Bully Me You, I Exemplified Archetypal Scapegoat

Bully me you, I exemplified archetypal scapegoat Even as an old curmudgeon, aye pucker and raspily suction, albeit toothless mouth drawing reminiscent guffaws affecting (think feeble attempt impersonating plumber plunging - unclogging backed up toilet), flushed with satisfaction, now snakes into following non sequitur, whereby then upperclassman, whose name Scott Lambert I suddenly remembered modest fellow one year my senior - donned tee shirt “please support your local bummer” yes folks back in the day, one long haired pencil neck geek palled around with another hirsute nerd - Roger Kummerer, (who both of us graduated Methacton High School class of 1977), and yours truly readily admitting, alluding, and attesting without shadow of doubt representing the dumber than rocks of said rolling stones foo fighting beastie boys allied with Smokey and the bandits, the latter donning outsize particolored grey pachyderm trunks, Tuscaloosa so far away; especially as Mummer doth strut on unseasonably warm New Year's Day sporting polar bear look-alike gabardine garb getup trumpeting, merrily squeezing Charmin rubbing her/his tuchus excellently exhibiting posterior as chief motormouth sound of combo motorboat hummer. Mein kampf elapsed distressfully even now scores of decades later ah..., the joys of amazingly aging gracefully recalling happily never being beat into pulp daily courtesy imagine dragons saving me hide 'though dimming sense and sensibility before (appearing gratefully dead) lifeless body dumped into gully, nevertheless all the while fully maintaining consciousness, and forcefully summoning forth latent powers gleefully choking living daylights masterfully delivering just desserts upon Tom Viglione, whose plaintive laments truthfully resonate as blessed music to ears unaccustomed hearing pitifully sounding long overdue comeuppance forever disbelieving wrongfully perpetrated intimidating injustice witnessed courtesy mine doppelgänger, who wanted to strangle the m****r f****rs yearningly fueling an ordinarily meek lad only in his dreams, he envisions zestfully. Pugnacious thuggish hooligans... although decades long since elapsed, whereby muscle bound hoodlums jockeyed to rain one after another verbal Hawaiian punch, and bandied fist viz physical blow threatening introverted diminutive boy who, no surprise did eventually, albeit (shamefacedly, sneakingly, and stuntedly) didst grow (as an aside resembled anorexic Kris Kringle ho... ho... ho...), which long sleeved Santa suit rendered invisible liver spots; said epidermal splotches black and indigo wracked (in my pinion), impacted, and affected..., this punster, he haint Joe King, but upholds true value nudging anonymous reader to chuckle thru contrived written words y'know good humor less or mo' yours truly aspires toward po' whit tree linkedin with infusing, feebly, lamely, and quirkily (no matter recognizing ex post facto) impossible mission reporting punks to principal, hence describing, envisioning, forsaking passivity as defensive modus operandi status quo finally freeing mine unsung inner foreigner juke box hero.