FTaSDH - Current Ep - 1x05 - To Russia, With Love

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RedImperator
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FTaSDH - Current Ep - 1x05 - To Russia, With Love

Post by RedImperator »

And now, the season premier. Characters were based loosely (I can't stress that word enough) on the members they're named after. Physical descriptions, when available, were based on images available in the "What Do You Look Like?" threads, the members' avatars, and/or the writers' imaginations. This work is copyright blah blah blah.

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Principal Stravo slouched just a little further in his chair. What is this now, 10 times he's been in here? In two days? He asked himself. Sometimes he loved his job; other times he hated it. The kids saw him as some Orwellian nightmare figure. He could goose-step around the halls with a swastika on his right arm and one of those lens-on-a-string things that only evil Nazi guys in the movies ever wore without damaging his reputation.

Kids need to understand authority. That's why I'm doing this. To mold them into productive citizens. He pondered his own thoughts for a moment. Yeah, that should keep me sleeping at night.

"Are you stoned or something?" Stravo's head tilted slightly up, more as a attentive reflex than a result of actually caring about what the student on the business-end of his ornate, wooden desk had asked. The student in question, Walter, had to have possessed a brain. Stravo could simply not find a way around that simple necessity. Locked away, underneath the round cranium and face that looked like a pepperoni pizza that had been sitting under a sunlamp for the past 10 hours, there had to be a brain.

Mmm ... pizza. Stravo made a mental note to start having the cafeteria serve pepperoni pizza on ... What day is it today? Oh right, Tuesday.

"Listen Walter, I know that students often like to nickname other students, but that doesn't mean that--" Walter cut him off.

"My name is TRANSCEND!" He exclaimed.

"But that doesn't mean that teachers have to respect those nicknames in class during roll-call," Stravo finished, ignoring Wally's outburst. In the frequent times Wally had been in his office, Stravo had learned that it was best to speak in compound sentences. Wally had a propensity of cutting him off, so he figured that he'd like to at least get one, complete thought out of his mouth before the 15 year-old sophomore forcibly injected his conversational equivalent of epinephrine into the still-beating heart of a hapless sentence.

Wally, or Transcend, as he insisted on being called, had a problem with authority, specifically any authority which did not address him as "Transcend" or instead addressed him as "Tranny," "Wally" or "Dumb-ass." To this end, he often disrupted classes by yelling at his teacher for having the temerity to use his real name.

"Why is it so fucking hard to just fucking call me by my REAL NAME?" Wally asked. Stravo was beyond the point of caring about some foul language. Technically, it was against the rules, but a foul mouth was the least of this kid's problems.

Stravo sighed, exasperated.

"Just get out of here and stop harassing your teachers," he said. He wished he could get a button installed under his desk, one of the cool ones in the movies. A button that would activate the spring-loaded ejector plate underneath the chair opposite him. A spring-loaded ejector plate powerful enough to propel a student into low orbit. He'd even settle for a trap door leading to a fire-pit, like Dr. Evil had.

He was fairly certain that the board would shout down that budget proposal fairly quickly, though. Those were the types of hunches he usually followed.

Wally removed his ass from the chair which regrettably had no ejector plate underneath it. Stravo noticed a slight aberration in the boy's uniform as he was leaving the office. His navy-blue button-up shirt was defiantly untucked in the back. This was probably no fault of Wally. The kid had no relaxed state of being, so he was always leaning forward whenever he sat in a chair, pulling his shirt out of its housing in his khakis.

Nevertheless, it annoyed Stravo. The longer he spent at this school, the more little things began to annoy him. He was about to reprimand Wally for his dress-code impudence, but he figured it'd be best left to one of the student hall monitors, whose job it was to spot uniform violations and report roving students.

Who watches the office floor at eleven? Stravo asked himself. Ah yes, Spanky. Spanky was about as straight-arrow as students came these days. Though Stravo thought that he took his "power" as a hall monitor a little too seriously, at times.

Ah well. He'll give ole Wally Hell, Stravo thought to himself, satisfied at Wally's fate upon attempting to return to class while in violation of the school's dress code.

Stravo checked the time. Oh right ... eleven. 4 hours still until dismissal. Those 9 to 5 fuckers have it easy. His eyes wandered down from the clock to the second drawer on the right of his desk. He pulled it open, revealing the usual host of office crap that he didn't use. This drawer's sole purpose in life was to be filled with shit ... and a flask, which was in turn, filled with Captain Morgan's spiced rum. He lifted it from the desk drawer, holding it aloft like a prize and examining it as if he hadn't had it for decades.

It was quite a beautiful flask, all black with a silver etching that read "Class of 1969 Official Teller of Tales" in a pompously ornate font, with a quill pen and ink behind the text.

