Corrupted Forever

This is a tale of a 10-year-old boy being exposed to pornography, unlikely independence, neglect, deceit and just not giving a fuck.

Death Dealer | Daily Girth


When I was in fifth grade, a new kid entered our school and he ended up being a fucking rascal. I only knew the guy for one year because he fucked up in school too much.

This was his descent into oblivion.

New Guy seemed like an OK dude. He fit in with the rest of the normal boys by talking trash, displaying his love for video games and playing basketball, messing up his powder blue collared shirt that all of us private school boys had to wear — unless you wore an undershirt.

I got along with him, although he wasn’t one of my core buddies. His birthday, which was in the same month as mine, was being celebrated at his house on a Saturday afternoon. I attended that party, and at 10 years old, it was a fucking eye opener.

New Guy’s house was far from mine (and the private school we attended). I had no concept of distance and miles and freeways, I was 10. But it took a while to get there. When I arrived, I thought I was early. Nobody from class was there. Nobody from class would show up that night.

The party was mostly family, but not too many older relatives. In fact, I vaguely recall New Guy’s parents. The kids in attendance — and I do mean kids — were New Guy’s siblings, cousins and random friends from the neighborhood.

There didn’t seem to be much parental supervision. Before I knew it, the sun was down and this would have been the time I would call my folks to pick me up.

“Why don’t you spend the night?” New Guy offered.

“Is it cool with your parents?” I asked.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” New Guy said without ever thinking about consulting his parents.

Nighttime activities were totally different than the kiddie video game stuff. This was adult time, but the oldest one of us was 14 (New Guy’s Eighth Grade Brother). We were kids, unsupervised in our own “Lord of the Flies” minus the chronic diarrhea and fucking up Piggy’s glasses. I don’t think anyone had diarrhea that night.

“Hey, I think we have some Playboys,” New Guy tells me all excited.

“OK,” I hesitantly answer.

I had barely started noticing girls. There were a few contenders in my class, and yes, I had urges at 10, but Playboys, this was a different fucking ballgame. Naked women.

New Guy thumbed through the mag, making sure to skip all the articles and go straight to the goods.

“You want a look?” he asked me.

“I’ll see it later,” I responded.

We gathered in the garage where a couch, TV and VCR were set up. Folding chairs and blankets were in there too. Us “Lord of the Flies” kids settled in with popcorn and soda to watch “Point Break.” I knew I wasn’t supposed to be watching that movie because there were a whole lot of shits and fucks uttered from the very beginning. Cursing was normal for me, but not at my house, nor my friends’ houses. Yet that night (and day too), fuck, shit, dick, bitch and other compound curse words were apart of everybody’s vocabulary.

I felt uneasy about the situation. The lack of supervision, the profanity flowing, this was the kid version of what undercover cops must have felt like when they were in deep with gangsters.

The debauchery was briefly broken up by us singing happy birthday to New Guy. It was in the kitchen. There was a shitty looking cake and parents! Actual adults who had some power over us children! That power was relinquished just minutes after the candles were blown out.

Our “Lord of the Flies” group dispersed. Not all of us made it back to the garage. Whoever was there continued watching “Point Break.” The scene that made me uneasy, yet curious, was when Johnny Utah (played by Keanu Reeves, and by the way, what kind of name is Johnny Utah? Nobody’s name is Johnny Utah … Johnny fucking Utah, it sounds like a name some middle schoolers or high high schoolers [that’s not a typo, I wrote high twice] came up with when thinking up character names) went to make that bust and there was a shapely woman in her underwear. Nice ass. A naked chick was also taking a shower. In fact, the naked girl kicked a lot of ass. Johnny almost got his head sliced up by a lawnmower. But there was that woman in the underwear. I knew I shouldn’t have watched that, but I was compelled to watch her jiggle around the screen.

In fact, here is that entire scene:



Outside, I could smell someone smoking. It had to be the Eighth Grade Bro and some other cohorts. Our group was significantly smaller. Maybe somewhere in the house, which was surprisingly huge, kids were shooting up, downing booze or having sex with random partners. Some of them would have to have really underdeveloped genitals if they were engaging in coitus. They had to, they were younger than my 10-year-old ass; however, all this random activity didn’t faze ’em.

After the lawnmower-jiggle scene, I went to the bathroom. I wandered around the two-story house and there were so many rooms. So many hallways. I even found an underground room so technically, it was a three-story palace of depravity.

