Who Wrote Melvin Snix?

If you really want to know about me, I might as well go through all of that crap about my childhood and stuff and suchus.  Well, I don’t really feel like going through all that, as a matter of fact.

Please allow me to introduce myself.  My name is James Kenneth Lurg.  That name just sounds so fake though.  That’s why I usually go by Jimmy.  This is my story.

My story begins at Morrissey High School in San Francisco, my hometown.  It was in the middle of eleventh grade, if I’m correct.  It was the students’ lunch break.  The next class I had was my favorite, Mr. Lemke’s chemistry class.  Mr. Lemke was an excellent teacher.  As I was eating the tuna sandwich I made the night before, a tall shadow approached me.  The shadow belonged to the guy that was my worst enemy, Wayne Jid.  Wayne was the class president, and probably the most popular guy in the school.  His dark hair and dark blue eyes were considered handsome by virtually everybody.  He was also one of the only fifteen Jewish kids in the school.  He started cracking up when he saw me.

“Hey Jimmy!  Guess who I scored last night?” snickered Wayne.  He was grinning.  Wayne had a reputation for his many one-night stands.

“I don’t really care,” I snapped at that bastard Wayne Jid.

“Wendy Myst,” he laughed at me, and left to join the other snobs.  I had liked Wendy Myst since sixth grade, and now practically everyone at the whole goddam school knew.

“Dammit,” I muttered angrily to myself.  I walked away in anger.

*                                       *                             *

Well, it wasn’t that much longer that I got my report card.  I was at home with my parents.  I also had two brothers, Johnny and Jerome.  Johnny had recently started a career as a second-rate actor in plays such as The Goldman Cometh.  Jerome was dead thanks to a terminal illness no one had ever seen before.  As my father looked down all the F’s on the report card, his face dropped.  I definitely had some trouble this semester.

“How the hell could you let me down?!” shouted my father.  “We do so much for you, and you just flunk every single fucking class?  Goddam shame on you, James Kenneth Lurg!”

I figured it was time to drop out of Morrissey High.  There was no other option.  Seven classes failed was a major letdown for my entire family.  Even my nine-year old sister Lucy was speechless when my mother told her about the unacceptable grades I had received.  The next day, my parents left to visit my overrated brother Johnny in Seattle, Washington.

I returned to Morrissey for one last day.  First, I talked to this kid Stewart Rogg, who was a major pain at school, but one of the only people to talk to.  He was this disgusting arrogant kid who didn’t really have any friends.  He had a bushy brown unibrow that matched his uncombed hair and foggy glasses he never cleaned.  And though you couldn’t really tell, he was part of one of the richest families in San Francisco.

“Well, I’ll be seein’ ya, Jimmy.  Too bad ya failed Lemke.”  He snorted rudely, and limped away, to flirt with some girls that hated him.  Jesus, what a bastard.  I couldn’t believe I considered him my friend.

I was going to talk to Wendy for the last time, but she was with Wayne.  I waited patiently for that knucklehead Wayne to leave.  Once he did, I said hello to Wendy.  She was wearing a purple skirt that looked nice with her brown hair.

“Wendy, I have something to say….” I began.

“Jimmy, I can’t love you.  I love Wayne.  He’s a great guy and you’re OK, don’t get me wrong, but you’ve gotta change.  You can’t go flunking all your classes.”

“I’ve already dropped out,” I explained.  “I talked to Principal Fisher today.”

This one dumbass jock by the name of McNommer passed, snickering at the fact that I was actually talking to Wendy.

“Please, Wendy, you’re the only thing I ever think about.  Come to your senses and be my lover.  I’m a nobody.  Without you, I’m a nobody.  With you, everyone would respect me.  But I guess it’s too late.  I love you, Wendy.  Even if you can’t, I still will forever.”  Wendy turned her back on me, and I went to my last class with Lemke.

“Lurg, it was a pleasurable time having you in class.  I’ll miss you!” said Lemke, weeping a bit.  A couple kids in class stared at me.

*                                       *                                       *

After the final bell rang and the student were dismissed, I walked home.  However, I made a stop into Dirk’s Diner, owned by some guy named Dirk Fishbaugh.  When I came inside, an attractive woman with long brown hair was sitting in the front.  She looked wealthy, and struck me as familiar, so I started talking to her.

“Excuse me, but…you look very familiar.  Do I know you?” I asked her.

“Oh!  You’re Jim Lurg, aren’t you?” she asked.  “My son Stewart talks about you all the time!”

“Stewart?  Last name?” I wondered, worried who that Stewart might be.

“Rogg.  I’m his mom, Rachel Rogg.  So, how’s school going?”
“I dropped out.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Mrs. Rogg sighed.  “The school life isn’t for everyone.”  She was very well-groomed in comparison to Stewart.  “By the way, how is Stewart in school?”

“Stewart?  He’s a cool guy, I like him, a bunch of kids like him.”

“That’s odd,” said Mrs. Rogg, “He’s always complaining about how everyone picks on him.