Aah, those were the days, he reminisced about his days at old Sunnyvale Central High, back when Sunnyvale only had one high school. The place had never been "new." It had been shitty and run-down as long as anyone could remember. The computer labs received an upgrade to 1997 technology around 2004, and the science labs were wonders of modern science in that they had managed never to kill a single student, despite numerous gas leaks and a 65% smoking rate among the student population.

But with the influx of soccer moms equipped with their fertile wombs and child-bearing hips, Sunnyvale, 10 years ago, decided that it was time for another high school. So was built Sunnyvale East, which quickly became the arch-rival of Sunnyvale Central. The Sunnyvale Central kids hated the Sunnyvale East kids because they were richer than a Corvette's exhaust, and the East kids hated the Central kids because the Central kids could kick their rich, pansy asses. Also, the East kids didn't like paying the Central kids' 50% markups on seedy dank. In fact, Central pretty much had a monopoly on supplying marijuana to the rich, white suburban kids, so the kids at Sunnyvale East began calling Central "Sunnyvale Dank," or "SD" for short.

They'd thought themselves terribly clever, but the Central kids had taken a liking to the nickname, much like early Americans had adopted the derisive term "Yankees." Despite their fondness for the nickname, they retaliated anyway by calling the East kids the "Sunnyvale Bitches," or "SB" for short.

Then the town decided it was time for Sunnyvale Central to go. Well, not so much "go" as "evolve into a parking lot," specifically a parking lot for a new high school. That school's name was Sunnyvale West High School. Brand new with state-of-the-art, spiffy-ass stuff. And it was all for the kids on the wrong side of town. Especially the metal detectors and drug-sniffing dogs.

This naturally infuriated the East kids, and thus did Sunnyvale West inherit the spot of Sunnyvale Central in Sunnyvale East's "People we fucking hate" book.

And now, Stravo was the head honcho of this institution. This institution, which admitted a kid who insisted on being called "Transcend." He eyed his flask again. Okay, you win.

He unscrewed the cap and brought the flask to his lips, slowly tipping back in his chair rather than tilt his head back to start the flow of liquor to his stomach. The alcohol hit his tongue like liquid flame, if there was such a thing. He inhaled the cleansing aroma and let himself forget about the bloody place for a few seconds. He imagined himself in a court room, arguing an epic legal battle about something important and awing the audience and jurors with his insight and powerful voice. Man ... why didn't I go to law school?

Mid-gulp, his intercomm buzzed, wrenching him back to reality. His eyes lazily rolled to where the obscene creation sat on his desk, partially obscured by the flask still held to his face. "Mr. Stravo, two students were just caught having sex in the janitor's closet. They're on their way down to your office right now," it squawked, ever the bearer of bad news. Stravo paused to consider this. A wave of apathy washed over him, and if he could've resigned himself any more to the bottle, he would have.

He tipped the flask again. God damn first week of school.

***************************************
Fast Times at SD High
*
* Starring
*
*The Kernel
*Joe
*Iceberg
*The Duchess of Zeon
*Innerbrat
*
* Also Starring
*
* Stravo
*
*
* Featuring
*
* Transcend, Spanky the Dolphin, Aerius,
* JMac, RedImperator, Durandal, Dalton,
* Patrick Degan, Dark Hellion, David,
* Bored Shirtless, Col. Crackpot
* Vympel, and MKSheppard
*
*
* Written by
*
* Damien Sorresso and Matthew Lineberger
*
* Executive Producers
*
* Damien Sorresso and Matthew Lineberger
*********************************************

*********************************************
*Episode 101: The Kernel Comes to SD, Pt. 1 *
*********************************************

Fourth period ... do I have anything fourth period? Dalton mused to himself. The surrounding chaos of the class-changing period in the halls of Sunnyvale West High School didn't do wonders for his mental faculties. All the bustling and noise made it hard to think. He weaved his way through the swarm of students, twisting and turning his body to avoid bumping into the other bodies in the hall.

Oh yeah ... my fourth period art class, with me being the art teacher. Now where do I have my fourth period art class ... Dalton presented his brain with its next challenge. The synapses fired up, seeking this crucial bit of information. North Wing, room 424. Dalton smiled. Well done, brain. Well done, indeed.

He began planning his route. His somewhat twisted sense of humor began placing targeting boxes around the impediments in his path, walls, doors, students. If I had a rocket launcher, I'd make somebody pay. Alas, he could not simply obliterate the obstacles presented to him, for he had no rocket launcher. And it was probably illegal, anyway.

--

Spanky was ever-watchful from his perch on the wall of the office floor's hallway. He'd let that deviant Wally off with a warning about his shirt being untucked just before the ever-present bell rang out the signal that second-period was over. Next time, he wouldn't be so forgiving.

