I GREW UP TO BE A KID

KIRIL PELHAM DIDIER

I GREW UP TO BE A KID

Copyright © 2016 Kiril Pelham Didier

The following is a work of fiction. Any names, characters places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination. Any resemblance of any person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, scanned, or transmitted in any form, digital or printed, without the written permission of the author.

Copyright © 2016 Kiril Pelham Didier

Acknowledgements

Special thanks to Lenid Didier for reading the damn book. Also to Fiona Didier (Fifi) for telling me, “It should not be I Grew Up To Be A Child; it should be I Grew Up To Be A Kid.”  She also called me stupid in the process.

Thanks to my mom Eustacia Nicholas and father John Joseph Didier for life, and the many other blessings given to me. Thanks to Magnus John Didier for support and the rest of my family for playing vital roles in my life especially D’ Andre Didier who gives to me, the best advice though still young.  

Chapter 1 – Nate Carver Pantyshield!

I lost my job, because the restaurant owner caught me having sex, with a plate. Yes; he really caught me having rough sex, with a dirty plate named Rebecca; ummm wait, wait hold on; that’s a bad introduction.

Ok, here’s a more appropriate one;

Dear Santa

        You stupid fuck. All I fucking want for Christmas is a dog that can smile and laugh. The last time you said a fucking reindeer had to undergo an eye operation….

Ok, here’s an even more appropriate one;

Dear diary,

       Why in the fuck did mom move, to my fucking tree house?! And why is it that since then, the veins in dad’s fucking right hand, have been so fucking engorged?! Why is it, that he curses the day he didn’t see the importance of learning how to climb trees?!

Diary; why is it, that there is a grandma in our community, who tongue kisses her grand kids and their friends, who are no more than six years old?! Why is it, that every time a man meets a woman he likes, he must crash or stumble into something seconds after talking to her, as he walks away?! And finally diary, why the fuck is it, that when I write you, you never fucking-write BACK!!!!!???

You know what; fuck it diary and fuck you! I’ll just explain my life. So here I go. This is my book!

Home was always a diaper with shit in it; at least-that’s where I felt most comfortable, because of my constant bowel movements, so I call it home. I could always make myself at home, in one of those things. Ever since my first birthday, I suffered from chronic acne and joint pain! The doctor said, I was the ugliest baby ever, and the nurse-well-was just the fucking nurse!

My mom refused to give me her breast milk, and my dad would spit in my face, when I cried, because of how girly I sounded. There was one time he slapped me so hard, that my first tooth flew right out, and to this day, it has never grown back.

My defense, I’m a nice guy; if you get some sort of device, to smoothen my thick ratty cheeks, on my pear shaped head, and to fix my thin, bowed hairy legs, and my large teeth, not to mention my long scrawny fingers. Oh; and my eyebrows! Let’s talk about that. The more I shave; they just keep coming back, bushy and blonde, like my hair-yuck! Finally, I’m the thinnest person that I have ever seen, in my life!

I am twenty plus years old, with green eyes and I still read comics, and live for cartoons. I wear diapers often, and use bibs a lot, when I eat at home. My mom usually feeds me in a bottle. She carries me after meals, to make me burp, and-oh yeah, I still don’t have a girlfriend, and have never had an erection, so you know what that means; I’m a virgina! Fuck, I mean virgin ok! But then again, everybody knows, that’s the largest part, of any goddamn vagina. The rest is so microscopic and insignificant, that no one knows what it is, and possibly, no one has even seen it. People just say “a” but never say what it is. So it’s official, I am what I said. And you say vagina, I say virgina. It’s the same thing, different spelling.

Virgin; if we divide virgina, by its seven componential letters, making it 100% or whole, and then multiply each letter, by that received value, which is 14.28571428571429%, it will show us that a virgin, makes up 85.71428571428571% of that aforesaid virgina. I rest my case. I also don’t round off. I could have just said 14.3% and 85.7%; lol!

