I, in no shape or form, own any part of Newsies. It all belongs to Disney.
This story is merely something that came to me while reading numerous
other modern day Newsies stories. I hope you all enjoy it.
Friday I'm in Love
It all started the day I beat up Crutchy, this really skinny wanna-be- gimp who lives down the block. Now, this Crutchy kid wasn't really a bad guy. Nor did he really deserve to be beaten up. But what can I say? He's annoying.
I mean how many kids do you know pretend to be a gimp just to get attention? And he's not even a good gimp. He's constantly walking around on both feet as if he forgets he's supposed to be a gimp. And he must be pretty damn stupid to forget he's supposed to be a gimp considering he's holding a crutch in his right hand at all times. But what can I say? The kid is really really annoying.
I mean, sure, Crutchy seems pretty sweet at first. And he is, really kind and considerate and all that jazz. Not that it really matters, once he starts walking you want to groan.
Honestly, if he just ditched the crutch he'd have about twice as many friends. Well, maybe not. But I wouldn't have beaten him up if it weren't for the damn crutch. Oh, and the fact that he was so skinny.
I'm prejudice against small, skinny people. They make me want to cry. Seriously, whenever I see someone really small and my age I just want to get down on my knees and cry. Do they honestly have a good reason for being such an easy target for EVERYONE to pick on? No. So gain some damn weight and stop-playing victims already. And I know every small person plays victim. They walk around and whenever someone lightly taps them they scream bloody murder claiming that they were threatened with bodily harm.
Okay, so maybe I didn't really have a good reason for beating up Crutchy. But what can I say? He was annoying me.
I don't remember exactly what had happened, but he was practically running, while trying to limp, toward me. Apparently he wanted to walk home with me. Our mothers have been friends our entire lives. It happens when you live on the same street forever. So, since our mothers are friends, Crutchy always makes the assumption that we're friends too. But we're NOT.
Anyways, as we were walking he began to talk and talk in the incredibly high, nasal voice most short people fake so they appear more innocent and when I asked him to shut up, he didn't.
So I jumped him.
Once I made sure he wasn't going to follow me and try talking again, I got up and walked home.
It wasn't until dinner that night when Crutchy's mom called our house to tell my parents what I had done to her "poor innocent son."
Needless to say, my mom was pretty peeved that I had beaten up her best friend's kid. She stood looming over me with a dirty glare on her face. "Jack, I cannot believe you! How dare you do that to that poor boy!"
I tried to explain to her that he was annoying. I tried to tell her that he wouldn't shut up. But she wouldn't listen.
Two days later I found myself sitting in the waiting room of this old, smelly psychiatrist's office. It was torture just sitting in the waiting room. It smelled of old ladies and crazy people. And, yes, I know you know what that smell's like. You're just trying to act like you're too polite to admit it.
However, the real torture didn't even begin until the psychiatrist called me in. She was a small lady and right off the bat that annoyed me. How come I always found myself surrounded by small people? That pissed me off.
She was also rude, pushy, nosy, and way too old to understand a 17-year- old's problems.
After about 2 hours of annoying questions, she called my mom in and kicked me out. A few moments later, my mom came out with tears in her eyes. She ran toward me and hugged me right in front of the entire waiting room.
"It's okay, sweetie," She had said softly. "We're going to make sure you get better."
She conveniently forgot that there was nothing for me to get better from except that I was stuck in this smelly lady's office for the only good hours of my Saturday afternoon.
I was so pissed off that day I didn't even bother to ask what treatment was required in order for me to "get better."
Maybe if I were thinking, I would have. Or maybe if I could see the future, I would have protested.
TBA
Okay, okay, I'll admit it. At the moment, this seems very vague. It may seem sort of rushed too. But it's a prologue, isn't it supposed to be? Hmm, I should look that up someday. Well, I intended it to be that way and I promise the next chapter will clear everything up!
Oh oh oh! I am really sorry I beat Crutchy up. I do love that guy and I do feel he doesn't get enough fans these days. but. he's so easy to pick on. Poor kid.