His eyes drifted across the masses. Like a choppy stream, they ran from right-to-left and left-to-right, all under his vigil. Many girls had their skirts rolled up at least half-an-inch too high. It was an unfortunate reality that he could not accost them all and doll out punishment. No, he thought. Let the little fish go. Look for the big ones; make a name for yourself.

Almost on cue, his nose picked up an unmistakable scent. Slightly minty, but heavy and musty. He knew that smell. It was the stink of uselessness, the stink of a net-zero worth to society. That stink was of marijuana smoke. And he'd bet dollars to donuts he knew where it was coming from.

Immediately he began actively scanning for two particular targets. He picked them up immediately, such was the keenness of his visual acuity. What they all failed to realize was that, with his glasses, his vision was 20/15. The very device meant to compensate for his natural visual deficiency had actually enhanced it beyond natural limits. He knew there had to be an anime based around that plot somewhere.

Spanky's eyes narrowed. There they were, dopey smiles plastered on their faces and all. They still had their backpacks on. Keeping one's backpack on during transition periods was expressly forbidden by the student handbook, which meant only one thing. They must be late. Sometimes he impressed himself with his detective work, his ability to spot small inconsistencies that any normal person would doubtlessly miss. They even had their sunglasses on still. Were the fools trying to get caught?

Damien Sorresso and Matt Lineberger, otherwise known as "Red," slowly sauntered through the halls. They weren't so much as bumping into people as acting like the high school hallway equivalent of 80 year-old drivers. Those two were unquestionably high, but Spanky had to wait for confirmation. Wait for it. Then he saw Sorresso remove his sunglasses, with Red following suit. Sorresso was nearest him, and he made the mistake of looking in Spanky's general direction. Sorresso's "Drugs are bad ... mmmkay?" tie taunted the very institution of law itself. Then Spanky saw it. His eyes were bloodshot. Should've listened to Ben Stein, stoner. Your ass is mine, now.

Fucking contemptible drug users, Spanky thought. It's a good thing that swearing in one's own thoughts was not covered in the student handbook, lest he'd reprimand himself for his slip. The law applies equally to all, even when you don't like it. Especially when you don't like it.

He needed to find a teacher, alert him that two contemptible stoners were now wandering the halls, completely care-free. We'll see how care-free they are when they're rotting in jail.

Spanky's head snapped around, his mind instinctively pointing him to the places a teacher was most likely to be. There, walking only a few meters behind the two contemptible stoners was Mr. Dalton, unaware of the trouble that was even now lurking so closely to him. He had to get to him, but he needed to be covert about it. He didn't want his quarry to be scared off. He had to smoothly merge with the flow of traffic, become inconspicuous. He took a deep breath and plunged into crowd.

And directly into the path of a girl rushing to class. The collision almost caused her to drop her books. Clumsy bitch. Her "Watch it, asshole!" was only a vague echo in his pursuit of the greater justice. "Mr. Dalton!" He said, constantly looking back to make sure Sorresso and Red weren't on to him. They weren't. The fools were oblivious. "Mr. Dalton!"

--

Dalton froze. No, it must just be your imagination. He's only supposed to be here between second and third periods.

The call sounded again. Dalton realized now that something was terribly wrong. His eyes widened as his brain began diverting the adrenaline necessary for a quick getaway, should it come to that. He hoped to God that it would not. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it. The thick glasses, the immaculate uniform with not a single flaw in its presentation and the hall-monitor sash. Spanky was here.

They said he was only here between second and third period! Dalton's brain exclaimed again, willing reality to bend to its preconceptions. Dalton looked at his watch. Eleven o'clock. Oh God ... it is between second and third period! He had to think fast. Spanky was closing. Don't make eye contact, whatever you do. Somehow, Dalton always ended up being Spanky's go-to authority figure whenever he had to rat someone out. I should've just fucking failed him last term! Then he'd hate me and never talk to me again! Dalton lamented. But there was no time for that now. What's done is done.

Dalton looked around. He spotted a male student moving next to him. "Excuse me, Mister," He paused, checking his list of emergency names that were queried whenever he needed to make one up. Query complete. "Mister Johnson. I believe you owe me a paper still." The poor student was utterly confused.

"What? It's the second day of school!" He seemed genuinely distressed. Dalton leaned in closer.

"Just play along ... please."

"Well, okay, Mr. um ... Guy." He clearly didn't know Dalton, and Dalton didn't know him, either. Dalton began quickening his pace and making hand gestures, as if he was explaining something to the boy. Something important. About a paper.

