Back in 1987 (more specifically, September 26, 1987), I endured one of the most horrific experiences I've ever had in my 28 years of life. I was a third grade student at the Nathaniel P. Banks School (go Terrapins!). At this point I had been wearing glasses for about 2 years and had recently got into trouble for drawing a totally gnarly helicopter cockpit on the back of a take-home notice. Since I spent all my time in school drawing bomb doors and buttons marked "lazars", I was obviously terrible at education. This is probably why I used to love recess so much. I'd go out and play Tranzor Z or Transformers with this weird girl in the outfield of the kickball court. I should mention that when I say we "played Transformers", we didn't play with die-cast models of Bumblebee or anything. Rather, we acted out episodes. Everyday. I am not kidding. (Also, this girl wasn't weird in any sort of fucked up way. She didn't have a glass eye or those weird shoes that people with one leg shorter than the other have to wear. Really she was weird simply because she willing chose to re-enact TV shows and movies with a tremendous nerd like me.) On this day, we set up shop over by the fence that kept us safe from the alley filled with trash and began acting out Ghostbusters. Pretty soon this kid came up to us named Raymond. Raymond was weird in a fucked up way. Usually he ran around the playground aimlessly, only stopping to scream as loud as he could in your face. It was different that day though. Apparently he got it in his crazy little head to try something new. He ran up to me just like he always did, but this time instead of screaming, he gently placed his hand on my head and said "You it!"

Me: Ummm, what?

Shouty Raymond: You it!

Weird girl: I think he wants to play tag. I guess he's saying you're it.

Shouty Raymond (clearly pumped): Tag! Tag! You it!

Since I had just clapped my hands and said in my best Ernie Hudson "I LOVE THIS TOWN!" Ghostbusters was pretty much over. Tag? Fuck it, why not.

Me: Okay. I'm it!

Raymond took off across the playground laughing and shouting "IT! IT!" at the top of his lungs. I had managed to tag the weird girl in the back as she turned to follow Raymond, so I started running in the other direction. Pretty soon everyone not playing kickball was in on the game. "It" changed hands a few times before finally making its way back to me. I noticed this one kid over by a grassy area of the playground hiding behind a trash can. I figured I could sneak around and get behind him for a pretty easy tag if I was a careful. Creeping along the edge of the grass, I kept a large stone wall between me and my target. With a quick hop up and over the wall I was right where I needed to be. I was about 15 feet away from him, when I heard a loud snap and I felt fire shoot up my leg. I screamed and looked down at my leg, which was now gushing blood through my grey Husky jeans ($19 at Sears Roebuck). Jesus fuck, it was a bear trap! The kid I was stalking whipped around, took one look at my leg and started laughing.

Fucking Asshole Kid: "1, 2, 3, Slap! The gay nerd's caught in a trap!"

I had fallen for one of the oldest tricks in the tag handbook. Determined to get rid of my "It" status before going to the nurse, I lurched forward towards the kid. He was crouched down on the ground, laughing so hard that tears were streaming down his face. I don't blame him because the sight of me struggling towards him like some sort of handicapped giraffe must have looked pretty ridiculous. He started to scramble to his feet as I got close, but I dove towards him, arm outstretched in a last ditch effort to tag him. I fucking missed. By an inch, if that. The trap on my leg had thrown off my balance and I tumbled head first into the trash can. Did I mention this can was at the top of a hill? Yeah, well it was. Anyway, the Fucking Asshole Kid aimed a kick at the side of the can and sent it tumbling over onto its side and down the hill. Then the can rolled into the street and I was hit by a car, which broke both my arms. The force of the impact sent me off the side of the road into a small pond, wait, no it was a river. A swiftly moving river that set me rushing downstream towards a waterfall. Luckily for me a swarm of beavers working on their dam saw me heading towards my certain doom and pulled me ashore. Then they called me horrible, blatantly racist names and stole my wallet. Bastards.

Anyway, if these retards were around when I was a kid, maybe this whole terrible ordeal could have been avoided. God bless America!