I found that you can take the blade from an osterizer, just the blade, and set it on the base and turn it on. Yup no glass container around it, just a sharp metal blade whizzing around and a really fast speed. And if if freaks you out and you let go it’ll shoot off and land a few feet away.
I found this out last week. (I’m 25) I’m lucky I didn’t slash my stomach open, luckily it flew away from me.
We (at the place where I work) have a really strange attic. Many years ago they put an addition on the building, basically, they build a new building over the old building. So now, when you go up in the attic, you are actually walking on the old roof. It’s hard to explain, but where the old roof and new roof come together there’s a gap that you can shimmy down in and get into the original attic. I was in the orginal attic one day (probably doing electrical work). When I was climbing back out, I had a brain fart and kinda ‘jumped’ up and wound up sticking the roofing nails into my back. Probably should have gotten a shot for that, but I didn’t want to show my dad (owner/boss) becuase I had a tattoo on my back I didn’t want him to know about.
To start, my music teacher in third grade was a whole bitch. As in, while some teachers were quarter or half bitches, this teacher was a bitch for an entire measure. She was asthmatic, so the only thing more irregular than how she treated me was her breathing pattern.
Once, we were singing a song for Martin Luther King, going through the motions and ranges. As the class of little fighters were nearing the Lincoln Memorial of harmony, she had a “quark”, erupting into a full fledged foaming, tearing, clawing, shaking fit.
“YOOOOU!!” her finger screamed, as it shot from her arm towards me, out of all the little bastards. “YOOOOU!!! YOU AREN’T IN KEY, GOOOOOO OUTSIIIIIDE!!!”
I knew, even as a kid, that these sounds did not come from behind her barred teeth or even from her frothing moth. I knew it came from some place far more sinister, far deeper inside.
Anyway, it wasn’t as if I was sucking on purpose. I was one of the many accordions at a Polish cheese party, yet I was the one singled out, for no good reason.
Besides, this was just a typical incident between me and her. Another time she kept taking away my dulicmer during practice, telling me I wasn’t “folkie mountainie good timey” enough to deserve my instrument. So, at the concert (yes, she really had a third grader dulicmer concert, something you should avoid coming into contact with if you stumble upon one in the Blue Ridge) all the kids were happily verb-form-of-dulicmer away, while I was left with a table of options, not one of which was “not suck.”
So, I strummed away furiously, being a non-hippie kid and all. I played with my teeth, played behind my back, played it with my toes, and even had a breakdown up there on that stage. Later, after I had clearly stole the show, for better or worse, she pissed and moaned and gave my all sorts of purple nurples. What nerve!
There were also some more minor things that pissed me off, enough so that I eventually came to the conclusion that she had to be offed. I knew some guys, but as this was personal, I wanted to off her myself.
She warned us early on that perfume and cologne were something she didn’t do. I decided right then it was something I had better start doing.
So, before music class, I doused myself with an entire bottle of cheap cologne. Think cologne so cheap that even the oldest, most dried out, most legendary whore in all of Gary, Indiana would instantly asphyxiate at the mere mention of it. Think of cologne so cheap that of all the gift baskets of all the commerical holidays in all of Wal Mart, that combining each and every one with the blood meal of a thousand car salesmen and thirty four diapers of a lunch crowd at Shoneys (average age 79, average lunchtime 10:30), could never even approximate the lower bounds of this cologne’s cheapness.
Now, after I had a whole bottle on me, I used another one to cover the rest of my friends. As we entered, and sat quietly in the back, we waited and giggled. Giggled and waited.
Then.
Then came that holy, glorious sound. It was as if an entire chorus of angels grew assholes before us, and let a heavenly sound rip before us and the Lord. It was as if an entire gaggles of kittens had fallen headlong into Blender Cliff, with only the gentle whirl and hum along with an occasion splash of fur and gore reminding us of how it felt to be alive. It was as if she was forced to watch the unbridged Lifetime present’s Zsa Zsa Gabor: The Lover, The Sinner, The Saint for an eternity, gagging and wheezing incontrolably.
“Gah… gh… go… oh… ow… out… sih…”
She didn’t die, though. We rattled her, but didn’t kill her.
Looking back, I’m not sure why I really felt the need to kill her, but it’s both creepy and intelligent the way I had it planned. I’ve done other things, like unknowingly drawing racist pictures for my black teacher, but that was me at my most bastardly.