Dalton knew that Spanky could not leave the hall during the changing period. He made his way toward sanctuary, the double-doors leading to the stair well, at an ever-quickening pace. He continued warding Spanky off with his bullshit conversation. Dalton looked up. He saw the doors! He rushed through them and down the stairs with the student.

The bell rang and he let out a sigh of relief. He was safe. He and the confused student were late for their respective classes, however. Wait, I've got third period off! Dalton realized. Teacher's lounge, here I come!

The boy looked around nervously. "Um ... I'm late for class. Could I get a note from you or something?" Dalton figured it would be appropriate recompense for the boy's help. He opened his brief case and dug out a crappy sheet of paper and a pen. He wrote a small note on the paper. "Please excuse this kid for being late or whatever. -Dalton." A name wasn't required. His style and sloppy hand-writing would tell the kid's teacher that it was genuine.

"Here you go," he said, handing the kid the note. The kid read it and, though confused, simply accepted it.

"Thanks," the kid said back. Dalton dismissed his gratitude.

"No, thank you."

"Sure, uh, no problem." He turned to leave.

"Hey, what's your name?" Dalton asked before he'd fully turned around. The kid's head turned toward Dalton.

"Name? Well my friends call me Kernel," he said.

"Ah, okay, cool. Well thanks, Kernel," Dalton said. Dalton began making his way to the teacher's lounge, where donuts almost assuredly awaited him. Mmm ... donuts.

--

I don't get it, Spanky thought to himself in the now-empty hallway. He must not have heard me. It didn't matter. This was just a minor setback. There was still the whole school year to finish out. He'd catch those contemptible stoners eventually; it was only a matter of time.

But he could worry about that later. He had to get to his study hall. As a hall monitor, he was allowed some leeway on his arrival at class because of his duties, but he'd best not abuse the consideration he was given by being more than a couple minutes late. Lead by example.

He started walking to his next class, when he saw two students, roaming the halls. A boy and a girl ... and they ... they ... They're holding hands! Public displays of affection were explicitly forbidden in the student handbook! And they're talking and laughing, as if nothing is wrong!

The male was talking now. What was his name? He couldn't remember the name and face of every lawbreaker, but this one stood out for repeated offenses. Aerius. Yes, the scofflaw's name is Aerius. And he was with his girlfriend, a brunette in the Natalie Portman tradition with a set of swimmer's legs that stretched all the way up to the heaven that was her hour-glass torso. Her name was Jennifer MacKenzie, but she was known to the students as "JMac."

"You know, that janitor's closet isn't so bad once you get a naked girl in there," Aerius said. JMac laughed at his comment. Spanky confronted them.

"What are you two doing?" He challenged.

"Relax, Gestapo, we're on our way to Stravo's office. Here's a pass," Aerius said in a tone that one might use to present a begging dog with a treat. He handed a hall pass to Spanky.

"That's Principal Stravo to you," he corrected, snatching the pass from Aerius' hand.

"Yeah, whatever," Aerius said. Spanky examined the pass.

Just before he was about to give his authorization for them to continue, JMac looked sympathetically at him. "Aw, he's so cute, with the little sash ... and the hair!" She reached out and ... and ... She touched me! What am I? A furry animal?!

His mental alert klaxons began blaring as she ruffled his hair, destroying his hair style, a facsimile of some random anime character's, right down to the obnoxious shininess. He spent 15 to 20 minutes every morning perfected it with his level 10 extra-crispy-hold hair gel, only to have it messed up by some floozy!

Some gorgeous floozy who just said you were cute.

He was stunned. Physical contact of any type with a female always did this to him. Women were a powerful lot, able to manipulate even the most resolute and battle-hardened soldiers in the fight for justice, like himself, with the slightest brush of the hand. And exert that power Miss Jennifer MacKenzie did, like a paralyzing venom delivered with an enchanting smile.

The couple made their way down to Stravo's office for a stern lecture, or at least as stern as Stravo could manage after he'd probably spiked his morning coffee. Aerius said something about never letting JMac's hand near his dick again after being in Spanky's hair.

Spanky stood in the middle of the empty, silent hallway for a minute. Then he rushed off to the nearest bathroom.

--

The Kernel had been hoping for a quiet entrance to his third period class, so of course the door screeched like a cat in heat. The teacher turned away from an intimidating series of symbols and numbers he'd been scribbling on the blackboard to glare at the late arrival.

"Can I help you?" he asked, putting more menace than the Kernel would have thought possible into a Louisiana accent. He was tall and broad and wore his hair down to his shoulders, framing his face like an Egyptian helmet. He actually bore a striking resmebelance to Megatron.

"Uh, sorry I'm late, Mr. Degan." The Kernel congratulated himself on remembering his logic teacher's name. He skittered forward to hand him the note Mr Guy (for lack of a better name) had given him.

