The Great Hooding of ’05

In high school I had a little elfin voice, I slouched around with my large backpack like a hunchback, I was 95 pounds, and my limbs looked like kinects.

eep

One might ask, “Sam, how did you deal with the overwhelming insecurity of being a diminutive goblin?”

The answer:

I hooded people.

To hood someone, you must sneak up behind them with the stealth of a cheetah-hawk and rapidly snap the end of the hood on their jacket over their heads and down their panicked face, with such force that they double over and flail about in hooded confusion.

Then you let go, cackle maniacally, and run away.

Everyone had hoodies. My school was like an all-you-can-hood buffet. And I, Loki, the god of mischief of Lakewood Prep High School in Howell, New Jersey, took full advantage.

BOW BEFORE ME, MY TEENAGE MINIONS! YOU, THE PORCUPINE-HEADED GREASY GUIDO, YOU, THE TAN-TITTED SNOOTY GIRL IN THE HOT PANTS WITH THE BUMP-IT, YOU, THE PALE COMPUTER HACKER WITH THE OVERBITE AND THE SNORTING CONDESCENSION, YOU, THE HOT TOPIC EMO WITH THE NASAL WHINE AND THE JEGGINGS, YOU MUST ALL BOW DOWN TO ME: THE IMPOSSIBLY SKINNY WEIRD KID DOING FUNNY VOICES WHILE HIDING IN THE CLOSET!

Won’t bow? LET ME HELP YOU

YOU JUST GOT HOODED, SON!

I was a total dick. Really, I was just a little asshole sneaking around, pulling the hoods over people’s faces and laughing like a weasel before scampering off.

One fateful afternoon, as the sun was half past Wawa and not quite behind Target yet, the teachers graded mediocre papers with beige coffee-fueled eyes, the students milled about in their angst-ridden private school lives, the seniors were pulling into the parking lot after a loud lunch at the White Castle, and I was roaming the halls, searching for yawning, unsuspecting victims.

Their was one, long, small hallway that only allowed two people to walk alongside each other. The hallway was filled with students as fifth period had just ended and everyone was switching classrooms in the normal fashion.

The massacre to occur could not be foreseen. It is still looked back upon with anguish and horror to all those involved and all that were spectators.

I wandered calmly out of the library and into the hall. I scoped out the landscape. That’s when I made my first move.

I ran up to a stoner-bro that was on my bus, and hooded him with a malevolence, still not portrayed properly in the movies. I swung him by the hood into a girl walking beside him. Disoriented, he grappled for her hood, thinking it was mine, and brought down the hooded thunder on her doe-eyed, genteel face.

This caused the girl to tumble backwards into another student who I then hooded. He laughed in hooding spirit and hooded his friend. All of the friends in this group proceeded to hood each other. The thing ballooned in a matter of moments from two expert hoodings executed by yours truly, to a hooded armageddon. It was a god damned hood slaughter. A hood-bath of indiscriminate hooding carnage.

Passersby were hooded on the spot. These victims would then retaliate and hood the next kid in sight.

I was achilles. I stood before my hood-o-rama and smiled like an evil chipmunk. No one could hood me. I knew all the tricks.

It’s been years and still, no one understands what happened that day. Nobody could ever pinpoint the bastard that started the whole mess.

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