I feel I should caution my readers I wrote this chapter in graphic detail to capture the entire essence of the incident described. I did not color the text. King Tubbo performed enough of that. Therefore, the violence in this portion of my autobiography may not, probably more correctly stated, is not suitable for all FanStorians to peruse. I fully understand if you elect to not read this depiction of my encounter with Big Bertha, King Tubbo's bombastic reform school strap, with its theatrial style too declamatory for the sentiment expressed. If this be you, I strongly encourage you to cease reading at the end of this WARNING! If one is going to write their autobiography, the unfortunate truth is you must simply tell the story as it transpired.


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Per Request (Cast of Characters for new readers):

Gale McClellan - Superintendent of the Hermitage Hall orphanage. Commonly referred to by the boys housed there as King Tubbo
Mr. Tobias - Assistant Director and King Tubbo's main henchman
Big Bertha - Hermitage Hall's reform school strap
Brett Matthew West - narrator and 12 years old at the time of this incident

REBEL AS I MAY, I WAS NO PHYSICAL MATCH FOR THE HENCHMEN, ESPECIALLY CONSIDERING THERE WERE TWO OF THEM AND ONLY ONE OF ME. An enraged coward alone, King Tubbo always tried to stack the odds in his favor when he dealt with boys. I felt myself dragged against my will half-way across his desk and the boots on my feet kicked slightly apart. Fully exposed for King Tubbo's aesthetic pleasure, my bare back remained opened to view and lacked protection. A trace of nervousness settled over me with no way to distract my attention to anything except the inauspicious predicament encountered. The ferocious thunder boomer left the rapid impression something hostile was going to occur.

Taciturn and bridled, I threw up my head and drew in my chin. My tempermental disinclination asked myself, "What have I gotten into this time?" Though they had descended around my ankles, and laid partly on the floor where I stood, it was a good thing I had put on clean, white undies that morning.

King Tubbo popped Big Bertha. His concerted effort meant to intimidate me. Resembling a sonic boom, an explosive woosh radiated. The noise resulted in my instinctive, startled, reaction and I gasped a quick, vocalized, breath.

He instructed his cohort, "Hold him down tight, Mr. Tobias."

When the words escaped his mouth, I keenly perceived my muscles involuntarily tensed in anticipation of the distress soon to begin.

The task accomplished by his henchmen, King Tubbo informed me, "Now that I have your undivided awareness, Brett, we shall commence the administration of your required comeuppance. I will cease the session upon your reception of the tenth stroke!"

I attempted to force the leery anticipation, and realistic suspicion of intense pain, out of my mind. King Tubbo's full attention descended on the pale white canvas that represented my nether regions. He displayed no sympathy for my inenviable condition, or compassion for the chain of events incapable of being avoided. I suppose he thought he was Rembrandt creating a masterpiece.

No anti-inflammatory could prepare me for the burning sensation that flew down my legs with the deliverance of the first sizzling lash. Bull's-eye! As though sowing seeds, a sharp, prickly heat disseminated from the gluteus maximus. The uncontrolled misery careened to the femur's bony protuberance of the thigh. Something like I'd never felt before, the stroke landed precisely where King Tubbo intended for the throb to. The thrusted sting palpitated. Involuntarily, my body made an abrupt, unsteady, lurch. The red and swollen wheal, with its clearly defined edges Big Bertha left, rocketed off my flesh.

As the wildfire from the castigation steamed, the top quarter of my haunches convulsed emphatically. Forced tremulous locomotion. Thrash Number Two entwined the infuriated torrent. That hammer mauled just below the vicinity the first attacker ambushed me. My hands tightened into fists as my slouched shoulders extended back and down. The positioning of my right foot, now slightly in front of my left, resembled a diamond shape.

A strained grimace of anguish contorted my face in a violent manner. My blue eyes squeezed tight until only my eyelids showed. My nose scrunched in disgust, and my mouth opened wide to display my clenched pearly whites. I jigged three times in rapid succession and still had eight more clobbers to endure...somehow!

