Too bad, cause I’m gonna tell you.
“You wanna know how I got these scars?” The Joker famously spouted this line several times in The Dark Knight. None of the people he was telling really wanted to know, but didn’t really have a choice because he was going to tell them anyways. Well, I guess I’m the Joker to you right now. I’m going to tell you about my scars whether you like it or not. Unlike the Joker, I won’t scar you for life, only for a few days, because I don’t have a maniacal laugh, just a bitter one.
Scar #1, hiding between Chin 1 and Chin 2.
My first scar is on the left side of my chin, along the jawline. I got this one when I was just a budding bitter 5 years old, that demanded the finest things in life. Peanut butter sandwiches had to be made of the finest Skippy and crusts must be cut. The best 2% milk had to be served in only the finest red sippy cup and of course, I had to have the best toys. The cars and dinosaurs that would be predecessors to the next decades Transformers, blocks that could cause optimal foot contusions when parents accidentally stepped on them at night, and most important my transportation. The Big Wheel. I don’t know if these are even made today (quickly checked Google. They do.) but back then, they were all souped up with top flight accelerators and NOS boost.
My Big Wheel was much better and NOS boostier.
They of course banned that kind of stuff in the all of a sudden PC world of the 80’s and 90’s but back in the 70’s when I roamed the playgrounds, these were motorcycles of the day. Anyways, some “claim” that I got my first scar from simply falling off the Big Wheel, but you can only find one person that will corraborate on that story, and she can’t she be trusted, because she only raised me. I was there the whole time, so I’ll tell you the real story. I was patrolling the area in my Big Wheel, looking for good guys(I was always the bitter bad guy, obvi) when I saw a rather large good guy with nice clean cut hair, and he was sneaking into our house by ringing the doorbell and politely asking if he could come in. He had some sort of disgusting large smile across his face and he was clearly there for too nice of purposes. Either offering to help us move something, bring us some food, or give us some money.
I could not let this good guy invade our home by doing something nice, so I leapt into action. I hit the turbo booster on my Big Wheel (by pedaling really fast) and aimed directly for his ankles. Just as I was about to hit his weak spot (his Achillies) he turned his foot to stop me, and I crashed. Landed on my side, scraped up my precious bitter looking face, with the scar you see along my left jawline. Of course, he said he was sorry and he was just there to visit my parents (he claimed he was some guy named Uncle) and he was there when I was born or something (like I could trust such benevolent intentions).
I knew he was up to good and I had to stop him. So I stood up, bleeding chin and all, with my newly bent up Big Wheel laying on its pathetic side and tried to fight him, but my parents stopped me before I could. They proceeded to tell me I had to go to the hospital because they couldn’t stop the bleeding. I didn’t care, all I wanted to do was fight this rather tall, nice looking man. My parents held me back, but if it wasn’t for them, that guy would have had more than a huge scar on his face.
Similar to my Big Wheel.
Thankfully, something bitter did come of this bitter failure. A scar. But not just any scar, a scar for life. One that I would have on my face, in plain sight, where it would constantly remind me of this do-gooder. One that could remind me every day of the revenge I needed to take on this White Knight in shining armor. One that I could use to remember that while I was young then, I would get older and much better at using gadgets that would help me fight against his physical strength. And here I am, still today, with that scar on my chin, reminding me that I need to find that uncle(I guess I could use Google or ask my parents) and fight him, with my bitter words, to tell him I still don’t forgive him.
Scar #1 also just reminded me that I have stories for my two other scars(the other two are even more scarcastic than this one), but now don’t have time for them. So I will need to continue the saga of the scars another day. See how useful this scar has been? The other two scars will have their day, and their revenge against the first scar……
SCARRRRRGGGGGHHHHH
Bitter Scarred Up Ben