R&R! Please? I beg you?
Friday I'm in Love
It all started the day I beat up Crutchy, this really skinny wanna-be- gimp who lives down the block. Now, this Crutchy kid wasn't really a bad guy. Nor did he really deserve to be beaten up. But what can I say? He's annoying.
I mean how many kids do you know pretend to be a gimp just to get attention? And he's not even a good gimp. He's constantly walking around on both feet as if he forgets he's supposed to be a gimp. And he must be pretty damn stupid to forget he's supposed to be a gimp considering he's holding a crutch in his right hand at all times. But what can I say? The kid is really really annoying.
I mean, sure, Crutchy seems pretty sweet at first. And he is, really kind and considerate and all that jazz. Not that it really matters, once he starts walking you want to groan.
Honestly, if he just ditched the crutch he'd have about twice as many friends. Well, maybe not. But I wouldn't have beaten him up if it weren't for the damn crutch. Oh, and the fact that he was so skinny.
I'm prejudice against small, skinny people. They make me want to cry. Seriously, whenever I see someone really small and my age I just want to get down on my knees and cry. Do they honestly have a good reason for being such an easy target for EVERYONE to pick on? No. So gain some damn weight and stop-playing victims already. And I know every small person plays victim. They walk around and whenever someone lightly taps them they scream bloody murder claiming that they were threatened with bodily harm.
Okay, so maybe I didn't really have a good reason for beating up Crutchy. But what can I say? He was annoying me.
I don't remember exactly what had happened, but he was practically running, while trying to limp, toward me. Apparently he wanted to walk home with me. Our mothers have been friends our entire lives. It happens when you live on the same street forever. So, since our mothers are friends, Crutchy always makes the assumption that we're friends too. But we're NOT.
Anyways, as we were walking he began to talk and talk in the incredibly high, nasal voice most short people fake so they appear more innocent and when I asked him to shut up, he didn't.
So I jumped him.
Once I made sure he wasn't going to follow me and try talking again, I got up and walked home.
It wasn't until dinner that night when Crutchy's mom called our house to tell my parents what I had done to her "poor innocent son."
Needless to say, my mom was pretty peeved that I had beaten up her best friend's kid. She stood looming over me with a dirty glare on her face. "Jack, I cannot believe you! How dare you do that to that poor boy!"
I tried to explain to her that he was annoying. I tried to tell her that he wouldn't shut up. But she wouldn't listen.
Two days later I found myself sitting in the waiting room of this old, smelly psychiatrist's office. It was torture just sitting in the waiting room. It smelled of old ladies and crazy people. And, yes, I know you know what that smell's like. You're just trying to act like you're too polite to admit it.
However, the real torture didn't even begin until the psychiatrist called me in. She was a small lady and right off the bat that annoyed me. How come I always found myself surrounded by small people? That pissed me off.
She was also rude, pushy, nosy, and way too old to understand a 17-year- old's problems.
After about 2 hours of annoying questions, she called my mom in and kicked me out. A few moments later, my mom came out with tears in her eyes. She ran toward me and hugged me right in front of the entire waiting room.
"It's okay, sweetie," She had said softly. "We're going to make sure you get better."
She conveniently forgot that there was nothing for me to get better from except that I was stuck in this smelly lady's office for the only good hours of my Saturday afternoon.
I was so pissed off that day I didn't even bother to ask what treatment was required in order for me to "get better."
Maybe if I were thinking, I would have. Or maybe if I could see the future, I would have protested.
TBA
Okay, okay, I'll admit it. At the moment, this seems very vague. It may seem sort of rushed too. But it's a prologue, isn't it supposed to be? Hmm, I should look that up someday. Well, I intended it to be that way and I promise the next chapter will clear everything up!
Oh oh oh! I am really sorry I beat Crutchy up. I do love that guy and I do feel he doesn't get enough fans these days. but. he's so easy to pick on. Poor kid.
R&R! Please? I beg you?