Stephen Lewis, revisited
Larry,
Old chum. Please do not give me crap about how long it's been. I know. I've been in a funk. What kind of funk, you ask? I'm not sure. If I could properly pinpoint the source of the funk, then I would know precisely how to get out of said funk. Having said that, I'm at an impasse...and rambling apparently. I did have some things to tell you about, the first of which will require some backstory regarding my high schools days at White Station HS.
I believe that it was my senior year, which would have been 1993 if memory serves. Stephen B. Lewis and I had 6 classes together that year so we were pretty much inseparable. We devised games to play to keep us amused and entertained throughout the day. One such game was called (I believe) the T-Shirt game. The rules of the game were simple; you see someone walking down the hall wearing a T-Shirt and without making eye contact, you semi-shout whatever it is on their T-Shirt. For example, if we'd happen to see an underclassman walking down the hall wearing a Hard Rock t-shirt, we'd say, just slightly above the din, "Hard Rock, New Orleans". We wouldn't stop to converse, we wouldn't look at them. We'd just keep walking to our class, enjoying the havoc that we had just wreacked. In one instant, we'd made someone self-conscious. Often, the kids would look around, befuddled and searching for answers. Stephen and I though, we had no answers. Only smirks and chortles for those that chose to wear t-shirts without giving some thought to the consequences of their actions.
I believe that it was my senior year, which would have been 1993 if memory serves. Stephen B. Lewis and I had 6 classes together that year so we were pretty much inseparable. We devised games to play to keep us amused and entertained throughout the day. One such game was called (I believe) the T-Shirt game. The rules of the game were simple; you see someone walking down the hall wearing a T-Shirt and without making eye contact, you semi-shout whatever it is on their T-Shirt. For example, if we'd happen to see an underclassman walking down the hall wearing a Hard Rock t-shirt, we'd say, just slightly above the din, "Hard Rock, New Orleans". We wouldn't stop to converse, we wouldn't look at them. We'd just keep walking to our class, enjoying the havoc that we had just wreacked. In one instant, we'd made someone self-conscious. Often, the kids would look around, befuddled and searching for answers. Stephen and I though, we had no answers. Only smirks and chortles for those that chose to wear t-shirts without giving some thought to the consequences of their actions.
Another game that we liked to play...I'm not sure if we had a name for this one. But it involved, writing dirty words down, then writing them backwards, and then shouting out the word in reverse. In class. It was hilarious. Let me give you an example. A teacher would leave class momentarily to take a bathroom break or catch a smoke in the lounge and Stephen or myself would commence to playing the Saying Things Backwards Really Loudly Game. So, we'd say things like "Sinep" or "Mutorcs". That's entertainment. We were 18. Looking back, it's more than a little sad.
Anyway, this is the point of the story: I owed a buddy (let's call him Sequoia for the sake of anonymity) some money for our fantasy football league and because I don't see him all that often, I had to mail him the check. In the bottom left-hand corner where there's a spot for a memo, I wrote LLAB CAS. That's ball sac if you aren't the skilled reverse-reader that I am. Good stuff.
Talk to you soon,
Paul
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