A story to pass the time.

I used to have my mom drop me off all the time at my friend Zach's house back when we were in elementary school. We hung out a lot during the summer, and what made things better was he had a decent-sized pool that we were always in. It wasn't heated, but who cares? It was fun. We were kids. We had a good time.

When we weren't sitting in the family room watching Ren and Stimpy or Power Rangers, or scanning R-Rated movies for tits, or playing with his Marble Works sets, or looking through his dad's box of old 70s porno mags, we were swimming.

One summer day, we were having a good ol' time in his yard. It was a bright, sunny summer afternoon. The birds were chirping. We were floating around on the rafts, trying to make wave pools, sticking our dicks in the filter jets. You know, all the good things that young kids do in an above-ground swimming pool. For whatever reason, Zach was getting pissy with me. I have no idea why... this was at least a good 12 years ago.

One factor to mention was the pool was always directly in front of the back porch of the house. Not too far away, and not too close. My mom was always an avid public pool goer. When I wasn't at Zach's in these early elementary-scool summers, I was more than likely at the Elk's pool in Apollo with my mom and my brother, idolizing the lifeguards and being exposed to great 90's music on the radio. This is one thing that really sticks out from my childhood. Going to the pool and listening to the radio.

I'm off subject. As I said, my mom loved going to the pool. She would always buy us a shitload of pool toys. Some were cool, some were lame, cheap plastic that never really entertained our pre-pubescent minds. This particular summer, though, my mom bought us some sweet ass diving sticks. These sticks were filled with sand, and of course, the caps of them eventually cracked from hitting into the bottom of a cement public pool. The sand would soak up with water, and these diving sticks would get heavy.

I probably wanted to go in the house and play with his damn Marble Works. These were basically stackable tubes that you put together in any way/shape/form and rolled marbles through. Bad fucking ass. I must have said something to piss him off. He was on his back porch drying off, and I was still wading around in the pool. He pulled a diving stick out of a plastic bag on the porch and threw it at me. I ducked into the water, but the motherfucking stick still hit me in the head.
We must have been arguing about something, because at this point, while underwater, I remember thinking, "That's it, fuck this. Piece of shit. Suck it." I grabbed the stick off the bottom of the pool - it was the fucking orange stick - jumped back up out of the water, and whipped it back towards the house as hard as I could.

I never played too many sports growing up, let alone excelled at any sports. I quit playing tee ball only three years in. I never went any farther, didn't enjoy it. It was something I did for my dad. I played basketball 3rd grade through 7th grade. I sucked at running, I have always had horrible coordination, I was never strong, and I sure as hell had terrible accuracy.

But anyways, all hell broke loose. The diving stick flew into the sliding glass window, first making a loud, echoey DONK noise, producing a few seconds of panic that seemed to go on for hours, and then the whole fucking pane of glass shattered. I was fucked. Zach stood there in disbelief. It just got worse.

Apparently Zach's mom was in the kitchen working on dinner for us at the time. The kitchen was the room that these sliding glass doors led you into. There's the kicker though. Here's the true irony and the plot twist. This is what makes the fucking movies Oscar winners. Zach's mom was 8 months pregnant at the time. The glass from the door shattered and scattered in all directions, with shards of it cutting through Zach's mom's stomach.
All of the screaming and yelling apparently sped up the incubation process, and Zach's mom went into labor. I was still standing in the pool, having no fucking idea what to do. Zach was standing on the porch crying, since, you know, we were still young kids. He didn't have any idea what to do either.

Zach's dad had just came home from work minutes before this happened. I'm pretty sure he was in the garage or coming through the basement when the actual door shattered. He made his way upstairs to the kitchen, and he definitely heard the conflict a-brewing. I feared that when I saw his truck inch up the driveway, and I knew it was going to happen at some point. George came running up the steps into the kitchen.

Just as he screamed something incoherent and ran to his wife, the baby dropped to the kitchen linoeum. No pushing or effort needed.
A+++ determination of the baby, will do business again, great eBayer!

THE BABY WAS FUCKING GROTESQUE. The glass apparently took a toll on his body, so in addition to the typical gross birth-juices that was making this purple fetus ugly, there were also cuts all over him/her. Zach's dad, more than likely in shock and acting on instinct, did what he had to do. To my amazement, he wasted no time and ran to the door frame, ripping the largest chunk of glass from the pile. He proceeded to cut the umbilical cord with this glass. He picked up the baby, ran through the door frame, out onto the patio, down the steps, past the pool, and through the yard. He made his way to the woods. These woods in Zach's back yard are on a hill, and at the bottom of the hill is a pretty busy highway, especially during the day time. A main route for mac trucks and pedestrians alike.

I never did really see what happened, as it was mid-summer, the leaves were thick, and the brush was high. But all I know is I heard Zach's dad let out a grunt, heard the baby screaming and crying the whole time, and then the cries quickly grew fainter into nothing. Zach's dad emerged from the brush and staggered back to the brush, his head down the whole time. I stood prune-y in the pool, staring in disbelieve. What the FUCK just happened?



This never happened.