Saturday, September 25, 2010

Teens Do The Darndest Things

Since Terrorism is in vogue I thought why not detail my one and only experience with the genre.

My name is Taylor and I firebombed a major street from my backyard with a Molotov Cocktail when I was fourteen years old.

My punishment: I had to write two short essays about how I could of really really hurt someone. It was like my parents scolding me for being a foolish child. I'm certain things have changed now, fifteen years down the line with the rampant government induced terrorist paranoia and all. In these post 9/11 days I would be water boarded somewhere in the bowels of the Don Jail for tossing a Molotov Cocktail. Your last name is Nesbit you say? You don’t look English. More like a rogue Syrian chemist who has been hiding out in basements wearing custom made baby blue contact lenses plotting out the death’s of every North American one by one by poisoning the Great Lakes. The suburbs of Toronto seem like as good a place as any to get this Jihad thing rolling.

I was kind of like a terrorist before it was cool, before everyone jumped on the IED bandwagon. But you gotta be careful when you jump on the bandwagon that the road the bandwagon is going down isn’t full of IED’s. The first--and only time--I tossed a bomb it didn’t even clear my fence and it lay there in my backyard with the cloth burning, mocking me, daring me to pick it up again and send the infidels on a highway to hell. I thought about it for a split second and convinced myself that hell yeah I’ll pick it up I can’t leave a perfectly good Molotov Cocktail burning in my backyard. What would my parents think? I’m a no good quitter who can‘t see anything through? I remember sharply when I had quit piano lessons some years back when I was twelve. The Royal Conservatory of Music--isn’t that superfluously opulent? The day I expressed my disinterest in the formality of learning piano it was a feeling of supreme disappointment; you know when your parents are mad but they're so mad that there's an eerie calm about them? I tried to explain it wasn’t the instrument itself it was just the conditions: This stupid fucking class where I learned with these kids that I didn’t know and didn’t want to know. I don’t like being put in those situations. But the disappointment was etched across my parents faces, it screamed out to me like a 40 foot billboard on the Gardner Expressway of a father suffocating his child with a pillow. The kid frantically flailing his arms and legs violently in every direction, yearning for a pocket of air, gasping for life, and then slowly succumbing to the inevitable darkness.

I swear to god the first time I tossed it, the Flaming Homer, you know, the Molotov Cocktail or whatever it was, the thing ended up in my next door neighbours yard, not my backyard like I previously stated. I'm sorry but it's a crucial element to the story and I don't want to go back and edit the first part out. Anyways, the cloth I put in the bomb went up in flames so fast I just panicked and lobbed it instantly without thinking. Come on, I’m not fucking Muhammed Atta here, I didn’t know if it was gonna blow up in my hands or if a genie was gonna pop out, I’m a dumb-ass fourteen year old stoner. In a split second decision not unlike the aforementioned one I hopped my fence and ran into my neighbours yard to retrieve the as of yet undetonated bomb. It was sitting right by their picnic bench. It was lunch time, nobody seemed to be home so I wasn't freaking out. I pick up the bomb ever so delicately and toss it like a grenade circa 1941. In the air the flaming concoction looks like it will finally clear the fence and I can round the bases for a two run dinger. I had to throw it about twenty yards. My bomb floated through the air as if in slow motion. But what happens? I hit the fence about a foot from the top. A foot away from hall of fame glory. It just ain’t like the movies kids.

So then I frantically hop the fence back into my yard, run up to the still flaming IED and lob it overhead into the German bunker OR somewhere around the middle of Charlais Blvd. But talk about an anti-climax. It could have been two week old piss in that bottle the way it just shattered. No heaven full of vigrins for me. I did not slay any infidels. The impact of the bottle on the street extinguished the flame BUT the damage had been done. Some fucking douche bag, the stock boy from the grocery store across the street happened to witness the attack (yeah, I lived directly across the street from a plaza complete with a bar, grocery store, etc, etc, so it made the stunt that much more stupid unless I hatched a plan to kill any and all potential witnesses).

Like drunken monkeys trying to solve a Soduku puzzle we scrambled back into my house and made our way back to school. You see, all this took place during lunch hour. Nowadays, if I tried the same stunt the U.S. would want to extradite me to Gitmo and accuse me of being a teen genius who made top-notch IED’s and in my spare time was working on an environmentally friendly Kidney Dialysis machine for Bin Laden that was user friendly in remote Afghani caves.

My buddies and I got the hell out of my house anticipating the fuzz any minute. Sure enough, as we were walking through a field just off my street we saw two cop cars whizzing towards my house. One of them had 'Sargeant' scrawled across the doors. Didn't even have sirens. Shit this must be serious. Just like dealers are always late when you need them cops are always early when you don't.

And I swear this is addition to my little bomb dillema I had about two ounces of HEMP, yes HEMP that we picked from some field and thought we could sell to some suckers. Well my friends thought that we could sell it to suckers but I secretly thought about smoking it. This HEMP was in my locker and as we walked back to school I told my friend Justin to take it out and hang on to it because I feared the cops would want to search my locker for more bomb making materials. Okay so now that I have that out of the way....

I'm sitting in class and the speaker crackles to life: "Hello Mr. Soandso, can Taylor please come to the office immediately?"
"Ah shit," I thought, "Busted!" But acted like, "Who, me?". The jig was up.

In the principal's office there were two well dressed men in trench coats. One white, slightly overweight and bald the other a younger Asian guy with all his hair. I think he was Chinese but they all look the same I'll admit. I figured they were detectives but you couldn't really be sure, could have been hitmen for all I knew. They started in with the questions. I was nervous, I'll also admit that. I pulled the old con card, DENY! DENY! DENY!
"What?" I said incredulously, "Someone threw a Molotov Cocktail onto Charlais Blvd? I hope no one got hurt," I somehow managed to say with a straight face.
"Were you at home during your lunch hour?" The Asian detective asked me. "Oh yeah, I was at home all by myself at lunch."
"Uh-hum. Well we have a witness, a neighbour, who says she saw you and three friends leaving your house moments after the incident."

I was caught in my lie, we both knew it. Cops like it when you admit the truth after you lie to them. "Yeah, sorry I was lying, my friends were with me. I just didn't want to get them in any trouble."
"I understand, I understand. What's going to happen know is we're going to go back to the station and ask you some more questions, okay?"
"Well I guess I don't really have a choice do I?"

With that the three of us got up and they asked me to put my hands behing my back. Getting cuffed makes you feel ten feet tall. I'm the MAN, I'm IMPORTANT, I'm DANGEROUS, I command RESPECT OR I WILL FUCK YOU UP. But really it was quite embarassing. They dragged me through the halls just after class ended and though one of the detectives neatly folded his jacket over my hands to conceal the handcuffs it was a dead give away to my classmates because I had these two well dressed adults walking right behind me and my hands are behind my back. Yeah...looked real natural. Nothing to worrry about guys, they're just my two interacial dads--now hurry up and get to class.

As I said before my punishment was to write two essays. Why two essays and not one longer one I'll never know. The actual charges were POSSESSION OF AN EXPLOSIVE SUBSTANCE.

That concludes my career as a terrorist.

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