“No! Don’t go in there! There’s poop!”
“What?” I asked.
“That’s The Poop Spot!” Dante screamed over the whir of his chainsaw.
“What?!” I yelled.
Dante shut off the saw and took off his goggles. He was covered in wood chips. “Kevin,” he said, “don’t go in that cave. That’s The Poop Spot.”
Because I was the sexiest man alive, I managed to knock myself out twice in one day, and because I did this, I couldn’t drive. I had to wait for my mom to come pick me up while I watched everyone else in my class leave in their cars. Just call me Captain Lady-Killer. No… the ‘captain’ made me seem like a murderer instead of a sarcastic, self-deprecating dork.
After fourth period, I met up with Andy and we walked to lunch.
“Andy!” Christie screeched from down the hall. Andy cringed.
See, Christie was this annoying cheerleader who’d had a crush on Andy since, like, fourth grade. She was part of the Rice Kristies, a horrible pun and a group of three girls named “Kristie”—Christie, Kristie, and Criystee, the last of whom had parents who apparently never learned how to spell. All three members of the Rice Kristies (God, it pains me to even say those words) were cheerleaders, but Christie was the only brunette and, frankly, the only unattractive one. Kristie was dumb but hot, and Criystee defied her parents’ legacy by grasping the concept of phonetics. She was also cute and ranked number two in our class. Then there was Christie, who was both marginally ugly and painfully stupid, and boy did she love Andy.
“How does someone even get knocked out twice in one day?” I heard Andy ask. Everything was black. I couldn’t see.
“I can’t see!” I wailed.
“Open your eyes, dumbass,” Andy said.
After a car ride engulfed in awkwardness, we pulled into St. Bartholomew’s Hospital of Beaver Falls, PA.
When Shelby had asked if we could listen to some music, I’d attempted the whole cliché as-she-reaches-for-the-radio-my-hand-will-brush-hers thing. Unfortunately, when we both reached for the radio, I stopped paying attention to the road and swerved into oncoming traffic.
Blasting car horns on all sides sounded as a sky blue Mercedes barely missed us. My tires screeched as I swerved us back into the right lane. Shelby looked like a scared rabbit, wide eyes and flared nostrils. When I caught my reflection in the rearview mirror, I looked like an even more scared rabbit.
“Whoops,” I said, trying to play if off like it was nothing, but I felt like she could hear me sweating.
She shot me a terrified glance, then turned on the radio.
“Trying to be my best, when I fall, it’s a mess!” screeched through my shoddy speakers.
I began a random game of Words With Friends under the guise that all the words must be encompassed in a short story, in the order they were played. My opponent was named “To good 4 u pplz”, which is interesting since I beat her by 80 points (144 to 64, before she resigned) and her name is both obnoxious and grammatically incorrect. Mid-game, she changed her name to “GucciGirlie”, which isn’t much better, but it’s still a clear sign that whoever she is, she’s easy to beat. So start a game with her and feel good about yourself! Yay!
All the words used in the game are in bold.
Caroline the Fatty
Caroline was a fatty. She was so fat that whenever she took a step, she put a hole in the floor, even steel floors. She was also a liar, since she told everyone she only weighed 120 lbs, when she clearly weighed at least 280.
One day, Caroline decided to discover religion. She visited a few wats*, which were oddly located in Oklahoma, and asked Buddha to help her lose weight. She stomped through the floorboards of one particular wat and knelt at the feet of a bronze Buddha statue.
“Let’s make a deal, Buddha,” she said. “You make me thin, and I’ll sell all my fat to charity.”
After the final commercial break of the day, Bark was blinded by the stage lights when he stepped onto the Game Show Network stage. The synthesized theme song blared as the cameras swept over the crowd. Originally, VH1 was supposed to air America’s Next Top Billy Mays as a reality show over a period of six weeks, but when they opted to show season fifteen of Flavor of Love instead, the Game Show Network bought the rights to the program. Over a period of six days, men were tested on their Billy Mays-like qualities for a chance to win $10,000 and a contract with Church & Dwight, the makers of OxiClean.
“Bark Johnson!” the host announced through his skinny microphone.
Bark waved to the crowd holding signs saying things like, “Kaboom the Competition, Bark!” He had to remember to respond to the name Bark since it wasn’t his real name. Born Jaime Trevinelli, the producers said his name wasn’t butch enough, and they renamed him Bark Johnson. When he protested, they reminded him how lucky he was he looked white enough to even be considered for a spot in the show, because they knew America wasn’t going to replace Billy Mays with an Italian man.