Degan read the note and sighed. Probably Spanky again, he thought. "Alright. Don't let this happen again. Next time, just keep on walking; Dalton's not that fast." He gestured to an empty desk on the far side of the room. "Welcome to Sunnyvale West."

David Hellenberg watched the exchange from the back of the classroom, struggling mightily to control his rising glee. A newbie! Oh a newbie a newbie a newbie! Just wait 'till I get him! That'll show those seniors I'm a real 'Sunnyvale Damp'!" He absentmindedly stroked his penis while he thought of all the fun ways he would torment the newcomer and how all the seniors would love him.

"Mr. Hellenberg, do you mind?" snapped Mr. Degan.

David jerked his hand away from his love-rod like it was a snake. Better look cool, he thought. "I told you my name is Dark Hellion," said David. "David Hellenberg is dead."

Degan rolled his eyes. "Jesus H. Christ, not another one." The class burst into laughter. Dark Hellion sank into his seat, burning with shame. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the new kid snicker once or twice.

Yuk it up, noob. Your time is coming. Soon you'll face the wrath of Dark Hellion! His penis stiffened again and DH stuck his right hand in his pocket.

----

The Kernel had stopped at his locker and gathered his things for fourth and fifth periods, and started towards the east wing, when the kid who'd been playing with himself in logic class stepped into his path. Three weedy looking dweebs followed him.

"Uh, hey," said the Kernel.

"So I hear you're new here," said DH.

"Yeah. What gave it away?"

"Shutup, noob," said one of the dweebs. The Kernel had named them Moe, Larry, and Shemp for easy reference. The one who'd told him to shut up was Moe.

"Uh, right," said The Kernel. "I'm going to be late, so if you don't mind..." He tried to push past DH. DH nearly looked as if he would try to stop him, but then stepped aside. Moe, Larry, and Shemp also got out of the way. Alright, then, that was easier than I thought it would be.

On some hidden signal, Shemp's arm chopped down on The Kernel's books. Sadly for Shemp, his dweeby noodle limb was unable to do much more than harass the books, and he grabbed his forearm and yelped in pain.

"Oh for fuck's sake," said DH, who lunged forward and knocked the books out of The Kernel's arm onto the floor in front of Larry, who kicked them into a convenient stairwell.

The Kernel spun to face DH, who was too busy stroking himself to realize he was about to have the bridge of his nose knocked into his sinuses.

"Hey! What's going on here?" A hall moniter, not the same one who'd been chasing Mr. Dalton, came up the stairs brandishing one of the Kernel's books. "I almost got hit in the head."

"Sorry, David!" groveled DH. The Stooges assumed the posture and expression of three small dogs just caught piddling on the rug.

"Go away," said David.

"He started it," said Moe.

"Shut up and go away," said David, rolling his eyes. He pointed at The Kernel. "Pick up your shit and get to class." He tossed The Kernel his biology book and walked away.

"Right," said The Kernel. He glared at DH, who was skittering away from the hall moniter as fast as his dignity would allow, which was very fast indeed. The Stooges, being toadies with no need for dignity, were running even faster.

The Kernel decided it would be best not to press the issue right away. He sighed and started down the stairs, looking for his books. A redheaded female student who was making her uniform look much better than the designers had intended was standing on the lower landing, holding his math and Spanish books.

"These yours?" she asked.

"Uhhhhh?"

"The books. Are these your books?"

"Oh, yeah. Um...yeah."

The redhead smiled like she was used to this reaction. "Here you go, then," she said, and she held them out to him. It took the Kernel a moment to figure out how to grab them without dropping the one already in his hand. She snickered at him.

"I'm Marina," she said.

"My friends call me The Kernel," he replied. "Pleased to meet you."

"I'd say the pleasure is mine, but it's obvious who's enjoying himself more," said Marina. The Kernel turned fire engine red and Marina smiled like she was definitely used to this reaction.

"So, anyway, where are you off to now?"

"Biology with Mr. Vympel."

"Hey, me too." God damn, she's hot. thought The Kernel.

"Well, then, follow me." The Kernel was more than happy to oblige, especially when he got his first good look at her skirted rear end.

"By the way," said Marina.

"Yeah?"

"I'm a lesbian."

"Damn," said the Kernel. A moment later, he realized he'd said it out loud. He blushed so hard he thought his ears would catch fire.

Marina looked back and laughed at him. Here, no doubt, was a reaction she was very used to indeed.

--

It was noon. Lunch time for the masses. Stravo's mouth was drier than Utah on a Sunday, as alcohol tended to have that effect on one's hydration. Luckily for him, being principal gave him a certain sway with plumbers and maintenance personnel. He had take care to make sure that the drinking fountain outside of his office had ultra-cold water that came out with enough force to make men lesser than him blush, while every other fountain in the school more or less leaked water like a weak male orgasm.

