Squall removed his fingers from his butt crack and sniffed. "Not much
different," he told himself, then wiped his fingers on a scent-stick pad.
"Are you done with your idiotic gross science experiments?" Quistis moaned, poking Squall's shoulder. Squall didn't notice however, for he was popping the pimple on his forehead, and wiping up the pus with his finger. He then rubbed the pus into a small container about the size of an adult thumb, and shut the lid, marking the outside with a permanent pen. The container read "Pus Specimen #45,550".
"They're not idiotic," said Squall in a monotone voice. "They're specialized science specimens. The best specimens come off my own body. Sooner or later, I'll find out what they're saying to me, decode their language, and speak back to them."
Zell punched Squall in the back. "You're a fool," said Zell. "Everyone knows that your dickscents don't talk. Pus don't sing, and you sure won't be able to talk or sing if you keep up with these disgusting experiments," said Zell.
Squall hadn't heard a word Zell said. He was too busy wriggling his finger up his nose and collecting globs of brownish-green phlegm.
One lonely night, Squall sat at his broken table, beside his rusty Gunblade, examining his specimens with shame. He sighed. "I'm hopeless," he mumbled. "Look at me. Thinking my own shit can talk to me. I'm a fool like Zell said," he said.
Just then, there was a small voice, just loud enough to hear, coming from the table of the specimens. Squall looked up, and all the tops to the specimen jars were open. Squall watched the boogers and pieces of waste assemble, and then Squall just sat there, gawking, as they began to speak. "We've been waiting for ages to be able to come together like this," said the jumble of bacteria.
Squall said nothing.
".that's why we've come to say YOU ARE A COMPLETE LOSER! You're a jackass, you deserve a plague of pus all over your face! We're leaving!" And the mounds of collected pus, boogers and crap hopped from the table to the windowsill, leaped down to the ground, and slimily strode away into the night.
"Are you done with your idiotic gross science experiments?" Quistis moaned, poking Squall's shoulder. Squall didn't notice however, for he was popping the pimple on his forehead, and wiping up the pus with his finger. He then rubbed the pus into a small container about the size of an adult thumb, and shut the lid, marking the outside with a permanent pen. The container read "Pus Specimen #45,550".
"They're not idiotic," said Squall in a monotone voice. "They're specialized science specimens. The best specimens come off my own body. Sooner or later, I'll find out what they're saying to me, decode their language, and speak back to them."
Zell punched Squall in the back. "You're a fool," said Zell. "Everyone knows that your dickscents don't talk. Pus don't sing, and you sure won't be able to talk or sing if you keep up with these disgusting experiments," said Zell.
Squall hadn't heard a word Zell said. He was too busy wriggling his finger up his nose and collecting globs of brownish-green phlegm.
One lonely night, Squall sat at his broken table, beside his rusty Gunblade, examining his specimens with shame. He sighed. "I'm hopeless," he mumbled. "Look at me. Thinking my own shit can talk to me. I'm a fool like Zell said," he said.
Just then, there was a small voice, just loud enough to hear, coming from the table of the specimens. Squall looked up, and all the tops to the specimen jars were open. Squall watched the boogers and pieces of waste assemble, and then Squall just sat there, gawking, as they began to speak. "We've been waiting for ages to be able to come together like this," said the jumble of bacteria.
Squall said nothing.
".that's why we've come to say YOU ARE A COMPLETE LOSER! You're a jackass, you deserve a plague of pus all over your face! We're leaving!" And the mounds of collected pus, boogers and crap hopped from the table to the windowsill, leaped down to the ground, and slimily strode away into the night.