This post is going to contain a seris of one shots that takes place among a groups of friends in a high school, and will contain sexual jokes, language, light-heavy insults, some swearing, and organized randomness. This is supossed to be a comedy, but it may get serious every once and awhile. I hope you enjoy!
The seizer of my cell phone took me from my sleep. After cursing everything in and out of existence I grabbed and opened it, ending its epileptic spasms. I looked at the time. It’s 6:40 am, so I can get three more minutes of sleep and catch the bus by 6:44 am. Wake Up all ready!
I slipped off Nirvana (my bed) grabbed the s**t sack (my backpack), and sped walked out of the house (running would have caused a seven point house quake). As soon as I confirmed the key had locked the door I sprinted to the bus stop.
This race took place five out of seven days of the week. Sometimes six if I screwed up my days. I’d procrastinate on my homework until I fell asleep at two in the mourning. Of course I picked out what I was going the wear the next day, and wore it to Nirvana. Then collect my homework, and surrender it to the s**t sack.
This mourning, like most, I beat the bus and was the first to the stop. I believe this says something about the other two kids that also come to my stop, but I’ll hold no judgment.
It was 7:00 after the bus ceased to move. I, and the rest of the impatient teens, rose and filed in a single file line to get off the enlarged tin can. I have to bend my neck down, or risk my head going through the roof. Being six foot six, but unfortunately not six millimeters, in a bus met to hold kids that maxed at six foot two does demand compromise. My way or the sky view.
Bowing my body further down to the earth to avoid a head on collision with the top of the door, pun intended like the Kennedy Assassination, I take my last breath of the spring’s chilled mourning air. It smelled clean next to the next seven hours of the fetid stench of teenage BO, Axe, cheap perfume, and the other biohazardous fumes that the state officials ignore for fiscal reasons.
I enter into Burgundy High School, or it’s theistic dimensional title Purgatory High. In the crowed of students I tend to gather glances: not by just being a qualified giant, but by being a qualified giant that doesn’t compete in team sport for moral reasons, my blond curly hair that tends to “fro” when I decide not to wear a hat to flatten it (Which is most days, like today), my contemporary social title of “Book Worm” or a new one I heard the other day “The Emo Nerd.” (Needless to say, I laughed myself into pain over that one), and my random personality that switches from introverted to extraverted so arbitrary that it could scare the bipolar.
Through the hallways I go to the cafeteria. The climax of the usual day when my friends and me can all be in the same place at the same time. I take my seat across from Roze. Her real name is Rosanne, but everyone decided to call her Roze to make it sound less like the woman from the sic com. The both of us preoccupied with our vices, Roze’s being music and mine being literature, we exchanged a hello and go wait for the rest to join us.
The Round Table has all eights seats filled. To my left sits Luke, he bothered me in our chemistry class the previous year enough to force my friendship. He is also my opposite is an alter-dimensional mirror kind of way. He’s only a few inches shorter then me; but has long brown hair he keeps in a ponytail as opposed to my short blond hair I contain with a hat, He’s stocky (Weighing in at 280 pounds) while I’m lanky (220 pounds), and has a rounder face, smaller eyes, nose, and mouth then I do. All though we both have hazel eyes that change hue with what we wear.
Next to Luke is Beth, a five foot four Asian girl with gold highlights in het onyx hair. Both of us love reading books on philosophy, and disscussing it as well. We’ve known each other since middle school, and she’s Luke’s ex. Those are the only two worth mentioning. The rest the inhabitances are all mutual friends we’ve met through our High School sentence.
One of Luke and Beth’s friends, Stand, brings a long rectangle shaped pastry to the table. He takes a bite out of one end when Beth, Luke, and I notice it has a white filling. All innocence is lost.
“Dude, it’s a p***s!” Luke accuses. If anything should be known about our table, it’s that our mind go so far beyond the gutter to the rings of hell.
“Is not a p***s it’s a-” Stand tries to defend his heterosexuality, but I grab this pastry while he’s distracted.
“Of course it’s a p***s, but not just any p***s. It’s a pastry p***s!” I counter, and the table erupts with laughter.
“Today we learn how to eat a pastry p***s, now pat attention closely class.” I say in a mock teacher voice, and the laughing grows.
As I go on with the “demonstration” I catch the attention of Raggs. Real name Mr. Raggeoff, one of the men who failed so miserably in life the last job he could get was standing in the halls feeling superior to the students for being old.
He decides that our fun is too “graphic” for a generation that googles for nude images and goes to stop me. But neither my friends nor I notice him until he stands right next to me and put a hand on my shoulder.
At this point I had the end Stand bit off pointed at his face; and I’m easily startled, so Raggs gets a load of hot pastry passion on his face when I squeeze the pastry p***s in surprize. Time and sound stopped what seemed hours as everyone saw the mess on Raggs, and shifted to me to see what my next move was.
When his face started to turn red I didn’t wait to find out if it was from the burn of the filling or anger. So I sprinted out of the cafeteria. As I ran out of the exit I heard the laughter of the cafeteria follow me, and bring the soul back into the halls.
