Annual Bowmansdale Spelling Bee Contest

The kids all lined up on the stage in front of their chairs. Sixteen kids all told. A few white kids, mostly Asians, like no surprise there, and just one black kid. The Asians always won. They were bred for it. Who knows where their families were from. Thailand, maybe. Or Japan. Whatever. If they can spell their own names, they can spell anything. That’s what I think.

In the audience were the families. Some random spelling bee fans scattered throughout, but mostly families. No one really cares about this stuff, except for ESPN. But that’s the big time. The Show. This is just the annual Bowmansdale Spelling Bee Contest. A giant cartoon bee is staked into the ground outside. Tacky as all hell.

I was there to judge, being the most famous writer Bowmansdale’s ever produced. Once I sold my 100th book, I became a local celebrity. It’s hard to be a celebrity and still live with your parents, though. Writing doesn’t pay.

But I can judge the kiddies on how well they spell, especially since the words are all sitting in front of me. The words and their definitions. I don’t know half these words. I bet the kids don’t, either. They can spell words they don’t really know and will never, ever use. What a country, that this is sort of a sport and garners so much praise. But hey, I get paid a few bucks to sit here and make sure they spell the words right.

The first little girl walks up to the mike. She’s got trendy glasses and a winning smile. She’ll probably lose. Always bet on the dopey kid who looks like he has no friends. I’m not legally allowed to bet on this, but you know, a man’s got to make a living.

She has a name badge that says “Madeleine.” What a ridiculous name. I give her the first word: phosphate. She spells it no problem.

The next kid comes up, a boy with a faux-hawk. Seriously, what the hell is wrong with these kids. His name badge says “Rocky.” I give him the next word: incendiary. He goes down in flames. Opts for an “s” instead of a “c” and fucks up the suffix. Bye bye, Rocky. Go back to your mommy.

It was funny, though, when he spelled it wrong, because someone in the back screamed out “WRONG!” I resisted the temptation to look back and smile. Most of the parents grumbled and shifted in their seats.

Next up, a fat kid named “Billy.” Billy the Fat Kid. He has a flannel shirt on, even though it’s hot as balls in the auditorium. I give him the easiest word because he looks like he wants to cry already. aquarium. He nails it and his eyes brighten. Next time, I’ll hammer him with an impossible one.

The next five kids are all boring. They have the typical names doled out by douchebag suburban parents who just want the best for their little tykes. Little do they know they’re creating a whole generation of bitches and dickheads. They all get their words right.

Halfway through, I can see the little kids are getting cocky. I’m about to whip out some unexpected words, just to screw with them. “Hung” comes to the mike. Great name for a skinny Asian boy. I go rogue and give him twerk. His eyes become the size of teacup saucers and he asks for a definition. I say, “it’s when a fat black woman leans forward and shakes her ass up and down and all around.” Someone behind me laughs, but mostly the parents gasp. Hung’s mouth opens in shock. He puts a “c” before the “k” and goes down for the count. The heckler in the back yells again, but this time I hear a man tell him to shut up.

I’m stunned that no one has tackled me yet, but that’s the impact of power, I guess. I’m the judge. I’m the authority here. You just sit there and watch, assholes.

After Hung is “Leeli,” a stunning 10-year-old Asian girl with dreamy eyes. Good lord, why is a 10-year-old so good-looking already? I give her smegma and immediately define it as a “cheese-like secretion that accumulates in the genitalia, particularly on an uncircumcised penis.” “What the fuck!” someone yells. I spin to see a man approaching me. He looks angry, but I stand and demand that he identify himself. He’s Madeleine’s father, and he won’t sit there and let me degrade this competition with such filth. I warn him that I am the sanctioned officer of this competition, and if he interferes again, his daughter will be disqualified.

Even with all the fuss, Leeli keeps her composure and gets it right. Proud of you, girl.

“Austin” walks up to the mike, and I can tell he’s a little bitch. He’s cocky and says he can’t wait to get his word. He’s one of those smart kids from a rich family. I can just see it. He gets good grades, is good at sports, will probably get a free ride to college, and will get laid by the time he reaches high school. Austin really pisses me off. I pull out all the stops: cunnilingus, “oral sex performed on a woman.”

Someone in the back laughs hysterically, probably the heckler. A woman screams out that she’s calling the police. Parents storm onto the stage to grab their children and cuss me out as they walk by. Amazingly, Austin spells the word right without hesitation. I feel a touch of respect for the boy. He’d clearly seen that word before.

No big surprise that the cops came. I was charged with corruption of minors, which didn’t stick, and obviously I never judged a spelling bee ever again. They tried a few different charges - public indecency being one of them. But nothing seemed to stick that well. No one knew how to handle the situation. It was unprecedented. So I’m writing a memoir about it, and I already have some interest from major publishers. It’s going to be a good year.