Strip the color from the meat of my eye

Sorry, got Archers on the brain lately.

Last night I was at the Mets/Pirates game. Four boys, barely 15, sat in front of me. What killed me is that they were yelling things like:

"You fag! You pussyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!" at the top of their lungs and yet their voices hadn't even changed yet. They were breaking all over the place. I'd seen them smoking cigs just outside the stadium. They were the sorts of boys who wouldn't talk to me when I was at that ever-awkward age. Their skin was shiny. Their hair was carefully coiffed. Two of them had clearly bleached their shiny straight locks. They were skinny, not even on the brink of broadening out. One of them, the one most adamant about calling any given Pirate a pussy, had his shorts down to his mid things, his entire boxer-clad ass hanging out.

After several people around me asked him to shut up, Assboy promptly lit up a cigarette. His friends laughed at him. He was asked to put it out. He asked me if I'd buy him a beer.

Later in the game, he stood up and yelled "PUSSY!" his little voice cracked. I couldn't take it anymore.

"WILL YOU PULL YOUR FUCKING PANTS UP?!!!!!" I yelled at him, my voice a full octave lower than his.

Several people clapped and laughed.

"She has a point," one guy behind me yelled.

The boy looked embarrassed and pulled his shorts up. One of his friends pulled them back down. At the end of the game, the alpha male of the group, a guy in a blue oxford, khaki shorts, long hair pulled back with expensive sunglasses and white socks in flipflops shook my hand and said "sorry about my friend."

"It's fine."

Then Assboy tried to apologize. I waved him off.

"Man, that's fucked up."