One of my favourite things to do when I was younger was pester the hell outta the kids my mother used to look after.

She ran a house full of screaming lunatics like a prison warden with a wooden spoon.

She could tolerate noise, chaos, and sticky fingerprints everywhere, but make no mistake, if you crossed her, she could spank the ass off a full-grown elephant and not even check her hand afterward.

Ask me how I know!

There was this one kid.

Younger than the rest of us.

And somehow, this little shithead had my mother wrapped around his baby finger like he was some kind of cherub sent from heaven.

Angel, my ass!

This kid was into everything.

Drawers.

Closets.

Food.

Water.

Trouble.

And every single time something went wrong, guess who got blamed?

Me!

Now here?s the thing.

I hate being blamed for shit I didn?t do!

Hated it then!

Hate it now!

But I learned something early.

If you argue and say you didn?t do it, you get punished twice as hard.

If you just sigh and say "Yeah, it was me", the punishment?s lighter.

So I started accepting the blame.

Revenge would come later.

And oh, it came.

One day, this kid is running from room to room slamming doors, yelling in my face, acting like a feral raccoon.

I finally decided today?s the day.

I dig through the closet and find the Halloween costumes.

That?s when I see it!

An old man's mask.

One eye hanging off the side.

Warts the size of softballs.

Looked like it crawled outta a nightmare and needed a drink.

Perfect!

I wait till the kid leaves the room for about the seven hundredth time, then grab the mask, squat behind my bedroom door, and cover myself with a wool blanket like I?m setting up an ambush.

Through the crack in the door, I can see him in the hallway pouring water on the bag of cat food.

Fantastic.

Another crime I?m about to get blamed for!

I stay still.

Heart pounding.

Jaw clenched.

Feel like a sniper taking aim, except this mission?s personal.

Then I hear the front door open.

The kid panics, tosses the glass in the corner, and heads straight for my room.

This is it!

I?m about to scare the soul clean outta this little demon.

He reaches for the door handle.

I explode out from behind the door like a wild animal protecting its young.

And he doesn?t scream.

He doesn?t flinch.

He hauls off and power punches me right between the eyes.

Mike Tyson would?ve been proud!

I hit the floor before my brain even registers what the fuck just happened. Lying there on my back, stars dancing, blood trickling outta my nose, eyes already swelling shut.

Payback?s a bitch, alright!

Especially when your mother comes running in, sees you laid out like roadkill, and grounds your ass for trying to scare kids.

Oh, and thanks for throwing water on the cat food!

Bringing up the punch in the face wasn?t even an option at this point!

???So I lay there for twenty minutes in pain.

There is truly nothing better than getting blamed for something you didn?t do?

?????????????????...and that's callin' it like it is!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Canadian artist & digital troublemaker Colin John Cook shares his louder-than-life, awkward, and honest-as-hell stories. Packed with humour, real talk & creative insights in a no filter, digital comedy space that laughs at life & calls it like it is. He is also the Founder and President of

The Hidden Gallery - Art Studio & Micro Theatre

??