A Very Special Story

Once upon a time there was this beautiful woman who suffered from adult onset puberty and continually broke out with more pimples than a fifteen year old who washes their face with bacon grease daily.

This woman, with her many mountainous-like friends on her face, had a child who was 'special'.

'Special' in this story means the child was born differently than some of the other children this woman had squeezed out of her well-abused uterus. 'Special' does not imply lesser. Clark Kent was born special and that dude had no problem stripping down to his skivvies in a public phone booth where the homeless man routinely used for lavatory purposes, plus he flew around in blue tights and red gonch saving the world from less special people than himself.

'Special' is a good thing.

This 'special' child of this beautiful albeit pimply woman with a lone chin whisker (and a handful of nipple hair if we want to be honest) was scheduled to start school where upon this child would receive specialized training on how to improve his um, speciality.

It was a big day for both mother and child and much ado was made when the child was wheeled into the school in a super duper fancy four-wheeled amulatory unit (other wise known as the child's kick ass wheelchair or more simply, his hotrod.)

The child learned fantastic tricks, like how to stop speeding bullets by catching them with only their teeth, how to convince hot chicks across the world to lift up their shirts and show off their assets using only a grin, and most importantly, how to mind-meld with less special humans.

Sure it may have looked to the untrained observer this special child was only learning how to make simple choices, how to work on sitting unassisted and how to hold on to a gooey gross mess of playdough to stimulate hand strength and overcome sensory disorders, but that's what makes this special school more special.

The mother was very proud of her beautiful smooth skinned special child and was eager to watch the child's improvement with each day spent honing said special skills at said special school.

(Side note: This post brought to you today by the word SPECIAL.)

But the mother was in for a great shock when she learned her child would not be attending school as often as she had hoped. Stricken with panic at the thought of actually having to parent said child more often than thought, she demanded to know why her child wasn't being allowed to go to school on a more frequent basis to cultivate the child's special skills and thereby allowing her to take long naps in the day and surf the Interwebs for free porn during waking hours.

When it was revealed to the mother there was a lack of funding available to pay for the special child's special helper, the mother demanded an accounting of funds, shook her fist at the sky and darkly pledged to correct the terrible injustice bestowed upon her child and herself.

Then she pushed the child and his hotrod out to her waiting chariot, drove to the gas station, bought a slurpee and bitched and moaned to anyone who would listen how the world is trying to squash the unstoppable force of specialness that emanates from this very special family.

As soon as the woman got home she called every bureaucrat she could think of to get the matter resolved in a timely matter so her child could attend school more often and become all that the child was destined to be.

She may have swore colourfully after reaching one voice mail machine after another, but she powered on and left her name and number scattered clear across the county.

Days later, the clouds parted and the sun shine drizzled on her forehead like the hand of an angel reached down to touch her, the phone rang.

It was the special child's very own super hero. Also known as the woman who procures funding for the child's education.

The mother very politely explained the problem to the super hero (because the mother is well aware that while the squeaky wheel gets the grease, more flies are caught with honey than with vinegar) and held her breath as she waited for the super hero to solve world hunger and erradicate war. Or, you know,  just give her special child more damn money.

The superhero, also known as an employee finance for Glue Sniffers United School division, listened kindly as the beautiful mother droned on and on and demanded immediate and satisfying resolution to this dilemma.

Then the financial officer for all special little Glue Sniffers explained there was a problem with the special child's funding.

"What type of problem?" the bewildered yet entirely beautiful and zit riddled mother queried politely.

"You see, Tanis," the super hero said (Tanis being the name of said beautiful pimply mother), "the bureaucrat in charge of doling out the dollah dollahs for our special little glue sniffers so that I can distribute the money in a fair and unbiased way has determined that your special child isn't, well, special enough."

Then the superhero paused, cleared her throat and waited for the beautiful mother to lose her ever loving mind. She is thoughtful like that.

The mother however, just sat on her end of the phone with her jaw hanging open. It was a look her husband likes to see on her face but whines he doesn't see often enough.

"What do you MEAN my special child isn't special enough?" she finally managed to choke out.

"Well, according to the very rich province we live in, your child didn't qualify for 'specialness'. They didn't want to give your child any money but don't worry, I totally went to the bat for your special child and procured some funding," she hastily added. "Just not enough to get the special child the extra day of speciality training we all know the special child needs to develop the special talents necessary."

"Well, that's just ridiculous! How much more special can my child be?" the beautiful mother screeched.

"I know!!" the superhero giggled. "I offered to pick up this bureaucrat and deliver him to the special school so he could see just how special your child was. I don't think he liked that."

"But! But! My child is special! He has all the special requirements necessary to procure full funding according to our very rich and well run government's laws! That's just ridiculous!" the mother huffed.

"I KNOW," the superhero agreed.

"I mean, my child is blind can catch bullets using only teeth! My child is crippled has a pimping hot rod! My child is half deaf can mind meld! My child's so adorable other people weep with jealousy! How much more special does this kid need to be in this bureaucrat's eyes???"

Then the mother started giggling like a crazed maniac at the thought of her special child needing to be more special when anyone with eyes could see just how damned special the child really is.

"It's silly really. I asked the asshat bureaucrat if he even read your child's reports on how special he was but that didn't go over too well. No worries though, the problem was corrected, albeit somewhat limitedly but this won't ever be a problem again. I've made sure of it. I put my super hero cape on and threatened to choke the life out of the twit if he ever decided your child wasn't special enough again."

The beautiful and zit-tastic mother started giggling at that mental image and thanked the superhero for all her hard work on behalf of her special child. Then the mother and the superhero worked to cobble together a fantastic schedule allowing the special child to hone the special powers the child so obviously harboured.

Then the mother got off the phone and looked at her special child who, at that very moment rolling around on the floor with a bucket on it's very special head, and shook her head at the complete twattiness of some unknown bureaucrat sitting at some unknown desk who was responsible for making important decisions for all the unknown special little glue sniffers in the county and decided something must be done to prevent any future travesties from ever happening again.

So she went to her closet and pulled out a very special box and a few hours later she sat down to hold her special child on the couch while clutching a small inanimate object.

"Dear special child," she murmured into her child's hair. "Mommy has something to show you." Then she held out the inanimate object for the special child to touch and drool upon.

"This is what we call a voodoo doll. You and I are going to stick some pins into a very special person's arse," she explained as she reached for a pin cushion.

"It won't hurt anybody. But it will certainly make both of us feel better," said the mother as she gleefully jabbed a long pin into the left buttocks of a doll made in the image of an anonymous asshat bureaucrat.  "And on the plus side, we can totally use this for your next show and share at your very special school!"

Because the beautiful sufferer of adult onset puberty is all about sharing.

The teachers at Glue Sniffers United will be so very proud.

Everyone lived happily ever after except for perhaps the poor twitty bureaucrat who did not realize the fire that would rain down upon his head when he crossed the beautiful and zitty mother.

Tough nuts suckah. Don't mess with my kid cuz I promise you, I not only walk the walk but I swing a big stick too.

And I never miss.


I'll choose option D every time. It involves spanking.

Edited to add: I have spent most of my day yesterday and today making sure the wrath of this special mother has been felt by various government agencies and of course, the school board. Note to any future bureaucrats who don't read paperwork or make allowances for children transferred into new regions during the middle of a school year: I will wield my super powers to make your life miserable. I consider it my duty as a mother.

And my bark is never as bad as my bite. Be warned.