Yes, I'm The Kid Who Plugged In The Tweezers

One great, inspiring thing about having a blog is the possibility that at any moment practically anyone, anywhere, could be reading it.  One can imagine, through sheer coincidence, one's childhood sweetheart, one's childhood best friend, or one's former bullying victim happening across the blog and even seeing through the screen name to recognize you.  And something you write about, something from your past, causes them to say "OMG! I remember that! It's...it's...that guy!"
The great part is possibly interacting with people from your past without actually having to see or talk to them; that's great because, of course, either they wronged you grievously or you never liked them in the first place. But you can still impact their lives, and fuck with their heads a little, by bringing to memory a time of life that they are probably just as embarrassed about as you are.
So here goes:
On the off-off-chance that someone who was there or heard about it shortly thereafter happens upon this blog, I want to make this announcement: I am the guy who, in 1972, stuck a pair of tweezers into the electrical outlet in eighth grade science class. That was me! I'm still around!
You remember. There was this loud, ominous buzzing noise coming from the walls, the lights went out, somebody (maybe you) screamed, and my lab partner (maybe you, Dennis), stood next to me, pointed at the outlet and made weird panting noises like "uh, uh, huh, uh, eeee?"
Then Mr. Odell asked me what I had done and I told him. "I stuck the tweezers into the electrical outlet."  I mean, I thought that was pretty obvious. There they were, sticking out of the outlet, an arm's length away from where I stood, like a murder weapon protruding from a dead body at my feet, somewhat browned in the course of their great adventure. What he didn't ask me, and what I couldn't have told him, was why.  Really, it wasn't a conscious act, more like scratching yourself while you're watching TV.  If scratching yourself fried all the circuits in the classroom.
Mr. Odell then sent me to the prinicpal's office, where the principal, whom we referred to as "Uncle Freddy" out of respect for his Napoleonic bearing, told me that he hoped I got a nasty shock out of it. Well, sorry to disappoint you, Uncle Freddy, but there was no shock, for reasons that most people with your level of education would have figured out.  I felt nothing other than a bit of an adrenaline spike, which I found curiously enjoyable.
Well, needless to say (I always wanted to write those words), the story soon went around the whole school, probably the whole town.  I became "the kid who stuck the tweezers in the outlet."
I'm still that kid. That's me! I will always be that kid, the kid who plugged in the tweezers. No one can ever take that away from me. I survived! I stood calmly while others screamed and went "uh uh huh uh eeee?" 
You know who you are. Remember, and cringe at the recollection of your 13-year-old self reacting in fear to loud buzzing noises and sudden darkness. Maybe you wet yourself. Remember!  And fuck you, Uncle Freddy, even though you're probably dead now, and rotting. Serves you right for wishing electrocution on me, you little bastard. Neener neener neener.
I'm still that kid