January 30, 2020

“Kung Fu Crack Baby,” by John Reedburg

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“Kung Fu Crack Baby,” by John Reedburg

My elementary school was an off-white graffiti spectacle of a building that looked like it was a semester or two from dying of old age. Walking down the halls made me feel I’d become swallowed alive, passing down into the belly of a fire-breathing dragon until defecated into my 4th-grade class that smelled like urine. I hated going to school. My mother was a drug addict who only made sure I went so she could get a welfare check. While most kids went to learn, I went to have a hot meal. It would have been nice to live like Richie Rich with a robot maid that prepared food and protected you from bullies. Though my reality wouldn’t allow me to be a cartoon. I was Demetrius Deontay Jordan, the weirdest boy at school.   I didn’t have any friends.   Older kids called me “Kung Fu Crack Baby,” all because my mother took drugs and my…

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