Boys and their Toys

 

My friend James is talking about Airsoft, this new thing he’s crazy for. Twice a month, he dresses up in military gear with a bunch of other guys he met on the Airsoft network in the internet, and they go play war games in abandoned warehouses and closed down schools. They shoot each other with plastic pellets propelled by the sheer force of hot air they pump their guns with.

 

This, apparently, makes James a man.

 

I am tempted to tell James about my uncle; he actually went to a real war. My uncle never wanted to be in any war, but that’s how things are when your parents can’t afford to send you to college. My uncle never played Airsoft to be a man, and unlike James, he actually got shot by a real bullet. I’m pretty sure my uncle and the enemy who shot him between his eyes never met each other before on the internet, and if that man who shot my uncle is still alive now, he must have had spent some sleepless nights dreaming of my uncle, and of the moment when it was either him or my uncle, and he had no choice but to pull the trigger. He probably wouldn’t be playing war games with James too.

 

My uncle went home from the war in a box. He was buried in a casket previously used by a rich Chinese businessman who had his remains cremated, and thus, no longer had any use for the casket my uncle was eventually buried in.

 

James is asking me to join him next week. “Be a man,” he tells me. “Play with the big boys.”

 

I smile. I want to tell James how sorry I am that I am not man enough to tell him how I wish he and his friends who play war games with their toy guns get drafted into a real war, a war they do not believe in, a dance of war drums pounding louder than their tell-tale hearts.

 

War is no game. But you don’t know this, James, until the word “casualty” is used to describe you, but then, by then it would be too late.

 

War is no game. But you won’t know this, James, until those you left behind are left to fend for themselves while the enemy troops march nearer.

 

War is no game, James. And you’ll never know this, because your mother was never raped in front of you, and you never had your mouth wrapped around the barrel of a real gun.

 

War is no game. But by the way you post your photos clad in Airsoft gear in your Facebook tells me you don’t know this, James, and the depth of your understanding of the implications of war is limited by the megapixels on your digital camera.

 

But if you really want to be a man, James, then your country needs you. There are rebel forces in the jungle who want progress for the nation in the form of cold, hard cash delivered in unmarked bills, and a man of your courage, a man of your bravery, a man of your military skills, is who we need to fight this war.

 

So, tell me, James, what are you doing next Saturday?
Angelo for President

 

Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed colleagues,  and Kindergarten class Banana, under Teacher Cathy Salvation.

 

I stand before you today, not as the father of one of your dear classmates, but as a grown-up who actually cares for your future.

 

I am here to talk to you about the major decision you all are about to make come class election time next week.

 

My son, Angelo, as you all know, is running for president. You may know Angelo by the various nicknames you’ve given him, among them Jell-O, Angel, Buttsmell, and (checks cue cards) Brownie Bear Cunteaterface. (frowns).  In our home, we only call him ‘Boy 2’. Boy 1, his older brother, ran away a few years ago, and perhaps, fathered one of you. I wouldn’t put it pass my son, Boy 1, to spawn a kid without asking our permission, and some of you here have that bastard look going. I’m looking at you, Billy.

 

Speaking of Billy, the other candidate running for president, let me share with you some FACTS you should know about your classmate.

 

Billy is NOT his real name. Yes. Shocking, isn’t it? His real name is William Barreto. But that is not the biggest of the lies he has told you. That is just the beginning of the carefully orchestrated deception, a web of lies upon lies upon lies that this William has so cleverly spun around himself in order to assume power in this class.

 

William tells you that he has a family, when in fact, he has none. William is being raised by two women  living together as man and wife. Their source of income is the housekeeping agency they operate under the name Carpet Cleaners, Inc. However, William’s mothers are also known for their performance poetry group called “Wagging Tongues”.  In my investigation, I saw them perform in a bar, and what I saw was subversive, pornographic, and as offensively vulgar as the sound of cymbals clashing at two in the morning.

 

It is no wonder then that William Barretto is running for president under the banner of “Freedom of Expression”. Ha!

 

William tells you that as president, he will push for the immediate substitution of “Dancing Time” for what you are all enjoying now as “nap time”. This is obviously to engage everyone into the lewd, and immoral act of dancing. Why would anyone prefer to exhaust one’s self out with dancing, when one can enjoy a quiet moment to take a well deserved rest? Perhaps, William is influenced by the labor practices that his mothers have in their carpet cleaning business.

 

William is also suggesting that instead of milk and cookies, your class will bring any food they best fancy, and share it with everyone in what he has branded as “Pot Luck Time”. You may all be too young to remember, but during my time, sharing pot was illegal. This is no doubt the influence of his mothers who , being hippies, are themselves under the influence of pot. I wouldn’t take any brownies from William if I were you. God knows what may be in them.

 

William also wants the right for everyone to come to school in costume. Not only is he proposing to trivialize the tradition of trick-or-treat, but he is also encouraging everyone to dress up as whores, and Japanese cartoon characters. Maybe, even as Japanese animated whores.  What nonsense is this?

 

I bring your attention now to an incident that happened not far back. Painful as it may be for most of you, I must remind you now of how some boys from Kindergarten class Apple came to your own classroom and water bombed your class hamster.

 

Your very own classroom is no longer safe!

 

And what is Billy doing about it?

 

MY BOY! Will enforce a program to protect the freedom you are all enjoying now! This program shall be called “Homeroom Security”!

 

First, because Kindergarten class Apple attacked you, we will retaliate by freeing the people of Kindergarten class Orange. It’s logical, innit? What with Apples being Oranges, and Oranges being Apples!

 

And when the Oranges are free of their dictator, we will begin a period of transition wherein we welcome them through our golden arches. For when they don’t have bread to eat, we’ll let them eat the M Burger.

 

My Boy! Will lead to glory!!!! My boy will protect your freedom like a condom!!!

 

In order to achieve this goal, this dream, we will need your cooperation! Every one of you shall be made to create a Facebook, where you will provide your name, place of residence, and interests. My Boy will be on the lookout for any interests you may have which may potentially be a threat to Homeroom Security. In this manner, we will be reassured that Kindergarten class Banana shall remain free!

 

I ask you now, kids, and beg that you let me into your young, tiny minds. Vote for my son Angelo this election, and vote to protect your freedom. The choice is clear, and you can’t vote any other way!

 

Thank you.