(Originally appeared in Mutant Renegade Zine #9, Fall 1998)
I always hated Coach Sheist. He was the hoarse voiced, crewcut wearing coach of St. Cocteau De Cunni High School. It was a place world renowned for its Football. Or shall I say "FOOBALL FOOBALL FOOBALL!"
I was a renegade punk freak having to go to school with a bunch of very wealthy clean cut preppie boys who lifted weights and took copious amounts of steroids (coach prescribed). The ones who would shake their heads in great disapproval about the "taking of drugs".
That "taking of drugs" which was the sole province of wild degenerate "losers without portfolio".
I belonged to the Outcast Group.We were regularly carpooled to school by an unsuspecting assistant Coach, let's call him Coach Gonad. He was a stupid piece of culturally brainwashed All-American loving excrement who actually looked like a miniature of Coach Sheist.
Anyway, after he let us off at the front door, we'd pretend to go inside. But then we'd sneak back into the adjoining cove of the nearby St. Cocteau DeCunni's church. It was on the side, actually, the side-back door of the temple, where we huddled together beneath the shadows of a circle of evergreen trees, trying our best to act inconspicuous. Thus the spiritual bonding ritual began.
Twenty minutes till first bell. Just enough time for several quick joints amongst friends. Unspoken rule of protcol insisted that each member contribute a couple joints of his own very hard-earned ever precious stash in intervals. It wouldn't do for someone to be a stingy freeloading bastard. Just wouldn't do. One could get away with not bringing in his own for maybe a week. Possibly even a week and a half. Any more that that, one would be considered testing the limits of comraderly Gemutlichkeit.
The particular day of Reckoning I remember quite well. A small, seedy, black haired freak named Johnny Haas would usually have the best stuff. This time, he shocked us all with some killer hash. And it was REAL HASH TOO. Taking out a pipe, he warned us with a wicked smile. "This is real shit, man. One hit megablaster. Comes all the way from Canada. They call it Number One. It's such incredible smoke it'll blow your balls off if you don't watch out. It's creeper."
"Creeper," we said to each other in awe. After lighting it, we started taking hits. I can only remember my third hit when the world began to spin. The warning bell preceeding the first bell rang out. It burst through my eardrums. My arms and legs felt wobbly, yet uncanningly infused with a new exhilirating fluid power. I started entering a very thrilling expansion of consciousness. Sharp acute sentience exploded within my sixteen year old body.
"COME ON MAN! LET'S BOOK!" We began stumbling across the grass to the back doors of Cocteau De Cunni. Then we dispersed from each other as fast as cockroaches avoiding an expected blast of DeConn.We could not be seen entering the hallowed halls of DeCunni as if we were an intentional band of drug taking n'er-do-wells. Everyone hurlted in different directions to their respective lockers and homerooms. I had trouble unlocking my locker. Its blue metric lined face jumped out at me in extreme vividness. "Let's see uh...thirty-four..twenty-three..no...twenty four...thirty six...." Even though I must've unlocked it a hundred thousand times. Opening the lock, I groped for my academic paraphanalia. If I moved fast, I could make it into Mr. Wiener's homeroom right as first bell was ringing out. I did.
I sat down right as the last bar of RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING rang. Mr. Wiener scowled at me but soon turned back to his notes for opening English Lit: Poetry. He still didn't suspect as of yet.
"Allright class. This morning, I'd like to go over some more of ee cummings."
He pulled down the screen, and went over to the overhead projector, switching on the light. Uncapping his felt tip pen, he started jabbing at the printed lines, his hand and pen becoming a gigantic mutant hand shadow in the process. The words he pointed to started jumping about as the sound of his voice began echoing in my ears.
"COOL! GREAT!" I thought to myself in increasing pleasure. To my surprise, his eyes went up and out over to me. Looking at me keenly, as if suddenly suspecting my glorious "morning high". His gaze focused more sharply on me. Then, I knew. I KNEW!
Breaking off the interrogative mind probe, he went back down to his didactic droning. I relaxed somewhat, but the blood was pulsing against my temples, my heart racing. "Can't afford to get busted again," I thought.
That incident about the Qaaludes last spring had me suspended for two weeks. Even though I had already swallowed the evidence. Suddenly, Mr.Wiener stopped jabbing the light screen with his pen and gestured.
"Let's take a quick five minute break. "Mr. O'Malley, could I see you outside in the hall please?"