Let me just clear the air, about the diaper and bib thing. I sometimes use diapers. I never use bibs, and my mom doesn’t do what I said, about carrying me. If I say this, anywhere else in this book, I’ll be telling a fucking lie. I also tell untruths a lot!

Also pardon me if there are any typos and incorrect grammar, in this fucking book. I mean who gives a fuck? You know what I’m not apologizing for that shit; deal with it! Consider it a fucking literacy puzzle or some shit! If you know it is a typo just fucking move on, correcting the shit in your mind. I keep failing written English ok! You might just see a bracket for punctuation mark somewhere-well somewheres.  Maybe even a slash for a foolstop cuz I’m so stupid you know/ Words might be stuck together, I don’t know. I only wrote this once ok! Mom said I numbered the page with my acknowledgements, and then she started crying. I don’t know why. An editor came by the house but his cologne reminded of me dog shit.

“If that’s how these editor people stink-for the last time mom; I’m publishing my book AS FUCKING IS!” I roared, after the stupid editor came by in a wooden suit, polishing his big wood-sorry I mean word-sorry words.

“It not his fault honey; he stepped in a mess while coming here and he didn’t notice!” Mom retaliated.

“Well fuck that!” I scolded.

So the story continues.

Ok-I tried Viagra twelve times, but that didn’t move me a bit. I don’t know) if fun time with my neighbor’s Chihuahua; Noodle makes me-not a virgina, but for now, I’m a virgina/

The first time I saw porn, was at a friend’s house and I cried, because the girl looked like, she was in serious pain. I don’t know why but everyone laughed?

One day, my ugliest aunt Gretchen was in the shower, and I didn’t know? Let’s just saaaaaaaaay (sic), that was the closest, I ever came to a pussy, apart from myself, in my life. Also the closest I ever came to dying-when she chased me with a broom, a kettle of steaming hot green tea and a garden hose, for half an hour! She suffered a mild heart attack, because of the excitement! It was the closest she ever got to dying herself, well-until she died a month later! I guess she was closer to dying then.

The strangest thing to ever happen to me, before I was twelve and a few months after, I made white shirts saying; “Say Fuck No To Fat People!” and pink vests saying; “Say Fuck Off To White Bread, Family Reunions And Pink.” They were different vests obviously. I also had one shirt that a baby could use saying “I can’t stand the smell of old people!” The strangest thing to happen to me, hmmmm-I applied for membership in this gruoop, called the MBlack Time Patriots!

To pronounce it, one must first make the sound, of the first letter “M” then say, “Black”. I never understood the necessity for the “M”, until I asked. In essence, it was silent because it had no meaning, but its sound still had to be pronounced! When I asked about it, I was informed. It was because, during the meditative process, of arriving at a name for the clan, one member; Chad, was reluctant in giving his answer, so he said “MmmBlack” when he was asked for an idea. He was most influential, so the name was adopted just like that?

I swear originally, I thought they called themselves that name, because they only came out at night! Not nights, just one night, then go back into hiding= I wanted to only come out, one night too! I was going to run away from home= There was too much happening in the day to me! It turned out, it was a Negro group! Yes, that’s right; a Negro group, meeting on specific days-latter discussed, at 11:37 only!

 If any member was a second late) or early; the meeting would be viciously and arrogantly, called off by the chancellor, after the tardiness or earliness, had stirred up much conflict, inclusive of fighting, insulting, and there was a brutal stabbing murder, one time.

Well of course, no one squealed to police+ We said, we found him there, lying in a pool of his own blood, knowing full well, we had killed him! I got accepted, as yellow as I was, and even though I was so white, they called me “nigger.” I didn’t know what to do/

Now you might say I’m racist, but no I’m not. As a matter of fact, I killed a black rat just yesterday, because I thought, and still think of it as racist. My reason is because it did not come near the yellow cheese in the trap. Obviously that was it discriminating against the yellow cheese, because of the cheese’s lighter complexion. I made a voodoo doll of the damn rat, and killed it with pins. That fucking racist fur ball of goo!