I found Little Bro’s room and started talking with him, trying to uncover how this family’s lax attitude came about. “Point Break” was fucking rated R and children were watching dudes in U.S. presidents masks rob and shoot people!

Little Bro said his siblings had always fended for themselves. Mom and Dad were always working, which explained the big house, and the kids just did whatever the fuck.

New Guy found me talking to his brother then invited me to go outside. A tent was set up in the backyard. That’s where we would sleep. I chilled in there by myself for a bit. The lighting sucked, but at least it wasn’t pitch black. New Guy returned with a stack of Playboys. He dropped them in the middle of the tent, picked two up, handed one to me then settled in the corner to eyeball fondle the glossy pages.

I hesitantly opened the mag, expecting gigantic boobs to explode on page one. Page one was just some advertisement. This mag felt different than the video game rags I looked at every month. The paper quality was much better. Some advertisements smelled like cologne. Finally, I got to the naked women. The big, natural boobs (implants weren’t as common then as now) played tug of war with my eyes. At any moment I imagined New Guy’s parents — or worse, my parents — storming into that tent to beat the shit out of me for looking at the girlie magazine. I looked then looked away then snuck another look at nudity. The pubic hair (yes, women used to have pubic hair — and in Playboy no less!) resembled the thickness of your lawn after weeks of neglect.

I don’t remember falling asleep, but I do remember New Guy waking me up. The morning air felt a lot colder than it actually was, thanks to the warmth of the tent and the Playboy mags.

“Come on, let’s go,” New Guy said.

About five of us left the house and started walking down the street. Nobody told the parents.

We ended up at 7-Eleven to play “Street Fighter II,” a game I was pretty good at. However, Eighth Grade Bro was infinitely more skilled. Eighth Grade Bro even had the skills to beat M. Bison, a notoriously difficult final boss who used ruthless tactics to gobble your quarters. Yeah, this was fun, but if we were kidnapped or shanked, neither New Guy’s nor my parents would know. The terrorists win. Wait, terrorists don’t abduct kids unless it’s Crimson Jihad nabbing a young Eliza Dushku in “True Lies.” Juno Skinner (Tia Carrere in her prime) was really hot in that film.

We made it home safely from 7-Eleven. And I made it to my home a couple of hours later. Who knows what else happened at that house that night. Beer, rough sex, hard-core drugs, human sacrifice, I wouldn’t put any of it past that madhouse. That fifth grade year, New Guy continued to be a fuck-up.

He came up with new lyrics for Shawn Michaels’ theme song. This is the original HBK theme (sung by Sensational Sherri):



And here were New Guy’s new lyrics: “Shawn Michaels has a big dick/He has hairy balls/I suck ‘em all night/And make ’em look raw.”

Whether Sherri did that or not, it was rare for someone so young to come up with such disturbing lyrics. I guess New Guy had a lot of time on his hands since he obviously didn’t hit the books.

It was no surprise this miscreant had a fucked-up GPA and didn’t pass fifth grade. New Guy never seemed concerned about flunking out. I wonder what teachers told his parents during conference time? Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if his parents blew off conference time.

New Guy eventually passed fifth grade, but flunked either sixth or seventh grade during the following years. My friends and I surmised that by the time he got to eighth grade, he would be eligible for eighth grade parking since he’d be 16.

Perhaps New Guy’s parents would reward him with a car; after all, he did start on the basketball team eighth grade season (he wasn’t that good of a player), mainly because he was two fucking years older than everyone out on the court. At the high school level, a two-year gap isn’t that big, but when you’re younger, that’s a huge deal. As a sophomore, I would dominate the shit out of those eighth graders. Not New Guy, he was simply a starter.

Surprisingly, after graduating, New Guy went to a public school where he was upgraded from an incoming freshman to a junior. Wow, I didn’t know foolishness was rewarded that well, but then again, I know of management, administration, bosses and politicians who fail upwards all the time.

During that fifth grade year, New Guy borrowed my “Darius Twin” Super Nintendo game and that fucker never gave it back. I really liked that game. He could afford it. Yet he kept mine, that fuck.

Maybe he genuinely lost it or forgot about it, New Guy was really simple minded. Footage from “Darius Twin” follows the end of the story.

No one knows what became of New Guy. Maybe he smoked too much crack and died. Maybe he smoked too much crack and now made his permanent residence under a bridge. Maybe he sells crack, which gives him a more lucrative lifestyle than any of us can ever imagine.

Oh well, fuck him, he stole my “Darius Twin.”



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