Every school seemed to have shitty water fountains except for one, and students through the generations had long-suspected a conspiracy. But they can't prove anything, Stravo thought, relishing in his part in the vast conspiracy.

He stepped out of his office into the usual changing period rush and went straight to his pristine drinking fountain. He looked around at the students. Many looked like their parents, and he should know. He'd been at least acquaintances with plenty of them. Many parents of current students had attended Sunnyvale Central with him. This simple fact had given rise to one of his favorite activities, the one he called "Whose Mom Did I Fuck in High School?"

Let's see ... fucked his mom, fucked his mom ... He looked to a group of female students. Ooh, she's got her mom's tits. Man, I don't know her mom, but I'm sure I'd fuck her anyway. He saw Spanky coming down the hallway. Man, his mom was such a slut. What happened? He looked at a group of male students. Hey, that one kind of looks like m-- His train of thought was interrupted. He'd spotted a student making his way toward his immaculately icy drinking fountain, threatening to cut him off. He had to move quickly.

But dude, you're kind of drunk, the part of his brain he called Sensible told him.

Come on you pussy. Move your ass. One foot in front of the other, I'm fucking thirsty, the other part, Stupid, told him. Stupid sounded very threatening, so Stravo was compelled to listen to him.

He began walking. Slowly. Against the flow of traffic. The kids were shunting their paths around him, thankfully, making his quest for the precious aqua easier. The student making his way to the fountain was getting closer. Stravo realized that he would get there first, and his thirsty ass would be stuck waiting for the usurper to take his sweet time.

Life sucks. The student began gulping down the ice-cold water. Stravo was now in line behind him, like some common peasant.

Wait a second. He's got a bag-lunch. Is his name written on the bag? Stravo examined the brown parcel. It is ... in mommy's handwriting. He must be a freshman; you can fuck with him and put the little maggot in his place, Stupid said.

Good idea! Sensible agreed. Stravo was powerless to resist his brain's unified whim. He tapped the increasingly hydrated student on his shoulder. The student looked back at him.

"Move it," Stravo said, in no uncertain terms. He could certainly be imposing when he felt it necessary. The student apparently got it, picked up his skyscraper of books and skittered off like a roach in the light. Victory is mine! Stravo leaned down and began gulping his special water.

Then he heard a body slam against a locker. There were distinct qualities in the sound that made him sure it wasn't just a locker being slammed shut. When a student is thrown against a locker, the sound tended to be much deeper and resonate through the halls. Following were some grunts, then a chorus of blood-thirsty students chanting for the two combatants to pound each other's consciousness into next week. Blood-thirsty or just plain bored.

He straightened his posture and made his way over to the scene of the dispute. Not quickly, by any means. He always liked to let fights go on just long enough that there wouldn't be any dispute as to who the winner was or would have been in the general population. Such uncertainty just led to more violence later on. Beside that, Stravo liked a good fight as much as the next guy.

He pushed through the mob in time to see one boy on top of another about to perform some unlicensed plastic surgery with his fist on the other. The clear victor noticed Stravo before finishing his opponent and stopped with his coiled hand in the air. Stravo eyed him. He felt kind of like a Roman emperor, with the victorious gladiator waiting for his signal to send the slain to Elysium in shame. Stravo was tempted to give a thumb's down, but that might result in a messy situation with the PTA.

He recognized the two gladiators. He never could remember either's real name, so he'd assigned them nicknames which sprung from their deeds. The one on bottom he called "Crackpot." Crackpot had earned his nickname with his affinity for hatching utterly stupid ideas. He'd once sat down and asked Stravo, with a deadly straight face, if he could get permission to drop a freshman out of a third-story window as part of his physics project. Fortunately for a random freshman, Stravo had been sober at the time.

The other he called "Bored Shirtless," or just "Shirtless." The reason for this was simple. Shirtless had decided that his English class lacked proper stimulation. So he asked to go to the bathroom, and then creatively interpreted "Okay, you can go" as "Okay, you can go ... streaking down the hallway." He'd managed to get his shirt off before tripping himself while trying to jump out of his pants. Apparently Isaac Newton hadn't wanted to see his genitals any more than the rest of the school.

Stravo audibly cleared his throat. Well, Shirtless is winning, so that must mean that the US was wrong to invade Iraq for the time-being.

"Okay you two, quit flirting," he said with more exasperation than anything else.

Shirtless got off of Crackpot, and they both stood up. "He started it," Shirtless claimed.

"No, Hussein started it by defying UN resolutions," Crackpot shot back.

