Tim “Trim” Falucci

Yeah, “Trim” is a slightly unusual nickname, but hey, it’s better than “Ass Face,” right? See, I’ve been big- boned in an Eric Cartman kind-of-way since birth. Back in the fifth grade I used to get read the fitness and brimstone from this one gym teacher, so one day I said, “Hey, Teach, how’s about I stop calling you ‘Big and Dumb Bartucci’ and you start calling me ‘Fit and Trim’ Falucci? We’ll call it even.” I got suspended for two days, but I also got a nickname and a smidgeon of respect from the jocks, who all thought the same way about Mr. Bartucci but didn’t have the balls to say it. That after-school-special feeling didn’t last too long, though, and it those same jocks were back to picking on the fat kid.

Then my dad “left,” which was the euphemism my mom panicked into when my Dad actually got arrested and sent to prison. To be totally honest, I’m not even sure what he did, but I guess it was pretty bad, because his incarceration has been the Big Family Secret since, and not a soul knows outside of my immediate family. I wish Mom had thought of something cool, like Dad joined the military and was stalking Osama or Dad went cliff-diving during low tide, but who knows? But maybe that would have made things worse … if that’s possible. I was really angry for a long time. Deep down I probably still am. I stopped caring about school, tuned my wise-assedness to levels never before conceived by Man, and turned away from my mom. I started hanging around my grandmother a lot, and that’s when I started getting lessons on the family history.

My mouth was on a roll that day, and Nate Oullette’s ego must have been taking a bruising. I knew that I was probably pushing one of the jock elite a little too far, but it was feeling good, until he stomped me after classes. I slumped to Grans with more colors than the rainbow in my face, and as she was cleaning me up she started telling me about the Stregas, the witches back in Old Italy. Gran was from a long line of ginzo broom-riders, and she decided that it was time to teach me the ropes before my mouth got the rest of my body killed. I may not be as hot with the juju as she is, but she taught me plenty, and I found that I’ve kinda got a knack for it.

Now that I’m a bit older and wiser, I don’t let my mouth run so wild and free. Don’t get me wrong; if somebody pastes a dartboard on their forehead you can bet that I’ll make a throw for the bullseye, but I more go for the laughs these days. Nobody’s going to name me valedictorian and I’m sure to get passed on Mr. Popularity, but I’m in the running for Class Clown and I aim to win.

Quote: “Would that hideous monster mug of yours break if it smiled? (Clumsily dodges a punch) Well, then, I’ve got a joke for you.”