“Well, he’s liked, but he’s not well-liked,” I explained to her.  I went away, and got a table.  The waiter came up to me.  I knew this guy from school.  He had graduated last year, making him a couple years older than me.  His name was Randy Jabbo.  He was tall and gangly, with curly red hair.

“Do you go to Morrissey?” wondered Randy Jabbo, after I ordered a club sandwich and a Dr. Pepper.

“Yes,” I responded.  “I did.  I don’t get it.  I tried my hardest and all of my teachers flunked me.  And my sex life is awful.”

“Well, if you’ve been failing your classes, your sex life should be terrible.  School comes before everything else.  I was an honor student, and I’ve got a terrific girlfriend.”

“How come you’re a waiter, then?”

Jabbo chuckled.  “I’m currently at Stanford.  It’s so difficult at Stanford I couldn’t get  a better job.  Well, good luck in the real world!”  Jabbo left to give Rachel Rogg her lobster.

A few minutes later, Randy Jabbo returned with my Dr. Pepper.  “Here, sir,” he chuckled.  I drank it up in no time, and went to the dirty restroom in the front of Dirk’s Diner.

As I washed my hands, a drunken man I didn’t notice before staggered over towards me.  He was several years older than me, probably my brother Johnny’s age, but looked older than Johnny.  He had prematurely gray hair and only one eye, which was unnaturally yellow.

“Rastik’s the name,” hiccupped the drunk.  “I heard you say that your sex life was—hic—awful, am I right?  Well, here’s the deal.  Call 555-5555 for a good time.”  My brother had actually complained about this Rastik guy who went to school with him.

“Who the hell is that?” I wondered.

“Her name’s Julia Desmond.  Former nightclub singer,” Rastik snickered.

“OK, um, sure,” I said hesitantly, and called that number on a restroom pay phone.

“Hullo, who would this be?” snapped a rough manly voice.

“Um…hi, this is Arthur Hilko,” I stammered, using a favorite pseudonym of my brother’s.

“Arnold Hilgo, eh?  Look, I don’t have time for you right now.  Wait your turn.  There’s fifty other guys that came before ya, dammit!”  Julia Desmond hung up.

“You know, Rastik, I’ve already got a girl I love who’s not some crusty old whore.”

“Well, who—hic—is it then?” burped Rastik.

“Her name’s Wendy Myst.  She’s way out of my league though.”

“If you love her, why don’t you give her a buzz?”  But Rastik was ignorant to my emotions and I quickly left the restroom to return to my table.  I paid the bill to Randy Jabbo, who thanked me for something that I don’t think was the cash.

*                                       *                             *

I woke up early Saturday morning because I had had a bad dream about my deceased brother Jerome.  It was a somewhat odd dream, and the contents of the dream I cannot recall.  However, I remember that I also dreamed about a girl that I liked named Dawn Elmis who was in my theatre class my freshman year.  She had brown hair, which was darker than Wendy’s, and ruby lips that weren’t as great as Wendy’s, but still nice.

I decided to give Dawn a call.  She was a very smart girl.  I carefully dialed her number.

“Hello,” greeted a feminine Greek accent that belonged to Dawn’s mother.

“Hi, this is Jimmy Lurg.  Is Dawn there?”

“Yus, here she is.”

“Hi, Jimmy?” answered the calm, relaxed voice of Dawn Elmis.

“Hi Dawn.  I’m really bored, and I’m…wondering, do you wanna meet me at, say, Glen Park?”

“Sure, Jimmy!  Listen, Wendy told me about how you dropped out…I feel sorry that you have to go through all that.”

“Thanks!  Well, I’ll see you at Glen Park around noon!”  I hung up, happy that I finally had a date.  Dawn wasn’t extremely popular, but she had dated a couple guys before, Todd Casill and Seth Glep.  I wasn’t really friends with Todd or Seth, but they had also both been in theatre.

*                                       *                                       *

Glen Park was a pretty small park, so I had no problem finding Dawn.  She was sitting on a bench talking to one of her girlfriends, Shirley something.  She excitedly greeted me, and asked if we could see As You Like It at the Fergus Theatre.  I said that was fine, and we walked down the street to that particular theatre.

The Shakespeare play was boring and hard to understand.  Dawn was laughing heavily over the course of the play over jokes that seemed rather dull.  I pretended to be enjoying As You Like It at first, but then quit the funny business.  Dawn and I had a conversation about the play afterward, and then she knew I didn’t think much of Shakespeare.

“You know, Jimmy, I was expecting a guy who was more of a theatre buff.  Like that handsome senior whose family owns that pizzeria.”

“Handsome?  I thought you liked me!” I said, a tad angry.

“I thought I did too.  But, I guess you’re just not my type.  See you at school.  Wait, I forgot, you don’t go to school anymore.  Well, goodbye!”  She went out the door.

*                                       *                                       *

When I returned home, my little sister Lucy was there waiting for me there.

“Where were you last night?” I asked her.

“At a slumber party at Stephanie Serrano’s.  All my friends were there.”
“Oh, I forgot,” I said.  “How was that?”
“It was fine.  How come you dropped out of Morrissey?”
“Huh?  Well, I don’t need the education.”