"Yeah, so why don't we just invade Israel too?" Shirtless countered. Stravo sighed.

"Both of you shut up." He looked around at the mob. "The rest of you get to lunch." Some gawkers remained. "Go. Food. Eat," he said in simpler, more angry-sounding terms. The rest slowly drifted away, leaving Stravo with the duelists in the hall. He unclipped his walkie-talkie from his belt.

"El Tee, come on down to the office floor. Shirtless and Crackpot went at it again," he said. The El Tee, otherwise known as the Dean of Discipline, was a retired Marines lieutenant. The board had thought him perfect for controlling the types of unruly students that tended to grace Sunnyvale West's halls. He was a master of twisted, underhanded retribution.

Rumor had it that he once punished a female student who was spreading nasty rumors about another girl by paying a male student to run around saying that she was the basketball team's pre-game free-throw practice. In those exact words.

No one ever found out if it was true (the story about the El Tee ... there had been no question that the girl was a slut). Not even Stravo knew.

"Okay, you on that side. You on that side. Both of you stare at the floor and look remorseful," Stravo commanded, directing each to opposite sides of the hall. "We're going to just wait for the dean to get here." He wished he'd had a bell to toll for them both.

Instead, a bell rang, indicating the start of lunch.

--

Marina led The Kernel out of Mr. Vympel's classroom, ahead of the crowd. "So," said The Kernel, "Where to--"

"For the last fucking time, your name is Walter!" shouted Mr. Vympel.

"--next?"

"Lunch."

"Hey cool, me too."

Marina smiled. Dear God: Why did you make her a lesbian? Your friend, The Kernel. "I'll introduce you to some friends of mine. I think you'll get along with them." Then she picked up her pace down the hall, giving The Kernel another view of her ass.

P.S. You're a fucker.

The cafeteria was noisy and crowded. The Kernel noticed Marina stopped at the door and peered in before continuing--understandable, as Sunnyvale West was legendary for its food fights. She led him to a table in the back corner, where two boys were in a heated argument while a blonde girl read a book.

"All you ever heard about Dean was that he was angry, he was unstable, he was this and that. Every story about him spun it that way."

"Have you considered that was because he was angry and unstable?"

"The giant conglomerates that run the media were threatened by Dean."

"The media was sucking his dick until he made the worst speech ever."

"Gentlemen," said Marina.

The two broke off the argument. "Hey Marina," said the Deanite. "Who's that?"

"This is The Kernel. Kernel, this is Mark--" she gestured at the Deanite, "and Joe." The anti-Deanite nodded hello.

"And this social butterfly is Debi." The blonde looked up at the Kernel, nodded imperceptibly, then went back to her book.

Something to take my mind of Marina, thought Kernel. "How's the food here?" he asked.

The other four all exchanged meaningful looks--even Debi managed to break away from her book.

"It's interesting," said Marina finally.

"I ... see," said Kernel.

Joe stood up. "Well, I'm going to go get something to eat. You coming Marina?"

"I think I'd rather stay here and discuss George Bush's inevitable triumph with Mark--"

"Eat me," said Mark.

"--but I'm sure you could show the Kernel what to avoid."

"Sure," said Joe. "C'mon, chief."

They walked to the front of the cafeteria and grabbed a pair of trays. "So are you new or something?" asked Joe. "I don't remember you from last year."

"I just moved to Sunnyvale."

"And your parents moved to the West side on purpose?"

"Uh, I guess. Is there a problem with the West side?"

Joe just shook his head and gestured at the room around him. "You tell me."

"Just looks like a regular high school."

"Just wait."

They got up to the counter. A markerboard was set up with the day's menu written upon it.

"Laced buttsteak? Ruffled squash boats? What the fuck is that?"

"The chef is a little bit of a sadist. By which I mean, don't order anything except the cheese sandwich."

"Good to know."

The chef, in fact, was standing behind the counter serving the students. He wore a name-tag that said "Ryan" pinned to a dirty camo tank top that said "I INTEND TO KILL SOMEONE. I AM VERY SERIOUS." in stencil letters. He had a fur hat with earflaps and a CCCP pin.

"Buttsteak or squash boats?"

"Cheese sandwich," said The Kernel.

"Buttsteak or squash boats?"

"Cheese sandwich."

"Buttsteak or squash boats?"

"Cheese sandwich! God dammit, what's that matter with you?"

"He's a little deaf," said Joe. He leaned in very close to Ryan. "CHEESE SANDWICH!" he bellowed.

Ryan looked very disappointed they weren't going to try the buttsteak or the squash boats. He pulled two sad, limp sandwiches wrapped in cellophane out of a laundry bin marked "Property of Corrections Department" and threw them both on Joe's tray.

