The Little Punk Piece of Shit

November 10, 1999

Dear mr. Shelldon

I am sorry for

making faces on in

science class and

when you sent me

out the door I

I made faces trew the

window. I will try

not to do it again.

from Sam Spinelli

Me, when I was 9

Vocal's running a challenge that asks us to steal a line from our own writing-- something we wrote years ago.

Well, here's one of my earliest writings-- you can see the picture of the original, handwritten piece: a letter which I wrote to my fourth (or maybe fifth?) grade teacher.

Below the image, you'll find the contents transcribed to a more legible format-- the line in bold is significant.

I literally don't remember who mr. Shelldon even is.

I cannot conjure up a face.

I remember Mr. Seger, from 2nd Grade-- Houghton from 3rd, and Mrs Smithgall from either fourth or fifth. I remember what they looked like. I remember their personalities-- and some of the projects I worked on in each of their class rooms. I even remember the gym teacher-- Mr. Shilstraw and the principal-- Mr. Lazenby.

Hell, I remember my bus driver, an angry guy named Don.

But Shelldon?

Who the fuck is he?

A missing face, from a missing year.

A NOBODY.

If I had to guess, I'd say his real name might actually be Mr. Sheldon. But the only source of information I have about the man is the letter I wrote him, and here's the trouble: that letter is unreliable.

Not only is it rife with writing and spelling errors ('trew the window'? What kinda dumbshit is that?), it's also clearly insincere-- my apology was obviously a few steps beyond irony and really an example of outright sarcasm.

But sarcasm is tough to communicate in print (or cursive, as it were).

And I realize my message was never properly received!

Having caried a deep personal shame since the year of 1999, I suppose it's time I finally come clean.

So I'm writing Mr. Shelldon a new letter! And the line I'm stealing from myself is "I am sorry for".

Dear Mr Shelldon

I am sorry for...

NOTHING!

Haha sucker! You thought after all these years of animosity and contempt I'd actually grace you with a confession?

No!

I obviously wasn't sorry then, Shelldon, you fool-- and I'm not sorry now!

I am not sorry for making faces in the science class, in fact I WISH I could make faces on the science class too!

You know damn well I wasn't sorry, because when you sent me out the door I made even more faces.

And no, I'm not sorry I made faces trew the window.

But I am deeply embarrassed for whatever teacher FAILED to teach me how to spell through!

If that was you, then you should be ashamed of yourself. If it was one of your friends, they should be ashamed of themselves for being friends with you.

I'm also deeply, deeply embarrassed for the teacher who got so triggered by a little snot-nosed kid making faces that he had to banish him to the hallway-- and I'm even more embarrassed for the teacher who got so triggered by a little snot-nosed kid making faces through the window that he had to go and demand a written apology!

You again, right?

Seems like you're a pitiful, fragile little mess on all counts!

I am NOT sorry for:

Hurting your feelings.

I am NOT sorry for:

Telling it like it is.

I am NOT sorry for:

Not remembering a damn thing about you.

I am NOT sorry for:

Rage-baiting a cry-hard back in 1999!

But I am sorry for:

YOU!

Yeah you, you sniveling little crybaby!

And you know what, Shelldon?

In my bogus letter I told you I'd try not to do it again.

Did you buy that?

Haha, idiot!

Knowing me, I'm certain I kept making faces every time your back was turned!

I probably stuck out my tongue, or pressed my fingers up my nose or rolled my eyes back into my skull or flared my nostrils just to spite you, you gutless worm!

And I bet some of my fellows-- my classmates-- witnessed these insults! So you go ahead and carry that shame for the rest of your worthless life.

If I knew where you lived I'd knock on your door and make faces at you again.

I hope this threat seeps into your meager little brain and haunts your every waking moment! I hope the fear of having me make faces at you makes you sleep with a light on!

Coward! I hope you flinch every time you see a shadow out of the corner of your eye-- never knowing whether that could be me, lurking-- waiting-- biding my time, ready for the first chance to make another face at you!

And you know what else?

If I ever see you again and happen to remember who you even were I will also extend my thumb and index finger and then hold my right hand up towards you. You wanna know why?

Because you're a stinky Loser and an obvious doodoo head!

SO THERE!