"OH SHIT!" I thought in alarm. "What's this mother fucker gonna hassle me about? I don't have anything on me."
I placed a hand to my breath and blew hard. Not the usual cannabis breath. This exhalation of air was sweeter and more exotic. "What's he gonna do?" I thought. "Stick his head in my mouth?"
In the hall he gestured for me to get closer to him. Then his right hand gripped my right arm in a vice-like grip. "Allright Perry, tell me! Somebody saw you smoking MARIIJUANA across the lawn in Cocteau-Cunni's alcove! YOU SICK DEGENERATE! Principal Budweiser knows! He's thinking about calling the police!"
Before I could respond, my mind vibrating with the great high now turned into pulsing fear, he turned me about face and frisked my body. His slapping hands felt like love smacks. But I didn't get a hard on, because he didn't have large breasts.
"ALLRIGHT O' MALLEY! WHERE IS IT?"
"Where is what?"
"DON'T BULLSHIT ME! COACH SHEIST SAW YOU SMOKING A PIPE!"
"A pipe? What pipe, Mr. Wiener? I don't take drugs. Why, maybe a couple beers after the football game like everbody else. And maybe a couple cigarettes that-"
"YOU LITTLE PUNK!"
His eyes grew wide in burning hatred as his index finger began thrusting into my face. The way it began swiping at me, I felt like reaching over a few inches and biting down hard on it. Biting the fucking thing right off. Then Mr.Wiener would experience great pain and would have to grope the hallowed halls of Cocteau-De Cunni high school for his missing digit. Then, he'd have to find some way of wrapping it up and going to the emergency room. Where they'd try to sew it back on after giving him some IV Demerol. Lucky sonofabitch.
"WHERE'D YOU HIDE IT? COME ON O'MALLEY! YOU CAN'T FOOL ME!"
"I don't know what you're talkin' about, Mr. Wiener."
"YOUU!!! O' MALLEY!" growled a horrible sounding hoarse monster voice behind me.
I tried to turn but was gripped into a half-nelson by the ape-like arms of Coach Sheist.
"GIVE IT UP! GIVE IT UP! WE SAW YOU!"
"Who? What?!" I yelled in pain. "LEMME GO YOU BIG APE! GET OFFA ME!"
"I'LL GET OFFA YOU YOU LITTLE JERK! COME ON! WE'RE GOIN' TO MR. BUDWEISER'S OFFICE!"
They couldn't bust me for possessing the thinnest of air, several soiled handkerchiefs, some loose change, and a rapidly deterioriating movie ticket stub from last night's double date with Sandy Hopkins. Nevertheless, Injustice Reigned Supreme as I was "sent home" to think about the evil errors of my ways. When I came back to school the next Tuesday, I had my retaliation in hand. Actually, I stuck it into the front of my underwear, taping it to my flesh to be sure it didn't spill.
I took the circuituous route to Coach Sheist's office. The door was ajar. He wasn't in there. Was probably yelling at the top of his lungs to a group of frenzied young football players some distance away in the weight lifting room. I saw my chance and darted in like a burgular. Reaching down into my crotch, I pulled off the tape and swiftly brought the vial out over his cup of coffee. It was still steaming. I knew then he would be back at any second so I acted fast. I dumped the whole vial of hash oil into his stupid little cup which read HEAD COACH AND HUSBAND. Suddenly, his vulgar animal voice hit my ears as I heard him moving fast back down the corridor. Leaping like a hopfrogging Olympiad, I made it outside his door and onto the steps right as he rounded the corner.
"O'MALLEY!" he boomed. I halted. He moved up behind me and gripped my arm. "I WANTED YOUR BUTT EXPELLED! IT WAS ONLY BECAUSE OF THE INTERVENTION OF MISS BAUGHIN THAT YOU WERE STILL ALLOWED TO BE HERE. IF IT WAS UP TO ME, I WANTED YOU OUT! I STILL DO! YOU LITTLE FREAKIN' DEGENERATE!"
"Yes sir, thank you sir," I replied. He then moved back off to his office, assistant coach Gonad moving fast alongside him. They slammed the door. I went upstairs to homeroom with the widest grin on my face since Sandy sucked my dick two weeks ago.
Later that day Coach Sheist experienced a profound sickness. He complained that he was coming down with "the flu". The school nurse gave him a quick physical and become upset. She seemed to confirm his was "coming down with something". He was even starting to have some hallucinations.........