At around 24 months after their births, many children go through a period of shrill truculence popularly known as The Terrible 2s. The Leader had early gone through The Woeful Ones, and would later go through his Threatening 3s, during which he warned his siblings and parents thwarted him that he would harm them in ways he didn’t yet have the vocabulary to convey. By four, he’d become so rambunctious that his parents had to set aside their skepticism about psychology and take him to a child psychologist, not yet 11, who advised them that what their son was actually suffering from was unruliness. After extensive research, his parents decided on a military-themed facility known to be staunchly ruly. Mater thought the pupils perfectly adorable in their tiny uniforms. Photographs from the time affirm that TL was particularly adorable in his.
As he grew older, and rose through “the ranks”, The Leader, though not gifted academically, came to excel at bullying. Where other boys were content to relieve weaker classmates of their lunch money, The Leader went the extra mile, inviting his victims to reach down his trousers for the money, knowing that if they did, his paid sycophants would beat them senseless for being "fags". On other occasions, if someone had thrown up on the playground, The Leader would put the money he’d stolen in the sick, from which he’d mock his victim in a manner not reminiscent of Tucker Carlson’s — but only because Tucker wouldn’t even be born until years later — for not extracting it. “Whatsamatter?” he’d pretend to wonderwhile his sycophants shrieked with laughter, “I thought you wanted your money back.”Between third and seventh grades, The Leader was expelled from his school nine times, and then readmitted 10 when his father, the biggest retailer of racist supplies in the Northeast, offered to buy the school a new sandbox or something.
Beginning secondary school at St. Darren the Egregious, whose credo, in Latin at the bottom of the school crest, was We groom tomorrow’s despots, The Leader conferred with one of the school’s counsellors. Noting TL’s subterranean grades in everything but bullying, the counsellor urged him to consider a career with the TSA or Border Patrol, though at the time the TSA wasn’t yet a tingling in the far right’s loins. The Leader’s intuition — later proved accurate — was that his future lay in pretending to be a successful businessman on television. He asked which courses could prepare him for that, and the counsellor suggested Drama, but TL thought the teacher might be a fag, and got Pater to have him drafted and sent to Vietnam, where he was killed in combat.
The Leader achieved the captaincy of St. Darren’s junior varsity cheating team after being observed to excel at hiring ringers to pass his exams for him. Where his classmates decorated the walls of their dormitory rooms with centrefolds from Playboy magazine, The Leader had the women they depicted, posing as tutors, brought to his golden private room, with its $18K toilet seat and cupboardful of antibacterial aerosol — always aerosol! — sprays. He got pater to rent the two rooms to the left of his own and knock down the wall between them, and then to turn the one huge room into an office in which one of Pater’s team of gynaecologists could…treat anyone the young future leader had knocked up, and then compel to sign an affidavit stating that none of it had ever happened.
When he was or wasn’t getting Playmates of the Month pregnant, The Leader enjoyed organising groups to terrorise exchange students from countries whose names he could neither pronounce nor even spell, and activism, and was in the forefront of the student group that successfully demanded that the school’s support staff — janitors, cafeteria workers — parking lot be moved several blocks off-campus. Their cars embarrassed the students.
In his sophomore year, TL was caught spray-painting Your In America Talk American on the side of the school’s Spanish and Portuguese teacher’s Prius, and given a choice between being expelled and joining one of the school’s extracurricular clubs, all of which he believed to be faggy. He chose Debate, and soon proved himself a formidable, if unorthodox, debater. Where others wasted a lot of time learning about the subject to be debated, TL would just focus on his opponent’s physical peculiarities, and ridicule them. He was especially effective against self-loathing overweight girls with complexion problems.
Academics weren’t his long suit. He thought homework was for fags, and informed his various instructors that he trusted his gut in every instance, and thus had no reason to spend his evenings pouring [his spelling] over boring textbooks while he could be impregnating Playmates of the Month, or not, as their signed affidavits affirmed. He got his Remedial Mathematics instructor to change his grade from F to C-minus by hooking him up with Miss April ’67, who loved horses and planned to become a dental hygienist.
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