Read Online Fakes: An Anthology of Pseudo-Interviews, Faux-Lectures, Quasi-Letters, "Found" Texts, and Other Fraudulent Artifacts by David Shields, Matthew Vollmer - Free Book Online
Authors: David Shields, Matthew Vollmer
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nothin—jus chillin, an mister principal, he come over and he axing me where my sposed to be?
An I am axing him the same thing with my mind but he not seein my mind only my shoulders doin the shruggin and so he axing me again, louder, where my sposed to be?
Damn.
Dults always wantin you to be minding your own biz til the exact moment you do. Right? He think I don’t know why he beastin on me steada evybody else runnin round this hall. He think I didn hear my gramma on the phone withim yesterday.
I given her to you , she says. I puttin her in your hands now, she says.
Course he don’t know she meaning that on the literal. She can’t tell him she kickin me out, cause maybe it ain’t legal. But she do it anyway. She say she too tired for a teenager.
But he’s not knowin any a that. He jus want to do his job so he axing me again about where my where my where my.
So I say,
You know, Mister Sobers, you my favorite princiPAL I ever had? For real. They tell you about the pal in elementary but I never saw it in nobody til now. It’s the truth. You really—
But then some baby-brawl break out down the other end, probaly eight-oh-two—you know it’s gotta be—jumpin eight-ten class again, an he book it down there like he gonna try to do somethin bout it. Nobody can do nothin bout eight-oh-two. They hopeless. But they makin it so he leave fore he get his answer from me an thas fine since thas what I’m workin on anyway, right now, that answer of where my sposed to be.
I wonder if Ida been put with the eight-ten or eight-oh-two class Ida made it to grade eight this year.
An jus in case anybody out there listnin who dont know, I’m in six-oh-three. Three years. Thas right. Ima get it tattooed.
You hearin me?
This thing still on right?
What eva.
Check it. Principal always tryin to get us to go to class by axing us where you sposed to be, right? If they wanted us to be in the classes then they shoulda built this school with some walls , for real, steada this halfway-up-walls-made-outta-paper Open Air bullshit. Only rooms that got real walls and doors be the computer lab and the science room and this one right here across from me where the new special arts program is at.
This one with the doorknob sayin turn this shit right here, turn this shit right here, I dare you to turn this shit right here.
An maybe I’m hearin this hallway extra loud today, or somethin, I don’t know. Usually the only reason I come to school, is for the loud in the hall, an my girls laughin at any little thing don’t matter what, but today I’m bored maybe. Maybe my ears be sore. All I know is I’m up with my hands on that knob an it won’t turn cause they keep it locked this door. You hearin me?
Locked. Like they got treasure in there or something steada jus some stupid class. An you gotta be on a list to go in there. Like it’s a club or some shit. This a school not a night club, right? Why they allowed to be all V.I.P. like that? You hearin?
Yesterday I come in to see what it all about an one a the teachers, the fly one, who dark an licious like gramma’s gravy, with his muscles all carved, an his hair all crisp—he boilin hot—he say sorry, you not in the program. Sorry, you got to be on the list. Sorry, you not on the list so sorry, you can’t be in here, you got to get your sorry ass to your sorry class, you got to go where you sposed to be, where you sposed to be? Evybody want me to go where I sposed to be but nobody in this school seem to know where the fuck that shit is.
Now he too fly to be so sorry, so I left. But today I’m back an givin the door a good BANG. Thas what we do here on doors, right? We BANG, BANG. These new teachers they not used to it, so sometimes they try to come out sayin stop it. Bang, bang, banging been going on in this school for all of ever, and they think we gonna stop cause they Look Serious. Ha. What they gonna do about it? I hear them visitors the other day sayin how this one a them
An I am axing him the same thing with my mind but he not seein my mind only my shoulders doin the shruggin and so he axing me again, louder, where my sposed to be?
Damn.
Dults always wantin you to be minding your own biz til the exact moment you do. Right? He think I don’t know why he beastin on me steada evybody else runnin round this hall. He think I didn hear my gramma on the phone withim yesterday.
I given her to you , she says. I puttin her in your hands now, she says.
Course he don’t know she meaning that on the literal. She can’t tell him she kickin me out, cause maybe it ain’t legal. But she do it anyway. She say she too tired for a teenager.
But he’s not knowin any a that. He jus want to do his job so he axing me again about where my where my where my.
So I say,
You know, Mister Sobers, you my favorite princiPAL I ever had? For real. They tell you about the pal in elementary but I never saw it in nobody til now. It’s the truth. You really—
But then some baby-brawl break out down the other end, probaly eight-oh-two—you know it’s gotta be—jumpin eight-ten class again, an he book it down there like he gonna try to do somethin bout it. Nobody can do nothin bout eight-oh-two. They hopeless. But they makin it so he leave fore he get his answer from me an thas fine since thas what I’m workin on anyway, right now, that answer of where my sposed to be.
I wonder if Ida been put with the eight-ten or eight-oh-two class Ida made it to grade eight this year.
An jus in case anybody out there listnin who dont know, I’m in six-oh-three. Three years. Thas right. Ima get it tattooed.
You hearin me?
This thing still on right?
What eva.
Check it. Principal always tryin to get us to go to class by axing us where you sposed to be, right? If they wanted us to be in the classes then they shoulda built this school with some walls , for real, steada this halfway-up-walls-made-outta-paper Open Air bullshit. Only rooms that got real walls and doors be the computer lab and the science room and this one right here across from me where the new special arts program is at.
This one with the doorknob sayin turn this shit right here, turn this shit right here, I dare you to turn this shit right here.
An maybe I’m hearin this hallway extra loud today, or somethin, I don’t know. Usually the only reason I come to school, is for the loud in the hall, an my girls laughin at any little thing don’t matter what, but today I’m bored maybe. Maybe my ears be sore. All I know is I’m up with my hands on that knob an it won’t turn cause they keep it locked this door. You hearin me?
Locked. Like they got treasure in there or something steada jus some stupid class. An you gotta be on a list to go in there. Like it’s a club or some shit. This a school not a night club, right? Why they allowed to be all V.I.P. like that? You hearin?
Yesterday I come in to see what it all about an one a the teachers, the fly one, who dark an licious like gramma’s gravy, with his muscles all carved, an his hair all crisp—he boilin hot—he say sorry, you not in the program. Sorry, you got to be on the list. Sorry, you not on the list so sorry, you can’t be in here, you got to get your sorry ass to your sorry class, you got to go where you sposed to be, where you sposed to be? Evybody want me to go where I sposed to be but nobody in this school seem to know where the fuck that shit is.
Now he too fly to be so sorry, so I left. But today I’m back an givin the door a good BANG. Thas what we do here on doors, right? We BANG, BANG. These new teachers they not used to it, so sometimes they try to come out sayin stop it. Bang, bang, banging been going on in this school for all of ever, and they think we gonna stop cause they Look Serious. Ha. What they gonna do about it? I hear them visitors the other day sayin how this one a them
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