"I'm starting to see what you mean," said Kernel.

"He's not always that surly. We get hamburgers on Strom Thurmond's birthday."

"I can't wait." They got to the register. "So, uh, about Marina ..."

"Yes, she's really a lesbian."

"I guess you get that a lot."

"Yep. Sorry man. She gets more pussy than I do." He paused. "Way more."

"So she's never been interested in any guys?" He paused. "Even if he was especially attractive?" He paid for his delicious feast.

"You mean like how most straight guys would fuck Legolas if they got desparate enough?" They started back towards the table.

"Yeah."

"No."

"Damn." After a moment, he added, "Well, what about Debi?"

"She's straight, but forget about that, too."

"Why?"

"Because--"

The Kernel's tray flew out of his arms and clattered across the floor. DH and the Stooges stood in front of them, laughing hysterically at DH's great wit.

"That's it, hatfucker," said The Kernel.

"Dude, no, the El Tee is here!" shouted Joe.

Too late. The Kernel lunged for DH's nose.

********************
*To be continued...*
********************
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Post by fgalkin »

Bah, I'm not in it.

Have a very nice day.
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Post by phongn »

Good stuff.
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Post by The Duchess of Zeon »

In the best traditions of the board. *snerks*
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Post by Kuja »

ROTFLMAO

I predict this becomes the next stickied fanfic.
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Post by Dalton »

Bwahahahahah!
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Post by Spanky The Dolphin »

Spanky should technically be female...
I found the hair thing to just bug the hell out of me for some reason, no offence. I find hair gel and other products detestible, truthfully, so I don't use anything and actually dress eccentrically. Also, while I despise the Male, I adore women. Nitpicking, I know, but parodies should be accurate, somewhat.

And where's my nightstick? :P

Good so far.
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Post by Kuja »

Spanky The Dolphin wrote:Spanky should technically be female...
Just hope you don't end up like your avatar. :P
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Post by phongn »

Kuja wrote:
Spanky The Dolphin wrote:Spanky should technically be female...
Just hope you don't end up like your avatar. :P
:lol:
The Duchess of Zeon wrote:In the best traditions of the board. *snerks*
I bet you enjoyed seeing your alter-ego do that to the poor newcomers :P
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Post by Spanky The Dolphin »

Hey, I'm just tellin' the truth now, ya dig? :P

Oh and Red, for possible future reference:
The only student who can defeat/control Spanky is Marina...
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Post by El Moose Monstero »

Hehe, encore! :)

EDIT: And if I'm not too much mistaken, then I believe there was a Fawlty Towers reference in there...bonus points for that... :D
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Post by Ghost Rider »

LOL....thank you, ah a different screwy...but still good.
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Post by Durandal »

Spanky The Dolphin wrote:Spanky should technically be female...
You're a female?
I found the hair thing to just bug the hell out of me for some reason, no offence. I find hair gel and other products detestible, truthfully, so I don't use anything and actually dress eccentrically. Also, while I despise the Male, I adore women. Nitpicking, I know, but parodies should be accurate, somewhat.
This school has a uniform policy, so no eccentric dress for you unless it's a dress-down day.
And where's my nightstick? :P
We'll see.
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Post by Spanky The Dolphin »

Durandal wrote:
Spanky The Dolphin wrote:Spanky should technically be female...
You're a female?
No, but Spanky is.

Don't ask.
This school has a uniform policy, so no eccentric dress for you unless it's a dress-down day.
I know, just wanted to explain why I don't use product. Just wash, dry, and good to go.
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Post by Durandal »

By the way, a cookie to whoever can tell me where the quote on Shep's shirt comes from. :)
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Post by Dalton »

Durandal wrote:By the way, a cookie to whoever can tell me where the quote on Shep's shirt comes from. :)
I'm guessing El Boydo!
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Post by Durandal »

Bingo.
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Post by Black Admiral »

I want to see more of this.
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Post by phongn »

Durandal wrote:Bingo.
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Post by Singular Quartet »

Black Admiral wrote:I want to see more of this.
Here, here.
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Post by Stravo »

Ahh....nice to see many of the ionside jokes and the characterizations. Wihtout a doubt Spanky's is spot on. Great work guys, anxiously waiting to read the next chapter and eager to see who esle makes an appearance.
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Post by Darth Garden Gnome »

I can't get enough of Dalton: "Query Found", HAHAHHA!! Truly the essence of high school can be captured within this story.
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Post by Mr Bean »

Good stuff

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Post by Darth Yoshi »

Good stuff. I've found something else to read now.
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Post by Slayen »

:: picks self off floor after having fallen out of chair from laughing::

That was bloody priceless. :lol:
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