Lash Number Three painted my caboose the deep reddish-rose color of amaranth as blood was sucked up under the skin. An inclination to purple, blue, and black patches soon ensued. Battered and bruised, but certainly not broken, unlike other boys I knew who previously endured King Tubbo's wrath, I refused to wail out or allow him the satisfaction of knowing he'd subdued me into a state of depressed reflection. There would be no prolonged, high-pitched, audible laments from this victim. I determined that would not occur no matter what indignations I suffered. The stubborn determination and resolve I developed living my whole life in Hermitage Hall had seen me through many obstacles. With the henchmen restraining my movement, I had no option but remain under Big Bertha's tutelege. I fought back the ocean of tears wanting to burst forth and clung to what little bit of my pride remained.

Unhesitant and lively, Lashes Number Four, Five, and Six were administered in a rapid continuous stream that stole my breath away. The intense consternation scrambled my faculties.

Agitated with my continued silence, an iritated King Tubbo rubbed his chin. His anger explosive, in distress he bemoaned, "I can not believe you have not uttered as much as one little whimper since your chastening began. You are going to understand you did several things wrong and you are going to regret them. Most of all, you are going to yelp, loud!"

My posterior puffed in size from King Tubbo's onslaught, I filled my lungs with air and tried to resist the reception of Lash Number Seven. It, along with Lash Number Eight, were applied with increased vigor in a contrived effort to extol the verbal response he demanded. None came.

Courageously determined, with no cause for hope, I withstood their ferocious intensity. Valiantly, I struggled to free myself from the clutches of the henchmen. My energy about exhausted, and not wanting to cope anymore with my reprimand, I looked Mr. Tobias in the eyes. Emphatic, I entreated, "Let go of me!" The more I exerted to produce my yearned for effect the tighter he grasped my pulsating wrists.

Exuberent, he laughed, "No way! We're not done with you. Mr. McCllelan, I believe the message is starting to sink into Brett's stubbornness."

Drawing Big Bertha back to continue my persecution , King Tubbo responded, "It has often been said if you want to get a message into a boy's head go through his behind."

Lash Number Nine, and Lash Number Ten, were applied to the back of my upper legs. These bludgeonings hurt worst of all. By far, this episode was the absolute worst punishment I ever suffered.

King Tubbo assured me, "You will not sit for a few days. That much is certain. Heed my warning. Do not be summoned to my office again for a repeat performance. I will increase the number of lashes delivered with each appearance."

He hung Big Bertha back on the wall behind his desk and I was released by the henchmen. My hands immediately rubbed my inflamed wounds. Slowly, I pulled my undies and bluejeans up. The pain so severe, I almost could not tolerate wearing them.

Barely able to walk in listless baby steps, I started to leave his office. I paused outside the door. Out of sight, I eavesdropped on a conversation not intended for me to hear.

King Tubbo asked Mr. Tobias, "Do you know how much I hate that boy?"

"About as much as he despises you, Gale."

"You are so right. All that boy, or any of them, have been good for is whipping. I extract great pleasure in my excursions to Flog City."

They popped a cork on a Chardonnay bottle and guffawed, "I will definately drink to those words of wisdom!"

The bitterness in his voice apparent, King Tubbo demonstratively bewailed as though he wanted the far reaches of the universe to hear, "If I could move that radical malcontent I would. However, having been an orphanage lifer no other facility in Nashville will take him." He laid a hundred dollar bill on the table from the wallet he retrieved from his hip pocket. "My money says he will be back in here soon for another healthy dose. You going to take me up on my gentleman's wager, Mr. Tobias?"

I filed their conversation into my memory banks, and gentle as I could, Damaged Goods ambled to his room.

(TO BE CONTINUED:)

Chapter 21 brings me up to a certain Walmart parking lot where I first chance encountered Dusty West.