Or maybe it’s just because you’ve seen too many bad teen flicks, you know, the ones where a kid like Stanley — some dopey nerd of a kid — tries to stand up to some kid like Milt — the coolest bully in school — and he wins. Maybe you’ve seen some YA flick where the nerd ends up transforming into the cool guy that all the chicks want, but you know what? Even if Stanley does stand up to Milt, even if he does get away with it for just a minute, when no one’s looking, Milt will pass a note, crumpled up into a tight ball, that says, “You’re dead, punk,” or “After schooclass="underline" Four o’clock” and the rest of the year — for the rest of his fucking life — Stanley’s going to live in perpetual terror. And I’ve got news for you: the moment Milt walked into that room and saw Stanley’s shit on his desk and looked up and saw the little punk sitting in his desk, Milt knew. Milt knew he’d have to kick Stanley’s ass at least once just for looks. What did you expect? Did you really think Stanley would get away with it? Are you going to turn away now, now that you’ve ruined Stanley’s chances at anything? Yeah, you are. I know your type. You’re just going to abandon him. Just like that. Because you know that, like you, Stanley doesn’t have balls. You know that, like you, Stanley’s doomed. Only he’s better than you. You hate him just a little bit more for it.
I guess we should just face it: Milt’s got more smarts and more balls than both you and Stanley combined. I mean, yeah, so you’re scared of conflict, I get it, but come on. This is a story. For Christ’s sake, have you ever read a fucking short story before? This is what happens. Conflict. But yeah, I know your kind. You’re the kind of asshole who sees Angelina fucking Jolie in Africa with all those little African babies and your heart cracks, and you just can’t stop yourself, can you? You’re simultaneously choking back your goddamned tears and hiding your chubby. You disgust me. Besides, even though you’re the type who sees Angelina Jolie in Africa and starts crying, it’s not going to kill you to see Stanley suffer a little, and quite frankly, it’s probably good for Stanley too. What was it your father used to say? Do you remember? You used to hate it. Remember? Your daddy used to tell you all the time. He used to say, “Damn it, boy! How many times I got to tell you? If it don’t kill you, it makes you stronger.” And here you are. I see you. You’re not dead. Whatever it was, it didn’t kill you because you’re still alive, right? Maybe you don’t have very good memories of that time he threw you in the lake by the tree with the family of water moccasin, but you sure as hell learned how to swim that day, didn’t you? It’s just a story for God’s sake. But maybe you don’t want a story at all. Do you want a story or not? I mean, you’re probably the kind of guy — and I’m just guessing here — who gave up his big dream of becoming an actor to sell electronic supplies at some local electronics store that went out of business when Circuit City or Office Depot moved in to the neighboring shithole town next to your shithole town, and now you’re dreaming of getting a promotion to “Electronics Supervisor” at Wal*Mart. I feel bad for you, bud. I know you’ve been hoping for that promotion for years now.
In fact, you’re not just hoping for that promotion. No, that promotion is much more than a promotion, isn’t it? I know your kind. To you, that promotion symbolizes the start of a whole new life: a chance to “make it.” I mean, in all reality, don’t you know this is it? Your life has reached its limit, but in your head, you think if you can just get this one promotion to “Electronics Supervisor,” you’ll finally have the balls to talk to that housewife, you know which one I mean. I’ve seen how you look at her. You know exactly when she comes in because you steal the surveillance tapes and watch them in the privacy of your own locked room over and over again. I wish I could say there’s no shame in that, but it’s not even porn, bud. That’d be way more respectable. This is just creepy. She’s just shopping. But yeah, so you think if you get this promotion, you’ll be taken off night shift and you could actually see her in real life, in real color, and she’ll see you, “Electronics Supervisor,” and she’ll ask you for help and that’ll be it. You’ll charm the fucking pants off of her, and then, all of this will be worth it. Except, even though you’re lost in some warped reality, the truth of it is you know things will never work with Donna — that’s what you’re calling her, right?
So instead of really stalking Donna, you can focus on Stanley and how to make his life as sweet as possible, even if it means Milt will kick his ass into next year. You’re just hoping little Stanley will have the chance you never had, the chance you lose every day that you’re a night stocker rather than “Electronics Supervisor.” What was it your old man used to say? Give the little guy a chance? You always thought you were the little guy, right? And then you started to grow, and then you weren’t so little any more. I don’t want to be rude, bud, but you’ve been the little guy for a long time now, and I’ve got news for you: you’re not so little any more. I know. I know. Little is metaphorical. Like how you feel like a piece of shit most of the time. That makes you little, and so I should give you a chance. I mean, hell, it’s really not your fault you’re working as night stocker at Wal*Mart. It’s really not. I know it’s hard out there for you middle-class suburban raised kids. You’re the little guy. You’re the ones who have suffered, and so when you see Stanley, you feel for him. You’re not looking for a story — not a real story anyways — you’re looking for a chance at redemption. You’re hoping Stanley will stand up to Milt like you’d never have the balls to stand up to anyone. I don’t want to call you a loser, bud, but the fact of the matter is that you’re not doing so hot right now, and from my end at least, the forecast isn’t brightening up any. Looks like storm clouds for miles. Or maybe it’s Stanley I’m talking about. Because when it comes down to it, bud, this is a story. Do you want the story or not? Because I can’t spend the next decade stalling. It’s now or never. Milt’s been looming over Stanley for like a century now. What’s it going to be?
Look here, bud, you got it all wrong. Milt’s not a bad guy. In fact, he’s not so different from you. I know this whole time you’ve been one Stanley’s side. You’ve seen yourself in Stanley, but you know what I think? I think you’re afraid of the Milt you’ve got inside you. You see, like you, Milt’s from a nuclear family — a rare species nowadays — and like you, his dad’s a real prick and his mom bakes oatmeal fucking raisin cookies from scratch. Like you, Milt’s a failure. Or at least he’s doomed to be a failure. It’s only a matter of time, and really, once he kicks Stanley’s ass, everyone knows he’s going to get suspended, maybe even expelled, depending on how many bones he breaks. And his parents have been threatening to send him to some military school for like his whole fucking life, and this is it. You see what you’ve done? Do you know what happens to kids like Milt in military school? They get fucked. Not literally, of course. Well, maybe. Who knows. But really, kids like Milt, they go to military school and all of sudden, they’ve got no more spirit. Military school crushes them into submission, and even little assholes like Milt start spitting out sirs quicker than curdled milk. You see what you’ve done? You’ve ruined not just Stanley’s life but quite probably Milt’s too. Are you satisfied? Does it make you feel better about your shit job and your pathetic life to destroy their lives too? And of course, you don’t even want to confront the possibility of what you’ve done. No, you’d rather take the easy way out. Shut the book. Go ahead. Fucker. I dare you. Except now, you’re too chicken to even stop reading. Too pussy to go on. Too pussy to stop. Pathetic. Have I said that yet? Just fucking pathetic.