Cutter's my name, and trying to survive (life) is my game.

Life for me can be a veritable hell. 

I mean, look at me.  Do I look like I could get around crowded school halls easily?  Do I look like a future Olympic athlete or pro sports legend?  Do I look like I could have girls hangin' all over me?

I don't think so!!

As I said, my name's Cutter.  Cutter John Galganza.  I'm sixteen years old, yet I look no more than ten, twelve on a good day.  I am less than five feet tall, and I'm lucky if I weigh 98 pounds (soaking wet!).

Let's face it, folks.  I'm not much to look at.

And school only makes it worse.  I hate school.  I hate school with a purple passion.  I hate it more than anything in the world.  And even worse, it's ruining my life.

See, where I go to school (Warren G. Harding High), looks, talents, or brains seem to rule.  If you don't have the brains, the brawn, or the talent to excell, you might as well be eatin' dog turds for breakfast.  I mean, it seems those who "don't fit in" have become easy targets for ridicule, pranks, or worse. 

I'm the type of kid who just asks for trouble.  I'm the kid who big, beefy football-type guys stuff into lockers or do swirlies (dunkin' my head into the toilet in the boy's john, so when I go to my next class, my hair is soaking wet, and my clothes are not much better).  I'm the kid who gets his face full of mashed potatoes or gravy when they trip me while I'm walking to my table in the school cafeteria.

I'm the kid who makes Steve Urkel of "Family Matters" look like a matinee idol.  Let's face it:  I'm butt-ass ugly!!  Kinky red-brown hair that's nothing more than a mass of out-of-control curls.  Big, dark-brown eyes made even larger by thick, Coke-bottle-lensed glasses (black ones, mind you!).  A big honker, a too-small mouth, a high, squeaky voice that makes me sound like an eight-year-old.  Huge Dumbo ears that stick out a mile.  Scrawny arms and legs that could pass for sticks, and no chest whatsoever (let alone, no ass!).  I'm a social reject waiting to happen!!

My athletic skills are next to zilch.  I'm the one who gets stuck on the rope during gym, and then I have to wait for the fire department to come and rescue me (believe me, it's happened before, more than once!).  I'm the one who falls over the hurdles, the one who can't walk or run without having to stop, so I can take a hit off my inhaler, because my stupid asthma is acting up again.  I'm the one who scores runs (for the opposing team!), or the one who gets knocked out when someone throws a football at me (don't know if it's deliberate or an unfortunate accident; haven't been able to figure that out yet).

I'm the kid who gets picked last, or the kid who gets razzed during report-card time because I happen to score A's in all of my classes. 

Let's face it:  I'm a n-e-r-d with a capital N.  A dweeb with a capital D. 

Sure, I may be book-smart, but when it comes to real life adventures, I'm more inclined to score a great big, fat, red F.

My name certainly doesn't help.  I mean, what kind of bone-head would name their kid CUTTER??  That sounds more like a flavor of cheese than a boy's name!  Or like the son of a lumberjack!  (My dad's a manager of a bowling alley.  How's that for success??)

If I don't get picked on for my looks, I get it for my name.  They call me "Cutter-Dweeb" or C---ter"  (rhymes with "Hunter"; you get the picture),  "El Nerdo", "Steve Urkel's Twin Brother", "Skinny", "Shrimpy", "Stick":  any number of less-than-desirable names.  No, school life for me is anything but pleasant.

Guess that's why I get into my comic books or my drawings so much.  Or my computer or video games.  It makes me forget of the pain I face every day at school, and it makes me forget of my folks always harping at me to try out for the tennis team or the track team:  anything to get me out of the house.

Like I have anything to worry about getting fat!  Fat sees me, and it goes running off into the night, screaming its ugly head off!

Well, I will write more later.  I have to go to stupid gym-let's-see-Cutter-make-a-fool-out-of-himself-on-the-ropes-class!  Ugh!  Maybe I should feign having smallpox or an ingrown toenail, or beri-beri:  anything to get out of gym!  Ugh, I loeathe gym class!  Talk to you again soon!  Bye!  Pray I survive gym class!!

-Cutter John Galganza.  :(

~To be continued.~