Your mother’s a whore, Trebek.


It didn't snow in Miami....

This may serve as a shock to no one, but I was a very hyperactive child.  And “hyperactive” would be the polite, clinical way of putting it.  I was an impish little twat.  In fact, I was the first second grader at my elementary school to ever get a detention.  (That treat was normally reserved for fifth grade deviants.) Before a retroactive “Save Tara” movement gets underway I should probably explain.  It definitely was may have been entirely sort of my fault.  What sweet horror could cause second grade aficionado, Mrs. Harris to resort to such barbarically, age-inappropriate measures? What’s she going to do next – waterboard a kindergartener?  It all started innocently enough with a light-hearted game of “When I Grow Up…”  PS – If the second grade class of ’95 had their way, Miami would be crawling with 25-year-old lawyers, dancers, and one baby fat laden Batman.     

Now is a good time to mention that I watched a lot of cinema during my formative years deemed by the Motion Picture Association as…“Restricted”.  It should also be noted that I watched these movies on the sly (accompanying parent or adult guardian? Not for this guy) and very much on the reg.  My favorite movie was Sudden Death.  What?  You haven’t heard of this gem?  The Casablanca of our age?  For those of you not privy to such a discerning, high brow taste in movies here’s the quick summary:  A disgraced former fireman takes on a group of terrorists holding the Vice President and others hostage during the seventh game of the NHL Stanley Cup finals. Intrigued? Undoubtedly.  How could you not be?  I certainly was and I couldn’t even read the Shakespearean like prose that was the tagline.  All it took for me was the steely gaze of Jean-Claude Van Damm and I knew that “action was going into overtime”.  Solid  

The heartwarming story of a man, his son, and Penguins' hockey.

 But I digress.  Back to the game.  Even as a 7 year old I knew what I wanted out of life: dollars. Cold, hard cash.  I sat patiently at my desk, silently laughing at the noobs surrounding me.  “Good luck being taken seriously at law school with a Power Rangers lunch box, Alex.  Everyone knows Captain Planet is the real environmental activist.”  “See you in ten years, Dr. Rodriguez.  Have fun at brain school, IN FORT LAUDERDALE.  Gross.”  (I was a judgmental hag at an early age. I also had a thought process well beyond my years. Obviously.)  Finally, it was my turn.  Clearing my throat, with the confidence of an overly-developed ten year old picking out her first training bra, I said “When I grow up I want to be a masseuse by day and a prostitute by night.” Boom.  I smugly sat there waiting for the raucous applause to begin, but the only sound filling my waiting ears was a deafening silence.  

 

Probably true.

 I was confused but chocked it up to jealousy.  “Your turn, Carlos.  Hate to be the one following that genius.”  But Mrs. Harris wasn’t moving on.  I must have won.  I didn’t know this was a competition but I could see her point: Why keep going when I had so clearly nailed it? 

Mrs. Harris: Tara, do you know what a prostitute is?

Tara: Um, duh.  A pretty lady who wears lots of furs and has sex for money.  Don’t ask me what a masseuse is though because that one’s a doozy.  Hey. Who’s the teacher here, lady?

Mrs. Harris: You’re going to need to go to Sister Marita’s office and have them call your mother.  Again. 

 Detention. 

2 thoughts on “Your mother’s a whore, Trebek.

  1. At first I had thought to boycott all posts by, well, you. However, I’ve come to the realization that it will be impossible for me to mock aforementioned posts if I don’t first read them. We all do what we must, now to the point. I’m troubled by your early childhood choice of professions. I mean, really, what made you think you’d be assiduous enough to hold TWO jobs?

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