4 Min Read

Words your friend should never hear come from your lips:

“Man, I really nailed your mom…”


“Let’s kick his ass, Seabass! C’mon, after him!”

‘Twas a cold winter evening during my sophomore year in high school, and me and my bestie Phillip K. Ballz (aka PKB) had been chillin’ at the Corner Stop1As a reminder, it was/is the only convenience store in Rolla. minding our own ----- business. In the evenings Dad would sometimes let me borrow the farm pickup so I could go into town and have a bit of a social life, and since beggars can’t be choosers, there we found ourselves, sitting in the sweetest red Ford F350 flatbed diesel Rolla had ever seen.

I can only surmise we were just waiting for all the beautiful young ladies to come flocking to us because, c’mon, you know…the sweet kitty-magnet that I was driving and all.

Well, little did I know that such an ill-conceived plan was about to blow up spectactularly in my face…and it all started when that turd The Bard and one of his buddies streaked by on their bikes, talking some trash on us as they passed.

“But wait!” you say, “I thought you and The Bard were buds from Kindergarten, through grade school, and even after graduating high school! So what gives here?”‘

Ah, yes, a very keen eye you have, Dear Reader! Well, you see, at that time The Bard happened to be going through an awkward phase of being a little punk-ass b*tch, and PKB–also going through a similar phase of his own–had managed to get into some stupid schoolyard petty beef with The Bard over lord-knows-what.

Thusly on account of this pubescent feud, it was ol’ PKB who was that proverbial “scrub” that TLC so desperately tried to warn mid-90s teens about, hanging out of the passenger side of his best-friend’s ride, trying to holler at me.

Except instead of “me” being a beautiful young girl who don’t want no scrub, it was me, the driver of, um, how did I put it? Oh yeah: “the sweetest red Ford F350 flatbed diesel Rolla had ever seen.”

So what did I do at the mere suggestion of chasing down our arch-nemeses in a fit of bloodlust? I threw Big Red–I guess the pickup has a name now–in reverse, slammed my foot on the gas, and hauled [Phillip K.] Ballz out of that Corner Stop parking lot…


“THUNK…Crrrrrunch…Scraaaaape!”

We hadn’t got Big Red more than 4 feet out of his parking spot before our fever dreams of beating the sh*t out of our classmates came to a very sudden, very violent halt.

“What the ----- was that?!?” I asked PKB, as it was quickly becoming obvious that we (well, I) had backed right into an immovable object.

PKB glanced back–a basic precaution that I had foregone in my haste to get to our street fight–and then looked back at me with pure panic in his eyes.

“Oh sh*t. That was MY MOM.”

When I finally got around to using my rear-view mirror, I was met with the image of the sharp corner of Big Red’s flatbed firmly embedded in the front driver’s side panel of PKB‘s mom’s green Ford Explorer, with her arm hanging out the driver’s window, mere inches from utter mutilation.2For the curious cats out there, she had wanted to talk to PKB and had pulled directly into our path. You can’t blame her too much for assuming that I would see her parked behind me, and would stop so the two could converse before we scurried off to our future aggravated assault charges.

“Oh thank God, it was your mom’s Explorer, not your mom! You bout gave me a heart attack there, you ----- drama queen…”


“I DIDN’T SAY YOU COULD STOP CUTTING STRAWBERRIES.”

*sigh* “I think I would rather have had to deal with vehicular manslaughter rather than this,” I mumbled under my breath.

“What’s that?” PKB‘s mom apparently wasn’t too pleased that I was taking time out from my strawberry-cutting duties to make smart ass comments under my breath.

“Uh, nothing, Ma’am. Just saying sorry for making a crater in your fender, that’s all.”

“Harumph! That’s what I thought. NOW BACK TO CUTTING.”

“Hah-hah! Oooh boy, Mom sure owns your ass now!”

I’m not quite sure why PKB just had to go and rub my newfound “Indentured Servant” status right into my face at this point. I mean, it was his stupid need to get into a donny-brook with The Bard–a need that I had been trying to graciously help him satiate–that started this stupid, stupid series of unfortunate events, after all.

Alas, I couldn’t argue with him though: in exchange for not getting the cops involved–and thereby avoiding the prospect of being unnecessarily handcuffed–it seemed I had tacitly agreed to humbly be doing his mom’s bidding for the next few weeks or so.

And those ----- strawberries were only the beginning…3I really really wanted to end this story here, with the line “What a twist. It looked like I was about to go through a little-bitch phase of my own…”


Fun fact: usually, if the cops don’t get involved, neither will the insurance company. This had the unintended-yet-hilarious consequence of it being months on end before the Explorer got repaired.

And of course PKB‘s mom didn’t stop driving it in the meantime, so everywhere she went, the citizens of Rolla and the Greater Morton County Area would behold this enduring testament to the utter dipshittery of which their Golden Boy was capable.

No telling how many of them swore under their breaths at the sight of that cratered fender: “And this is the guy we’re pinning all our hopes on to put Rolla on the map?? Well, I guess we better get used to being known as the Tool Capitol of North America…”

*sigh*

Folks, the point of the story here really shouldn’t have to be stated: if you have to scurry off in your pickup to chase down somebody on a bike, with the hopes of at least threatening physical harm, please please please at least use your dang mirrors before you back that azz up.4Bonus punchline #2: “If you don’t, instead of cutting a b*tch, you just might end up a b*tch cutting strawberries.”

Or maybe–just maybe–avoid hanging out with violent psychopaths who have delicate little snowflake egos. That’s always an option too.

Nah, I’m just kidding–I’m only busting Phillip K.’s Ballz because it only seems fitting as a rite of passage for a wrinkly ol’ sac like him as he goes Over the Hill.

Happy 40th birthday, PKB!5Bonus #3: I almost titled this post “That One Time I Really Nailed Your Mom”. Or I could have also done, “Banging Your Mom Was Not Nearly As Fun As I Expected”. Bwahhhahahaha! I crack myself up! You will be my favorite dipshit, always and forever…


Content created on: 6/7 October 2021 (Weds/Thurs)

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