Chapter One: The Legend of Fresh Cow Milk Academy

Fresh Cow Milk Academy had once been a thriving school, rated top in the nation. Only the best and the brightest were accepted into the Academy. Because of its successful alumni and beautiful campus, people from far and wide came to visit. In fact, with the revenue it generated from curious tourists, it might as well as have been a tourist attraction.

However, its success was brutally slaughtered by a mysterious phenomenon known as Class 69. Class 69 consisted of the most vile, outrageous, and indecent students ever, and the purity of the Academy was helpless to the students' chaotic ways. Within a few short months, Fresh Cow Milk Academy's greatness had sunk to an all-time low.

Most of its students had moved to different schools in fear of Class 69. The gardeners too had fled and the once magnificent grounds deteriorated into a swampy cesspool of bacteria—though how a campus located in the airy and sunny mountains had turned into a marsh within four months was unknown. The teachers, left with no students to tortu—teach, left the school to seek more profitable occupations.

Fresh Cow Milk Academy's famed cafeteria had transformed into a dingy, dark, oppressive hall, its culinary delights into moldy and stale odds and ends. All that remained the same was the refreshing milk the academy was named for.

Unsurprisingly, the hierarchy fell to anarchy. Even then, the few innocent students left fled in horror from enormous mutant mosquitoes who were eagerly awaiting their next meal of Fresh Student Blood.

And that was only the beginning of the reign of Class 69, mysterious phenomenons and all.

Some plotted to capitalize on the collapse of rules and structure. One very powerful student who was, in fact, the Student Council President, hoped to take control of the school.

"Look, this is my school. I'm the principal. You cannot control the —NO OLIVIER. YOU PUT THAT SWORD DOWN!" the principal of Fresh Milk Academy snapped. "Ahem...so as I was saying, student council presidents do not have that kind of power, Olivier. And besides, I'm not quite sure if you are even a good choice as president, what with your...violent behavior and refusal to follow the school rules." He rubbed his temples in irritation.

There was a moment of dead silence, and, in a flash, the student council president had the tip of her sword pressed to his jugular. The principal froze, terrified that moving even an inch would cause his blood to spill out onto the sparkling marble floor he had only gotten cleaned the day before. It was the only part of the school left that was untouched by the ever growing stench and stain of sweaty teenagers.

"It's survival of the fittest" she coldly stated, eyes blazing, "And I am obviously stronger than you are, so I don't see why I shouldn't be the one ruling the school."

She pressed the blade of the sword lightly into his throat, pricking his neck and drawing blood. The principal quickly backed away, falling off of his chair and crawling backwards as fast as he could while pressing a hand to his bleeding neck. The president's face darkened ominously, and she drawled, slowly, almost purring, like a wildcat toying with her prey, "Don't. . . you. . . agree?"

"I—I. . . I. . . ARGGGGGHHHH!" The principal panicked, his instincts surfacing under the threat of a deadly predator, and promptly threw himself out the window. For a brief, brief moment, the principal's whole being relaxed in relief at his successful escape.

Then he remembered that his office was on the fourth floor of the

Outside in the muggy swamp, swarming with mosquitoes waiting for right moment to drain students of their lifeblood, Alexander Louis Armstrong was sparkling to his P.E. class, flexing his enormous biceps and posing so the light glinted off his nearly bald head.

As the class groaned and Armstrong sparkled, the body of the ex-principal plummeted from the gloomy sky, landing on top of Armstrong and knocking him out of his sparkle-filled joy. Shocked by the interruption, Armstrong promptly began spewing enough water from his tearducts to fix California's drought problem.

In his hurry to whip out his handkerchief, he knocked the body back up into the air, not even noticing as it flew off and disappeared into the sky with a twinkle.

It took one handkerchief, five leaves, a pair of gym shorts, and a thirteen tampons to completely dry the P.E. teacher's tears. "Why would they do that?" he cried desperately. "Why would they interrupt my demonstration of the Armstrong Sparkling Bicep Technique © that has been passed down through my family for generations?"

The collective sigh of relief from the class went unnoticed by the mourning P.E. coach.

But sadly, their bliss could not last long. "Alright, now, where was I? Well, if we must," Armstrong declared enthusiastically, his sparkles twinkling back into existence, "let me restart my demonstration of the Armstrong Sparkling Bicep Technique © from the beginning!"

The class groaned.

It would be months until anyone would discover what had befallen the principal.