The Round Table
The seizer of my cell phone took me from my sleep. After cursing everything in and out of existence I grabbed and opened it, ending its epileptic spasms. I looked at the time. It’s 6:40 am, so I can get three more minutes of sleep and catch the bus by 6:44 am. Wake Up all ready!
I slipped off Nirvana (my bed) grabbed the s**t sack (my backpack), and sped walked out of the house (running would have caused a seven point house quake). As soon as I confirmed the key had locked the door I sprinted to the bus stop.
This race took place five out of seven days of the week. Sometimes six if I screwed up my days. I’d procrastinate on my homework until I fell asleep at two in the mourning. Of course I picked out what I was going the wear the next day, and wore it to Nirvana. Then collect my homework, and surrender it to the s**t sack.
This mourning, like most, I beat the bus and was the first to the stop. I believe this says something about the other two kids that also come to my stop, but I’ll hold no judgment.
*******
It was 7:00 after the bus ceased to move. I, and the rest of the impatient teens, rose and filed in a single file line to get off the enlarged tin can. I have to bend my neck down, or risk my head going through the roof. Being six foot six, but unfortunately not six millimeters, in a bus met to hold kids that maxed at six foot two does demand compromise. My way or the sky view.
Bowing my body further down to the earth to avoid a head on collision with the top of the door, pun intended like the Kennedy Assassination, I take my last breath of the spring’s chilled mourning air. It smelled clean next to the next seven hours of the fetid stench of teenage BO, Axe, cheap perfume, and the other biohazardous fumes that the state officials ignore for fiscal reasons.
I enter into Burgundy High School, or it’s theistic dimensional title Purgatory High. In the crowed of students I tend to gather glances: not by just being a qualified giant, but by being a qualified giant that doesn’t compete in team sport for moral reasons, my blond curly hair that tends to “fro” when I decide not to wear a hat to flatten it (Which is most days, like today), my contemporary social title of “Book Worm” or a new one I heard the other day “The Emo Nerd.” (Needless to say, I laughed myself into pain over that one), and my random personality that switches from introverted to extraverted so arbitrary that it could scare the bipolar.
Through the hallways I go to the cafeteria. The climax of the usual day when my friends and me can all be in the same place at the same time. I take my seat across from Roze. Her real name is Rosanne, but everyone decided to call her Roze to make it sound less like the woman from the sic com. The both of us preoccupied with our vices, Roze’s being music and mine being literature, we exchanged a hello and go wait for the rest to join us.
*******
The Round Table has all eights seats filled. To my left sits Luke, he bothered me in our chemistry class the previous year enough to force my friendship. He is also my opposite is an alter-dimensional mirror kind of way. He’s only a few inches shorter then me; but has long brown hair he keeps in a ponytail as opposed to my short blond hair I contain with a hat, He’s stocky (Weighing in at 280 pounds) while I’m lanky (220 pounds), and has a rounder face, smaller eyes, nose, and mouth then I do. All though we both have hazel eyes that change hue with what we wear.
Next to Luke is Beth, a five foot four Asian girl with gold highlights in het onyx hair. Both of us love reading books on philosophy, and disscussing it as well. We’ve known each other since middle school, and she’s Luke’s ex. Those are the only two worth mentioning. The rest the inhabitances are all mutual friends we’ve met through our High School sentence.
One of Luke and Beth’s friends, Stand, brings a long rectangle shaped pastry to the table. He takes a bite out of one end when Beth, Luke, and I notice it has a white filling. All innocence is lost.
“Dude, it’s a p***s!” Luke accuses. If anything should be known about our table, it’s that our mind go so far beyond the gutter to the rings of hell.
“Is not a p***s it’s a-” Stand tries to defend his heterosexuality, but I grab this pastry while he’s distracted.
“Of course it’s a p***s, but not just any p***s. It’s a pastry p***s!” I counter, and the table erupts with laughter.
“Today we learn how to eat a pastry p***s, now pat attention closely class.” I say in a mock teacher voice, and the laughing grows.
As I go on with the “demonstration” I catch the attention of Raggs. Real name Mr. Raggeoff, one of the men who failed so miserably in life the last job he could get was standing in the halls feeling superior to the students for being old.
He decides that our fun is too “graphic” for a generation that googles for nude images and goes to stop me. But neither my friends nor I notice him until he stands right next to me and put a hand on my shoulder.
At this point I had the end Stand bit off pointed at his face; and I’m easily startled, so Raggs gets a load of hot pastry passion on his face when I squeeze the pastry p***s in surprize. Time and sound stopped what seemed hours as everyone saw the mess on Raggs, and shifted to me to see what my next move was.
When his face started to turn red I didn’t wait to find out if it was from the burn of the filling or anger. So I sprinted out of the cafeteria. As I ran out of the exit I heard the laughter of the cafeteria follow me, and bring the soul back into the halls.