Back to the MBlack; can you imagine that I grew to become leader, of this MBlack group? No kidding! What did this group do? A set of men of age thirty to thirty-four and six days one hour fifteen minutes and forty one second; they just sat around. They just sat around, an old metal, off green desk, showing much of its rust, and talked about stamp collecting for thirty-seven seconds, every Monday, Wednesday and Sunday, then closed, and everyone went their separate ways” I guess because, there wasn’t much to say, about stamp collecting! The most that anyone ever had a chance to say was,

“Stamp collecting is.” After that exact statement or words to that effect, the timer, which was a plastic human ass alarm, making loud fart sounds, would go off.

Prior to that, greetings would be given, with supporting handshakes, which took some time. Also, they asked about the wellbeing of each other. And they spoke very quickly also, as if to beat the clock. Fuck! Frustrating! I put them to work, to actually collect stamps-and old coins lying on the street.

After four months, they had collected three thousand dollars, in coins; collectively of course. I took that money for me, because they said, they were not interested in money! One; Gregory, said the collecting, was his martial art or something.

I figured he probably had a black belt, in being gay! I figured that all of them were gay! Stamp collecting was never put first, they put questions about, the wellbeing of men first, then touched, rather fondled each other, with firm handshakes. I later found out, that masturbating while staring at beef burgers, made by a gay chef, Almus Cotton Tush, was Gregory’s real art, when a video was leaked onto the internet, of him masturbating using three burgers, and a picture of the chef as his porn, while he painted himself doing such, with the aid of a gigantic mirror. That was a huge racket, in every mouth in the city!

The poor guy then became religious, and based on some doctrine, relative to the committing of sin; figuring it had its own brain, he cut off the head of his penis, at church. He had suddenly become erect, when a nun sat really close to him! Fucker bled to death, in less than three minutes. He also had a very low blood count-if that counted for anything; I mean, a contributory factor, towards his quick death. But before all of that, I had put every fucking member right back to work!

So here I am, waking up from an old termite infested wooden frame; that was repaired and modified, so many times by my Dad, which smells like garlic and tastes like it too-from which I must unfold myself! I punctured it with my leg, not too long ago, and he has yet to repair that.

My dad has fears about vampires, coming to steal me at night, so he puts all this garlic, in my sleeping thing. He puts a chain with a padlock around it, and locks it when I go to sleep.

“The vampires still want you.”

He always argued through his jumbled yellow teeth, with broccoli and tomato residue, when I asked him to stop with the chain and crib thing. His breath would be so hot, that both mom and I would literally use sun block, when we were engaged in conversation with him! We used extra, if it was a heated conversation or argument!

“Mom I need to talk to dad, about getting me new tennis rackets.” I said to mom yesterday.

“Don’t forget your sun block honey.”She replied from the kitchen.

“Oh mom I’m all out.” I replied.

“Well speak to your father tomorrow. Don’t take the risk. Or stay at least thirty meters away. That last convo with him cost me the last of mine. I haven’t spoken near him since.” She cautioned and informed.

Dad-was a very big, crab like man, and he threatened to make a paper bag out of me, if I ever questioned his decisions again! This cradle thing was bad for my wellbeing.

 I remember the night of my bar mitzvah! I was so drunk, that everything to me was horizontal; my footsteps, my stare, well of course my stare is always horizontal, my parents-everything!

This horizontal effect caused me to do the barmiest thing ever! Get it-bar mitzvah-bar-miest thing ever! Hahaha, I entered the oven that night and slept there! I thought it was my crib, which I believed was horizontal! I don’t know, perhaps the alcohol was wearing off, but I still thought I was drunk! I don’t know how stupid that sounds! It was my first time consuming alcohol, and I was not supposed to do it. I was only thirteen years of age! That was its effect on me; a first time consumer, of a single glass of white wine!

