era back when McCain was only 90. The first semester of freshman year at ODU I lost my Virginity. Midterm of my sophomore year I realized I had simply misplaced it between my low self-esteem and giant Porn collection.

Before the final exams of my junior year, I had masturbated so much that my palms sweat KY Gel. Alone in my dorm, my right hand shook as if it was rapidly asking questions on a magic 8 ball, violently erasing an etcher sketch, or about to lose an intense game of Jenga.

Virginity became like a shadow: it followed me everywhere and my only chance of getting rid of it was a place where there was poor lighting. Eventually, during my last summer vacation before graduation, I tried phone sex but that antenna hurt. Spring break of senior year I met my current fiancé. I love being engaged it’s like putting your girlfriend on layaway.

She talks to herself but it’s not a PTA meeting. She actually hears a voice in her head that often gets laryngitis. So every 4-6 hours she has to daydream about anti-biotic and cough drops. She takes my breath away.

And when I say she takes my breath away it’s because she’s inflatable. It’s not going to work out with my asthma. She’s such an airhead but still a doll. She almost killed herself getting her belly button pierced. It’s going to cost a fortune to fix inflation.

Not the first time I saw a gal with fake lips, fake boobs, and fake orgasms. You might think I’m terrible with women because my mom was my Sex-Ed professor in 12th grade. But she taught me that men mature slower than women. This is why my dad was 42 before developed breasts. She also taught me to use Windex before every class reunion!

(Humorous Tale from pages of Mr.J’s Award Winning Novel, AMPHIGORY ALMANAC)

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