Episode 1: Why Are We Here?

"You ever wonder why we're here?"

The guy in the orange shirt looked over at his roommate, who sat in the same fucking maroon sweatpants he had worn since they got to the god damn school.

"It's one of life's great mysteries, isn't it," the guy in the orange shirt, Dexter Grif, said, dusting cheese puff sauce off his hands. "Why are we here? I mean, are we the product of... some cosmic coincidence, or is there really a God... watching everything? You know, with a plan for us and stuff. I don't know man, but it keeps me up at night."

Silence fell between them. Maroon Sweatpants contemplated this reply while Dexter chomped down on another cheese-puff, coating his hands in another powdery layer of overly processed cheese.

"What?"

Dexter looked up at Maroon Sweatpant's question.

"I meant why are we out here, in this college?"

Dexter stared dumbly for a minute, and then covered with, "Oh, uh... Yeah."

Maroon Sweatpants- what was his last name? Samson? Simpson? Some stupid shit with an s- said, "What was all that stuff about God?"

A faint heat pinked Dexter's round cheeks. "Uh... Hm? Nothing."

"You wanna talk about it?"

Dexter dropped his bag of cheese puffs beside his chair and spun to face his computer desk, pretending to look for an essay he'd been avoiding. "No."

"You sure?"

Found it. "Yeah."

"Seriously, though, why are we out here?" Samsimpson asked."Far as I can tell, it's a run-down college in a poor county in the middle of nowhere, with no good offers or resources to get anyone in or out."

Dexter was still trying to forget about the stuff about God. "Mhm."

"And the only reason our town set up a college here, is because River Cliffs set up a college in their town. And the only reason they're still running a college over there is because we have a college over here."

"Yeah, that's because we're rivals," Dexter said, drawing an unintentionally curved line through his half-assed thesis statement.

"No, no, but I mean, even if we were to shut down today, and they took over the county's education fund, they would just have a run-down college in the middle of fucking nowhere. Whoop de fucking do!"

Dexter looked up at this. "What's up with that anyway? I mean, I signed on to get a degree and a fucking awesome suite. Next thing I know, the state cuts funding, and I'm stuck in the middle of nowhere, not learning shit, with a bunch of dumbasses for rivals."

Across Blood Gulch County, hunched around a laptop hacked into a tablet that showed a dinky room back in Redbridge, a guy in a teal- turquoise? aqua? what fucking color is it anyway?- shirt sat with a guy in a light blue shirt, who stared close at the monitor.

"What are they doing?"

The guy in the light blue shirt turned. "What?"

"I said, what're they doing now?"

The guy in the light blue shirt, named Leonard but preferring Church, groaned, a sound of complete exhaustion, the sound a headache would make if pain translated into drawn out exhales. "God damn, I'm getting so sick of answering that question!"

Teal-aqua-turquoise shirt guy- a weird kid from Detroit named Lavernius Tucker- threw his hands up. "Hey, you have the fucking laptop, I can't see shit. Don't bitch at me because I'm not going to just sit here and play with my dick all day."

"Okay, okay, look," Church sighed, "They're just sitting there, and talking, okay? That's all they're doing. That's all they ever do, is just sit there and talk. That's what they were doing last week, that's what they were doing when you asked me five minutes ago. So five minutes from now, when you ask me, 'What're they doing?' my answer's gonne be, 'They're still just talking, and they're still just sitting there!'"

A pause breathed between them, swollen with Church's elevated blood pressure and Tucker's undefeatable urge to be fucking annoying. Then:

"What're they talking about?"

Church looked over, the highest of resentments in his gray eyes. "You know what? I fucking hate you."

"Talk about a waste of resources," Dexter said, mulling over Santiago's considerably valid points. "I mean, we should be out there finding new and intelligent rivals to compete against. You know, debate them."

"Yeah, no shit," Spencer/Schmidt/Schneider conceded. "That's why they should put us in charge."

A voice that sounded like someone who had been shot in the throat maybe seven or eight times (but probably less than ten) suddenly came from the hall: "Ladies! Front and center, on the double!"

"Why does he run this thing like a fucking military? He's a god damn RA," Smith said.

"NOW!"

"Fuck!"

"Yes, sir!"

a/n: you ever wonder why we went to college?