“What’re you gonna become then?”

“I don’t know, Lucy, I don’t know.  I’d like to become a scientist, but I failed chemistry, which was my favorite class.  So, in short, I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you visit Mr. Lemke?  He said you were his favorite student, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, I should.  I have his address, and I’d feel welcome there.  Bye, Lucy!”  I walked away from my sister, and found Lemke’s dumpy apartment building on Irving Street.  I went up to the seventeenth floor, where he made his residence.  I knocked on his door.  The lean, gray-haired mousy man that was Mr. Lemke opened the door.

“Heyho, Jimmy!  What brings you here?”

“I’m just visiting, that’s all.”

“Okay, come on in!  Mr. Lemke let me inside.  A large woman was sitting on the couch.  She also had gray hair and was Lemke’s age.  She had to be Lemke’s wife.

“You know, Jimmy, you weren’t the only one who failed my class, believe it or not.  There was that sleepy sophomore Vincent Jumguts.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I wondered.

“You probably will never see Vincent Jumguts again, will you?”

“Well, no, but it’s a little private.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.  As I said before, Jimmy, the school life may be oriented towards all races, religions, and disabilities, but it really isn’t for everyone.  Our son…he dropped out.  Did I ever tell you that?”

“No,” I replied, “you never told me about your son.  How old is he?”
“He passed away when he was 18.  He wasn’t making very smart decisions.  It really was a tragedy.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Lemke,” I said to my favorite teacher.  I decided to watch the Archie Bunker show, which to me was a hilarious sitcom.  As I lay down on the chair and saw Archie Bunker quarrel with Meathead, I fell sound asleep.

“Wake up, Jimmy!” laughed a very familiar voice.  I did wake up, and saw a disturbing sight.  My trusted teacher, Mr. Lemke, was tickling my stomach!  I screamed, and started running out the door.

“What’s eating him, Mark?” droned Mrs. Lemke to her husband, but before I could hear my teacher’s response, I was already gone.

*                             *                             *

Lucy’s fourth grade class was taking a field trip to the San Francisco Bay Aquarium on Monday.  Since my parents would come home at 2:00 that day, I obviously came along to avoid my parents’ anger.

I visited the aquarium in the tour group before Lucy’s class.  A worn-out, mustachioed man led the way.  He looked somewhat stoned.

“This is our sea turtle.  We call him Meathook,” muttered the aquarium worker.  I stared at the sea turtle.  Something was rather odd about it.  There was a whole bunch of colorful graffiti sketched onto its green shell, but one spray-painted message stood out among the rest.  In huge, capital letters read “FUCK YOU.”  This poor turtle’s message was unacceptable.  Lucy would wonder what the blue blazes this meant, and some idiot kid would explain sex to her.

Lucy’s class, led by her nervous teacher, Ms. Johnson, walked towards the turtle.  Two nerdy-looking boys were laughing heavily and were engaged in a conversation.

“I can’t wait to see Meathook!” said one, happily.

“Yeah!  He’s such a cool turtle!” said the other.

“Neil, Morty, calm down,” Ms. Johnson squealed, as the two nerdy fourth graders rushed over towards Meathook’s tank.

“Don’t look at the turtle, kids!” I exclaimed to these poor bastards, but they took no notice of me.  Their eyes were glued to the sea turtle’s tank.

“Whoa!  He’s got graffiti all over him!”

“Yeah!  What does that word mean?”
I sighed and left these innocent children.

“Wait up!” shrieked Lucy, who started tagging along.  Eventually, she got sick of me and hurried back with her classmates.

As I slowly walked back home, a thick rain fell onto the ground.  While everyone was trying to escape from this rain, I refused to move.  I stayed on the intersection of Bryant and Bacon Streets, cars rushing past me in all directions.  Knowing there was nothing left for me to do, I started to cry.  Then, my tears grew, and grew, until I was bawling like a baby.  Then I collapsed onto the ground, in utter misery.

*                             *                             *

I opened my eyes, only to face…Johnny?  My brother’s face was sad and troubled.

“Johnny,” I murmured.  With him was another face.  It was one of Johnny’s friends, who was tall and thin, with thick glasses.  If I remember correctly, his name was Frank Ramut.  Frank’s face was sad, but not as sad as Johnny’s.

I looked around.  I was in a plain room with undecorated white walls, which was definitely an asylum.  A psychiatrist was also here, scribbling something down on a notepad.

“Dr. Gaz, is he okay?” wondered Johnny.  His hand touched my back, and I noticed that it was lacking a ring finger.

“Yes, but he is too insane to leave yet.  We’ll have to do some experiments and operations.  James Kenneth Lurg, we’re gonna make you a genius!” the psychiatrist remarked.

“Hoo jeez,” I muttered to myself.  I didn’t know what was to become of me.  I was starting to miss everyone I had known.  Even those scumbags, Wayne Jid and Stewart Rogg.  Hell, I missed the carefree days of my childhood, where I would go on adventures with my little brother Jerome.  If only I hadn’t dropped out…


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