Johnny Guglielmo, you’ll never kill me you dirty motherf… What the? Where’d he go? And why am I all slimy? And who’s that broad on the bed with her legs all spread out—oh god, I ain’t gettin’ that outta my head anytime soon.

Alright doc, sponge me off already. And get me a glass of Rémy Martin and a pack of Marlboro Reds, because I think, and I may just be assessing this situation too closely, but I think I was shot by Johnny Guglielmo and reincarnated with my memories intact. Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s what happened. I’d think I would come back as a lizard or some shit, but it looks like I’m just a human being again. I said sponge me off, asshole! And where are my smokes? I need to come up with a plan.

Yo ma, I know you’re tired and all, but get up off that bed and get ready to take me home, pronto. I got some phone calls to make. Johnny Guglielmo, I hope you’re watching your back real good, because as soon as I grow some muscles and can lift a gun, you’re dead!


Third Grade

Huh? You want me to play tetherball with you? Yeah, it’s all fine and good to play tetherball when you don’t got people tryin’ to kill you all day, isn’t it? I bet you never even had one person try to take your life. Your utopian tetherball worldview makes me sick. Oh yeah, I’m the boring one. Go play your games, honey, and get back to me when you learn your fuckin’ times tables.

What are you looking at, kid behind the tree? Yeah, I see you. You’re the snitch who always rats me out for smoking my Marlboros. Waiting to catch me again, are you? Well, if you insist, I’ll light up right now. Ah, that’s the stuff. Don’t you run off! Get back—hah! I got you, asshole, and now I’ll show you what happens to stool pigeons in Sicily. Cry all you want, this cigarette burn on your arm ain’t ever goin’ away. There. Get out of here, chump, and remember who your daddy is.

No, Ms. Edison, I wasn’t smoking. Okay fine, you got me. Want one? I know you smoke. There, that’s a good teacher, let me light that for you. It’s bullshit, you know, what they say about cigs killing people. I been smoking since I was in the seventh grade, and it don’t affect me none. And by “seventh grade,” I don’t mean nothin’. Don’t worry about it. Hey, I’m fuckin’ eight over here! Yeah!

By the way, you don’t know anything about a guy, goes by the name of Johnny Guglielmo? Nah, he don’t go to this school. He wouldn’t dare come near this school while I’m here. Oh, nothin’. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.

But you see him, you let me know, got it?


High School

Yo toots! Go to prom with me! What do you mean, no? Who you holdin’ out for? Like I would go with you anyway, putana. Even with ten pounds of makeup you’re like a six at best. Oh, don’t go cryin’! Come back! Ah, she’ll be fine. Ugly, but fine.

Brockman! Where’s my vig, Brockman? I want my fuggin’ money, Brockman! I give you test answers and you don’t even pay me? Don’t you run away, you snake! I got your number, buddy! That asshole, he’ll be wakin’ up in the Hudson with a pair of concrete boots if he don’t watch himself.

Ow! The fuck—Oh, now ain’t this a cliché? The football team all gangs up on the smart kid. Yeah, go ahead and kick my ass, ya cafones. You know what happens to clowns like you? You end up working for kings like me. I’ll be in Havana, drinkin’ rum and smokin’ cigars, and you’ll be in a cage hanging over a g.d. shark tank. That’s how I teach you pricks some manners. That’s how—oof! Oh! Not the sternum! Ow, my sternum!

G-get back here you shitheads. I’ll throw you in the Hudson with a pair of concrete boots.

Ugh. Uh? Who the hell are you? Oh, thanks. Yeah, I’m fine. Hey, I know that cigarette burn … No, nothin’. Forget about it. You’re a stand-up guy, you know that? You stick with me, I could get you made. After graduation of course. What’s your name? Sam? Sam what?

Sam Guglielmo?!

No, no, nothin’s wrong, I ah, don’t worry about it. Ahem. Hey, I think we can be real good friends. You and me, cousin! Ha ha! Mind if I come over to your house after school?

Your dad gonna be there?