What The Hell Does Rant Mean?

When I was in high school we had dances. Strange you think? No, it’s a fairly common practice throughout high schools everywhere. So you are probably familiar with dance royalty, i.e. Homecoming Queen, Prom King and Queen, etc. Well usually the type of people who win these monarchies are the snotty popular crowd. I’ve never cared for them. Every year at my school we had a Christmas dance. I forget what’s it called. The Winter Festival, something like that. Well the royalty was all guys at this dance, which was an interesting change. They had several royal titles, like Mr. Scrooge and King Christmas. Well the nominations came out that year and there was my name. Jeremy Jacobson nominated for Mr. Snowman. There were three nominees for each category. In mine I was competing against Gerard King and Bretton Harvigsten(Who happened to be one of those bully jocks. This has nothing to do with the story. I just thought I’d point out what an asshole he was.) Well I was a little shocked til I realized we were all “portly”. So I thought, “Oh I can see the student body presidency think up the nomination list now. “Let’s see, who’s really fat like a snowman?” “Jeremy broke a chair the other day he’s so fat, so he’s in” What jerks!”

Anyway. Before voting was to happen they held an assembly in which each group would compete in some event. Well the snowmen had an obstacle course. It was set up so that you had to put on a snowsuit and boots, get on a bicycle, ride it across the stage, get off, hulahoop a few times, then jump rope a few times and cross the line to finish. It was also timed. So I watch in the wings of the stage, the other competitors run through with relative ease. Then I get up to bat. I’m looking at the snowsuit on the ground and looking at my hot air balloon of a body knowing full well those pants aren’t going to come up to my thighs. I was right. The timer called go. I crammed my leaning tower of Pisas into each pant leg and yanked them up mid thigh. I pulled them tight so they would stay on. My crotch came down to below my knees. I looked like a mammoth penguin. I tried to get the boots on but they wouldn’t go on all the way either. I pick up the bike and try to throw my leg over the frame. This was a challenge. It took me a minute but I succeeded. Stopping was another story. I couldn’t put my foot down to the ground and I ended up crashing. I got up and threw the hula hoop over my stomach. Here’s another thing. If you don’t have a waist, hula-hooping is rather difficult. I finished that and felt rather hurried to finish as I had wasted so much time thus far. I grabbed the jump rope and started jumping backwards for some reason. As I pounded the stage the snowsuit came down around my ankles. The whole audience roared with laughter. I tried to waddle to the finish line and I tripped and fell so I crawled. I passed the finish line and continued crawling off the stage. I could hear the crowd screaming and clapping. The timer forced me to go back out on stage for a standing ovation. So needless to say I won Mr. Snowman. And that’s how I became one of those snotty, popular people. And it was the first(and only) time I ever kicked Bretton’s ass. And that felt wicked awesome.