Dad woke up and thought the chicken wanted to bake itself! That was his ridiculously continuous joke. I blame my parents! I am still under their control, so it is difficult for me. My parents still tuck me in at night, and I still think my sneakers are monsters! You know when the light goes out, and friendly objects in the room get creepy!

 My name is Nate Carver Panty shield! Okay, it’s not my real name, but-it’s something the kids at school gave me, when I found myself in a fight, and my back pack was ripped wide open!

A whole army, of my mom’s panty shields and granny panties; dirty and clean, fell to the ground! From that day, that was my name; Nate Carver Pantyshield. No one called me Nate or Nate the geek, or Nate the peep squeak, anymore. It was always Nate Carver Pantyshield. Even teachers called me by that name, some of them.

“Please come to the front, to solve this math equation Mr. Pantyshield. You have detention, Mr. Pantyshield! You need to stop, chewing this blue gum Mr. Pantyshield! You behave yourself Pantyshielded.” And other remarks like those>; Some could not get the name right; at times you see. The painful truth, my dad ridiculed me most; at home!

“Oh shut up you stupid, stupid, Pantyshield; for the last stupid time, black Friday is not a real dayF1 It’s a whole era of many evil days, squashed; squashed I tell you, into a twenty-four-hour-period. You know that NateF2 Oh my bad, my new year’s resolution is, to always address you by your real name; that is Nathan Carver Pantyshield, Hahahahah!”

Dad always had theories about certain things, not being what society had accepted them asF3 He would incorporate, so many arguments, to make the shit believable.

About ridiculing me, my mom asked him to stop many times, but he didn’t listen. He said I was his boy, and he could call me whatever he wantedF4 Yeah, crazy; I know right?

The Pantyshield thing; it was because of a prank, that my dad himself played on meF5 Not anyone else-not the school bullies, Ray, Marcus or Merciless Tom-but my own father! He was addicted, to demonstrating fucking practical jokes! Addicted! He once lit my mom on fire, as soon as she walked through the door, from work and put the flame out in four seconds, as soon as she started screamingF6 He filmed it, and watched it for six months without stopping! He sent it to a funny show on television, and won a prize, of twenty thousand dollars. My mom was upset. She threatened to divorce him, but he was able to change her mind, because he used the cash, to make the final payment, on our mortgage!

He was sickF12 He needed help! His addiction, made him very serious, about jokes-as weird as that sounds.

He lost his left eye to a practical joke; he played on himself, one Christmas Eve! He stood in the mirror, like the asshole that he is, daring himself to stay still, while he stabbed his own eye! You should have seen what happenedF13 (wait there’s no F13 on the board.) So yeah, he is very serious about jokes and comedy.

Serious about jokes-serious about jokes! Hahahahahahahah! Okay-okay that’s not-funny; ennnemmm!

My real name is Nathan Carver Panwinfrield. But everybody calls me-well you know; Nate the Pantyshield or sometimes, happening more than seldom these days-The Almighty Pantyshield. They’ve been calling me that so much, I sometimes give that name as my name, when asked by people; like at the store the other day. I went for a block of cheddar cheese, for my mom; “You know not the one with the black and white cow on the package, but the one with the brown Nathan.”

The machine was down, and the Chinese lady asked,

“What name for your receipt sir?”

My response;

“That would be Mr. Nate Carver Pantyshield.”

“Spell please,” she voiced and I went right ahead to spell, the name I had given her.

“Ok miss-that’s P-A-N-T-Y-S-H-I-E-L-D- Pantyshield.”

“Shelled as in tortoise?” She asked.

“No shield-as in protection in times of war-fighting,” I said.

Even I shocked myself. When I tried to correct it, the Chinese lady; so quick, like her fingers knew kungfu, had already given me a receipt, and was attending to another customer!

Everyone in the store was dying with laughter. Having a poisoned tea party on my pain! I thought some actually died; as in the case of an old lady, who collapsed with an obscene thud, holding her sides, as her wig fell off. She then had an extreme convulsion. That made me worry about a coroner’s inquest, and a trial on indictment for murder, or involuntary manslaughter-multiple counts! I mean, I was the one, who had given the fatal joke!

