Brewstew – Worst Kid In Class YouTube Video
Brewstew – Worst Kid In Class YouTube Video Description
Second grade’s tough when you have long division, cursive writing … and you know, the disruptive kid in class that keeps whispering words from a made up language under his breath.
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Brewstew – Worst Kid In Class Automated Transcript By Speak
All right. Now, throughout my school days, I’ve had plenty of bad kids in my class and I went to a public school. So I’m not talking about like kids passing notes or shooting spitballs or whatever. No, I’m talking about kids that were a complete menace to the classroom.Kids that didn’t need detention. They needed like an ankle monitor and a parole officer to set them straight. And the worst kid that I ever had to share a classroom with was this kid in my second grade class named Colby. And yeah, I know what you’re thinking. Who the hell names a kid Colby in the first place? I mean, what the hell Colby’s parents don’t wonder why you’re screwed up. You named him after a goddamn cheese for Christ’s sake. I’m sure his brothers, Parmesan and Pepper Jack weren’t exactly at the top of their class either. But this kid Colby was a uh well, he was a disruptive little asshole to say the least, which was unfortunate because our second grade teacher was like the nicest lady in Northwest Ohio. But that didn’t matter to Colby because his ass made it his mission to just shit. All over her day. Any chance that he got, she’d come walking into the classroom every morning, like good morning class. May the winds of success forever be under thy wings? That’s Kobe. What is it? I pissed inside of my pants. Uh OK. Well, that’s all right.
You just had a little accident. No, I fucking did that shit on purpose. Uh Well, why on earth would you do that? Because fuck you and fuck your wings of success. That’s why. All right. All right. Maybe he wasn’t that bad. But uh well, that was definitely his mentality anyway that he could screw with our teacher. Well, by golly, he was gonna do it. Like if she asked Kobe a question, he would always answer in like some bullshit language that he made up. Ok, Colby, can you tell me what the capital of Wisconsin is? Uh No, it’s not Boole Boole. You wanna try again? Schengen Bergen Duen. What is that Portuguese? What the hell is he saying? Uh You know what to hell with Wisconsin? Uh You guys wanna do a spelling test? How about we do a spelling test instead? Yeah, I don’t know what kind of medication this kid was on but uh well, his ass wasn’t taking enough of it, that’s for sure. And the worst part is is I sat next to his ass for quite a while and he’d be whispering this gobby Guck bullshit all day long. We’d be like balls deep in a math test and Koby’s ass would be like, whoopie doop doop call me. Can you not right now? This fucking long division is kicking my dick in right now. Can you just shut the hell up? Hey, uh I think Kobe’s having an episode of some sort. Could you like, escort him from the premises place?
Well, needless to say eventually Colby got his own little area of the classroom over by the uh windows 95 all by himself. So he can’t distract anybody. And this just made matters worse because Colby was not having that shit. He’ll be damned if he’s got to sit there by himself where nobody can hear him talking in his fucking fake ass foreign language. So throughout this school year, his ass would gradually become more and more disruptive. Like for example, every day we’d have like 15 minutes of silent reading and one day instead of reading a book, Kobe’s ass just whipped out a game boy and started playing that. Instead, motherfucker didn’t even turn the volume down. He’s just sitting there like, and another time in the middle of class, Colby asked to sharpen his pencil, but instead of doing that, his ass got in sight of a garbage can. Why would he do that? Well, because fuck you, that’s why I’m sitting in the garbage. I ain’t doing your fucking spelling test, that’s for sure. Hell, one time I saw this kid chew off all the erasers from the tips of his pencils and then spit them across the room, like they’re fucking sunflower seeds and like, yeah, he would get in trouble. Like, every week our teacher would have to call down to the office and be like, uh, yeah, hi, Colby’s being a little asshole again. I’m sending him your way. I’ve never struck a child.
But, uh, well, today could be the day and then he’d be gone for a few days and we’d have ourselves a little Colby vacation, but he always came back eventually fresh from his suspension or his stay in the Sanitarium or where the fuck he would go. And it’d be like, and repeat every week, like every Monday morning we’d all get together like, oh boy, what’s Colby gonna do this week? Huh? Oh, look, he already drew a fucking wiener on the chalkboard. What a mad man. But I gotta say out of all the shit that Colby did. The craziest bit happened towards the end of the school year and we’re talking like the last week of school where we’re not doing anything at all. We’re just watching fucking episode of Bill and I, the science guy over and over again and at this point, Colby, he hadn’t acted out in quite a while. He, I distinctly remember thinking, man, Colby seems pretty chill lately. Maybe he’s turned over a new leaf, maybe his ass is found Jesus after all. And just when I think that I look over and the motherfucker is dancing on top of his desk with his shirt tied up, like some kind of hoochie mama. Now, first our teacher is doing like a fucking crossword or something. She doesn’t even realize what the hell’s happening. Meanwhile, Colby’s ass is putting on a fucking show for everybody. Well, eventually our teacher can hear our muffled laughter and looks up and she’s like Colby, what the hell?
Get off your desk. Why the hell are you dressed up like a goddamn prostitute? And that’s when Colby hops off his desk and runs into the coat room, our teacher starts running after him. Like the fucking building’s on fire. Meanwhile, we’re all just sitting there like, man, this is some wild shit. Yeah. Even for a fucking public school, goddamn. So let’s go to a diagram of my second grade classroom. Here’s where all of us were sitting. Here’s the fucking isolation area that Colby’s desk was that here’s Colby and here’s my teacher. They just keep running around in circles from the coat room, back out to the classroom, into the coat room and over and over and over again. Eventually our teacher gets on the phone and she’s like def con one, def con one, somebody get your ass up here and that’s when our school police officer shows up fucking officer Dave. And now we really start freaking out at this point. Oh, shit. They’re gonna fucking shoot his goofy ass. Now, both of them are chasing after Colby’s wayward ass around the classroom. They do nice little pincer move and corners ass, which of course is standard police procedure when dealing with an unruly child in a courtroom. And officer Dave ends up hauling his ass out of the room like a piece of luggage.
And that was the last I’ve seen of Colby’s goofy ass, or at least that’s what I thought until years later when I’m sitting in class on the first day of my sophomore year of high school and during roll call, I hear a very familiar name. Colby Fake. Last name is Colby Fake. Last name here. Yeah, I’m here and at first I’m like, holy hell, Colby from second grades in here. That kid’s still alive. What the fuck, what the hell is this kid gonna look like after all these years? Is he gonna have an ankle monitor? Is he gonna have a fucking face tattoo? What the hell I look back and to my surprise, Colby is just this normal ass dude wearing a polo. Well, after class, I just can’t help myself. I go up to him and I’m like, dude, you were in my second grade class. What the hell was wrong with you back then? But second grade. Oh yeah, that was just a weird time in my life. I don’t know. I was just really amped up all the time and I watch Animaniacs a lot and I’m like animaniacs, dude. I thought you were on fucking methamphetamine. So, I guess the moral of the story is, uh, don’t judge a book by its cover. Some of you might have had a Colby in your second grade classroom who, you know, spoke a fake foreign language editor’s breath from time to time. But guess what? That doesn’t mean he’s smoking crack under a bridge.
It could be just living a simple life, married with two kids, little provolone and little mozzarella and they’re just normal as hell after all the end.
Bruce dot com.
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