Broken Birdie Chirpin Read Free Page B

toppled over a stack as I stretched for it. To the devil's delight,
they weren't all about footballers winning the big tournament. Brother had an
enormous collection of dirty magazines. I’d seen it all before of course, but
these lecherous periodicals reaffirmed the worst in me: This is what it was all
about. There weren't any pictures of gents drinking fizzies with these
scrubbers.
    I
smuggled brother's magazines across the hall inside my strides and spent
Saturday night pouring over each page. My dreams were like kaleidoscopes filled
with images of swirling blouse bunnies and panty hamsters. Church was no better
on Sunday as a battle for my soul raged in the pew. Becky was the angel sitting
atop my left shoulder. Penelope Paddock, the slag of the month in Naughty
Nympho's October edition, was the devil on my right.
    Paddock
looked cracking. Platinum blonde hair. Sparkling blue eyes. Two mountain-sized
gumdrops for norks, and a smile that said "This fanny's all yours,
boss." I had to concentrate on Father Buckminster's sermon to keep from
getting a bloody stonker. Advantage to the antichrist.
    The
magazines were returned to their secret location just before brother returned
from his jock retreat. I’d considered holding them for ransom or else setting
them on fire in the bathtub, but brother’s vengeful wrath would’ve been
extraordinary. No matter. My thoughts returned exclusively to Becky and our
upcoming event. The warm feelings that’d been percolating in my guts were being
driven down by anxiety. Regrettably, I knew this had nothing to do with Becky
and everything to do with me being a plonker, but I still wanted to sack it.
    Monday
morning came too quickly. Sister Stubbles lectured on the Glorious Revolution
while I fought to suppress a violent coup d'état led by my social inadequacies.
Anxiety had transformed into anger. The anger made me irritable. There was no
acceptable release. No respite. The hands of the clock were spinning faster
than ever. Countless scenarios played out in my bonce as I thrutched about my
seat. Some were much worse than others.
     I
could’ve pissed around during afternoon mathematics to get Sister Muggins
narked. She'd fancy the chance to send me off to detention for a few hours. But
Headmaster Moobs was certain to find out, and he'd telephone mum and dad on
account of my notorious past. Dad would be cheesed off and brother would use it
as an excuse to hurt me.
    Feigning
a seizure during late afternoon literature seemed slightly more desirable.
Nurse Wankshaft would have to follow the utmost precautions to ensure my
well-being. Sympathy would replace retribution because everyone loved a victim.
Unless of course everyone knew it was a scam.
    Standing
Becky up seemed like a rather sensible approach. She wasn't nearly as dishy as
the tarts in brother's magazines, and it’d probably be decades before she could
even attempt some of Paddock's maneuvers. Plus, the other birds would be even
more desirous when word of my cruelty spread. Hundreds of similar impulses
snapped inside my bonce leaving me constantly on edge. Math passed without
incident, however. Literature too. My lower appendages felt completely numb as
the final school bell rang. Was I going to be a person for a change or continue
being a mysterious fanny fart?
    It
was fight or flight as a nearly imperceptible signal shot from brain to limbs.
My legs began shuffling ever so deliberately. The faces and scenery in the hall
floated by as if they were static. The enormous double-doors seemed to swing
open on their own, beckoning me to Hades. I suddenly perceived the crossroads
before me in the schoolyard. One path led homeward. The other to Becky. A
defining moment stood before me and I didn't break stride. A decision had been
made, but I felt disconnected and miles away. My pace quickened. My chest
pounded. My palms sweated. The time for reflection had passed. The dice had
been rolled.
    Becky's
smile was as wide as the chink in my