Bang! Bang! Why won't you just DIE?!?
Ah, Triton flashbacks. I miss my old classmates ever so much. I simply can't wait until our first reunion... Or, you know, not, because most of my classmates were evil. And stupid. What caused the flashbacks? A run-in with the Queen of Stupid herself... (drum roll, please) the Magnificent Twelve!
Mrs. Paszko: Brooke? Brooke? Brooke!
The M.T.: Twelve! The answer is twelve! Right? Twelve?
Mrs. Paszko: I'm taking attendance, Brooke.
The M.T.: But... I... Twelve?
Mrs. Paszko: See me after class.
She always reminded me of the Humbug from 'The Phantom Toll Booth': "Seventeen!" shouted the Humbug, who always managed to be first with the wrong answer.
Oh well. It was good to see that whiny little bitch again. She's fun to play with. Usually when I see her, I just pretend like I have no idea who she is. She goes away fairly quickly. Not today, though. Something must have happened to her to make her feel all strong and special, because she got right in my face and tried to make a scene. Poor thing. She doesn't seem to understand that it's not possible to get a big reaction from someone who's essentially apathetic about your existence... The following came about three minutes after her initial outburst (which actually sounded very similar to a chimpanzee on a freak-out... Eee! Eeeeee! EEEEE!)
The M.T.: ...And you were always so MEAN to me!
Me: Did I ever even talk to you?
The M.T.: No, but you were mean and...
Me: Oh, Christ. Here we go. How was I mean?
The M.T.: You were always _looking_ at me and being all mean.
Me: I looked at you? And that hurt your feelings because...?
The M.T.: Because it was mean. You looked at me... And sometimes you laughed.
Me: Brooke, I was laughing because you were an idiot.
The M.T.: See! You were mean! You laughed at me!
Me: I'm sorry Brooke. I shouldn't have said you were an idiot.
The M.T.: Huh?
Me: You ARE an idiot. Present tense.
The M.T.: I don't...
Me: Get it? You really don't, do you?
Bleeding Christ. (Maybe I shouldn't say that, 'cause Easter's tomorrow, but I don't really like Christians anyway. Yeah, you. Sod off, then. Who needs you?) I think there must be something in the Byfield* water that causes random idiocy. There has to be. It's too depressing to think that so many people, in such a small area, are genetically, irrevocably stupid.
Ladies and Gentleman! May I present the Future of America! Vote Twelve for President!
*A brief note: Spellcheck wants to replace "Byfield" with "befouled." Coincidence?
Mrs. Paszko: Brooke? Brooke? Brooke!
The M.T.: Twelve! The answer is twelve! Right? Twelve?
Mrs. Paszko: I'm taking attendance, Brooke.
The M.T.: But... I... Twelve?
Mrs. Paszko: See me after class.
She always reminded me of the Humbug from 'The Phantom Toll Booth': "Seventeen!" shouted the Humbug, who always managed to be first with the wrong answer.
Oh well. It was good to see that whiny little bitch again. She's fun to play with. Usually when I see her, I just pretend like I have no idea who she is. She goes away fairly quickly. Not today, though. Something must have happened to her to make her feel all strong and special, because she got right in my face and tried to make a scene. Poor thing. She doesn't seem to understand that it's not possible to get a big reaction from someone who's essentially apathetic about your existence... The following came about three minutes after her initial outburst (which actually sounded very similar to a chimpanzee on a freak-out... Eee! Eeeeee! EEEEE!)
The M.T.: ...And you were always so MEAN to me!
Me: Did I ever even talk to you?
The M.T.: No, but you were mean and...
Me: Oh, Christ. Here we go. How was I mean?
The M.T.: You were always _looking_ at me and being all mean.
Me: I looked at you? And that hurt your feelings because...?
The M.T.: Because it was mean. You looked at me... And sometimes you laughed.
Me: Brooke, I was laughing because you were an idiot.
The M.T.: See! You were mean! You laughed at me!
Me: I'm sorry Brooke. I shouldn't have said you were an idiot.
The M.T.: Huh?
Me: You ARE an idiot. Present tense.
The M.T.: I don't...
Me: Get it? You really don't, do you?
Bleeding Christ. (Maybe I shouldn't say that, 'cause Easter's tomorrow, but I don't really like Christians anyway. Yeah, you. Sod off, then. Who needs you?) I think there must be something in the Byfield* water that causes random idiocy. There has to be. It's too depressing to think that so many people, in such a small area, are genetically, irrevocably stupid.
Ladies and Gentleman! May I present the Future of America! Vote Twelve for President!
*A brief note: Spellcheck wants to replace "Byfield" with "befouled." Coincidence?