11. One cold day

This anecdote is dated November 1, 2000.

The recent drop in temperatures has recalled to memory one day on which Jamie was particularly troublesome.

He started bright an early, rising before anyone on the block (we lived on the same street, he and I), and crept throughout the neighborhood pouring salt into all the sugar bowls and baby powder into the salt shakers.

The night before, he had cut out several offensive pictures from pornographic magazines, and these he slid in between the pages of my most important school books.

While I was in class, finding rude surprises embedded within Worringer's "Abstraction and Empathy," Jamie put a box of popsicles in my bed. When I came home, my sheets were blue, green, red and sticky. I've heard he did this to a few other people, as well, and that his particularly brutal culinary treatment of 1005 High Street led to a nasty roach infestation.

Some people say, "Forgive and forget." Other people say, "Turn the other cheek." Well, I believe, "Jamie Bourdon should rot in Hell."


P.S. Okay, so here's a more true story about Jamie Bourdon. Once, I came home drunk from a party with one of Jamie's room mates and he was eating soup straight out of the pan. Then, his room mate and I took a can of lighter fluid outside and tried to light the snow on fire and Jamie yelled at us for being immature. I think we also got yelled at for hitting glass bottles and full soda cans off the roof with golf clubs, but maybe that was a different night. Man, what a p-a-r-t-y p-o-o-p-e-r.