Aside from that; I have a best friend. His name is Walter. A short fat freckled fellow, with a head so meaty, that a bowling ball could fall on it, and it would bounce right back, to where in the fuck it came from, without him noticing! Walter is a real geek, not a fake, not a mixed geek or a part geek, but a real, bona fide geek. Like my dad he is an addict. He is addicted to pain killers, black pepper, and salt! His parents don’t know about it yet. Or maybe they do, and they don’t really care. Who knows? He takes pain killers in advance, because the three bullies beat him at school, as soon as he enters the compound.

On three occasions I visited his house, and his mom said to me, he was on his period; of course, I hoped that was not true! Her exact words were,

“Walter is straightening out some men.” I pieced that to mean, he was menstruating. I couldn’t know what this friend of mine was-or had for his genitals; a long or a flat! It wasn’t my business. The one strange thing was, whenever we used the toilet together, he would go to the bowl and sit, while I used the urinal standing up. I only heard piss, so it could not have been number two. Unless his back was his front and his front was his back. Or his solids were liquids, and vice versa; but what about his gases? I don’t know, maybe that was his preference!

Something else though; when things go bad, people say;

 “My God!” you know, to show fear or disappointment, but in his case he said “My cunt!”

Sometimes he would use adjectives before cunt. Per instance, on rainy days, he would put the word rainy before it, or goosebumpt, or cold or shivering. On sunny days, he would say; hot or sweaty. Piece this shit together, and see what the result is. I’m done with this Walter-cunt, or dick thing.

But to be honest, there was nothing to say, he had what you think he had! Many men don’t like the idea, of using the urinal with other men, beside them! In my case I only use it, when there is enough distance, between me and the other male, or males in the room. In Walter’s case, it would usually be just the two of us, and a room of about twelve pots to piss. I don’t know; he was his mom’s only child, and I guess he wanted a girl!

She hated him as a boy, but loved him as a girl. She scorned anything manly he did. If he cut the grass, or if he helped his dad paint, or if he was caught exercising, or riding his bike, she would be upset!

His favorite color is pink. Mine is sea blue. I think Walter was made to like pink, by his mom. Considering how she always cleans and does laundry; I say, Walter’s mom brainwashed him! She probably had nothing else to wash! Maybe with bleach; that’s why, he has these stains on his face; he calls freckles. He was of the complexion of the “freckles” before. The freckles, are the parts of his skin, the bleach did not cover properly! If that’s the case, Walter had a very ugly complexion!

Before the Pantyshield incident, they called us Sea blue and Pink. We’re not gay-if-if-if anyone is wondering, or asking. Maybe he’s gay; I mean Walter, but not me…I’m not gay. I’m mostly a very sad person.

Let me take you, back to my days of high school! Because this is a true story, of how I got in this crappy mess.

Chapter 2 –Rubber Head!

The yellow school bus farted on my clothes! I became furious. I stunk! I was late! I missed it, as soon as I arrived by the roadside! I could see Walter, who lived a few blocks away, entering. I extended my hand, like a person falling from a building, to another at the top, to avoid dying, but the non-compassionate look, on each individual freckle, on Walters face, said; he did not give a rat’s fart, if I missed the bus!

He did not bother to ask the drive

I Kiril Pelham Didier am a twenty six year old writer born on 12th May 1990 in the Caribbean island of Saint Lucia. My writing is unique and sharp in content. This represents my first audacious mainstream publication of a perverted comedy orient. My other titles will be published subsequently.

The intention of this book is to simply bring something deep and perhaps new to the ever evolving world of literature.

This book is basically a fictional biography of a young man who does not care much for the rules of written English, in giving such biography. In some instances he misuses punctuation marks and doesn’t care much for proof reading. This mechanism was adopted to remain synchronized with the other traits of the chief character.