Spurback Mountain

Professional Hobgoblin

I can’t even begin to imagine being molested as a child, let alone, accosted in a fucking zoo bathroom by something with that face (pictured left). Just innocently trying to relieve my bladder when all of a sudden the Touchy Monster comes strolling in behind me. As a child, this presents you with that great internal struggle that is “don’t look, maybe its vision is based on movement” versus “how can I possibly peel my eyes away from this perversion of nature?” As an adult, I’d see him, shudder a bit and think, “terrifying, but at least it doesn’t molest kids.” I’d wager that his penis is as malformed, and startling, as his face (complete with some sort of premature irrigation tube). Speaking of which…

Back when I worked at Blockbuster, this thirteen year old girl used to come in around noon on Tuesdays. I’m guessing that she was home-schooled because normally children aren’t allowed to leave school, walk to a video store and “see what’s new”. Over time, however, she slowly started turning “goth” which would lead one to believe she had to have some sort of public-school-peer-influence going on. But I digress.

This little girl didn’t come in alone. She brought with her a young boy, who couldn’t have been any older than 10. This would only be mildly strange, except for the fact that the boy had a tracheae tube and wore glasses that I’m pretty positive were fashioned out of the same shit as the Pope-mobile’s glass dome. So they’d come in, and it never failed, after a couple of minutes spent browsing the new releases, she’d send him over to ask me a question. Only problem was, because of that tube, the boy couldn’t speak so much as he could do the most amazing Donald Duck impression you’ve ever heard (okay, maybe it was more like one of Scrooge’s nephews; let’s just call him Huey). Huey’s speech impediment made it absolutely impossible to understand a single word burped out of his tiny neck. And this would piss him off, no end. The little fucker even threw a bag of candy at me once. It was extremely hard not to bust out laughing when he’d start pacing around and (I use the term loosely) screaming at the top of his insufficient lungs about whatever the fuck it was he wanted to know.

The other thing that was very odd about this: there was a note on the mother’s account saying that she had come in and given her permission to rent out anything to them; basically, to keep her from having to walk her (presumably fat) ass down to the store. So there were times when I was renting films to this motley pair of children that included some pretty crazy, hard “R” stuff. I don’t think a socially reclusive young girl and a boy with a hole in his throat need to be watching “The 40 Year Old Virgin” or “Mystic River”.

Boo! Take off your pants.

I’m sure that having to grow up with a tracheostomy presents its own unique level of adversity that I can’t even begin to commiserate with, but I do know for a fact, that being a little dick isn’t going to help anyone to accept or like you. And the hardest thing in the world to understand is the English language, spoken through the filter of an angry, baby goose.

Which brings me back to the first paragraph. Imagine yourself as a child of 8 or 9, excited about seeing an elephant poop or giraffes screwing for the first time– IN REAL LIFE! And then having that creepy, Zach Braff fish creature walk into the bathroom and start quacking and touching your dick. Then, as the cherry on top of this awful shit-sundae, he starts jacking off! I’d never be able to get that image out of my head. I could be 40 years old, and every time a girl put my cock in her mouth, all I’d be able to see is that face. Or worse yet, maybe I wouldn’t be able to get off unless my partner honked when she came. Hell, I don’t know that I’d even be able to piss again without having some kind of nervous breakdown– always with an eye on the door, waiting for that monster to come barging in with those sad, sad eyes, trained intently on my penis.

That poor fucking kid.