When I was ten or eleven years old, I was at a church camp. I had been picked on all week by this fat kid named Perry Parker, and on our final day I had finally had enough of his crap and I kicked him in the balls. He doubled over in pain, ultimately falling on the ground while still clutching his family jewels.
A camp counselor saw the aftermath, and ran over to find out what happened. I explained that Perry had been bothering me, so I kicked him in the nads. The counselor looked very upset at me, but ordered Perry to get up and forced us to shake hands and drop whatever our disagreement was. I was OK with the arrangement, truth be told, as I had achieved what I believed was justice. After all, I got Perry square in the nuts, and I was actually beginning to feel bad.
But the forced truce was not enough. The counselor ordered us to stand against adjacent trees, and not to move until we were instructed. Again, I was fine with the arrangement. This punishment was a mild one, all things considered, and I figured it would all be forgotten very quickly.
However, after a few minutes, Perry began talking trash. I was a little surprised that he was trying to start up with me again, so I told him to shut his fat mouth.
Oh, right. I forgot to add that Perry was fat. Anyways…
I told Perry to shut his fat mouth, so he left his tree and came storming over in my direction. Without thinking, I left my tree and met him halfway so that I could kick him in the balls a second time. Remember the look on the T-1000’s face when Sarah Conner blew up his torso? That is exactly the look that was on Perry’s face as he once again doubled over in pain.
I guess the moral of the story is to be careful who you bother. Maybe the moral is to guard your package. Honestly, I don’t know. I don’t even know why I had this random memory. I just woke up this morning and thought about how I kicked a fat kid named Perry Parker in the cojones twice in the span of five minutes. Life is weird.