I decided the best thing to do would be to go into the living room and browse the McBlogger family library to find a good book to tucker me out. Instead, I found something far more interesting:
What you're looking at here is the cover of a book I wrote when I was 8-years-old called The Chicken Boy, "published" by the Olney Elementary Press in 1993. This book, sadly, is the only Meghan McBlogger work published to date. WHO SAID I COULDN'T GET A BOOK DEAL?! This book is a shocking look into my own 8-year-old psyche and I'm not entirely sure I like what I see. Sit down and let me tell you the tale. The tale, of a Chicken Boy.
[Notice I dedicated this work to my cat Sibley, R.I.P. Why? Because I love her. Any other questions, smart ass? Thought not. (AND WHAT?!)]
Once in California there was a 18 year old boy named Chicken Legs.
[I like that I made him of age. I also like that he lives in California. You know I picked it because in my 8-year-old mind that was a "cool state." Remember that part of the song Fifty Nifty United States that goes, "North, south, east, west in our calm objective opinion (insert your state here) is the best!"? I distinctly remember we'd always be all badass in Music class and sing California instead of Maryland because Maryland has crabs and California has Arnold Schwarzenegger. I don't know why I'm telling you any of this. Moving on.]
He was a nerd.
He wanted a girlfriend.[To this day that's how I imagine adult relationships. Just walkin' around all day with Balloons that say "LOVE". And I want it. Bad. Gush!]
He tried bumping into them.
But all they say is sorry.
So...he decided to pump some iron.
He worked out for weeks.
[Four, to be exact. Also, how come I keep drawing absurdly oversized nipples on this kid? And who develops protruding veins in their cheeks? What fetish did I have going on there?]
And when he bumped into girls they said more than sorry.
He worked for weeks and he could pick up a table.
[This is also still my litmus test for strength—can you, or can you not pick up a moderately sized coffee table? If so, inquire within: firstname.lastname@example.org Bonus points for oversized nipples and a veiny face. Me-ow.]
He was in many heavy weight competitions.
And he won first place.
[I see I hadn't mastered the art of illustrating the illusion of overlapping yet...]
Then it came the night of the prom and he had lots of dates.
[BIG. BOOTY. HO.]
SERIOUSLY MEG?! THE AND??? God damnit! I made AN mistake and none of my teachers corrected me. How tragic. "The And".........Jesus Christ. I was a cute little Meglet but not the sharpest coffee table on the showroom floor.
So, basically speaking, The Chicken Boy is a story about a guy with low self-esteem who overcompensates by working out and becoming a Juice Head, thereby giving him easy access to all the fat-assed whores he can handle, right?
This begs the question...Does anybody else find it extremely disturbing that I was essentially recapping episodes of Jersey Shore at 8-years-old? A good 17 years before the show even aired? I genuinely don't know whether to be impressed or concerned. For the sake of my own sanity, I choose impressed.
(PS: In my bio under "What I want to be when I grow up," I wrote "model." HAH! Model...semi-anonymous blogger...they're sort of synonymous, right? RIGHT?! Actually, don't answer that.)