Over
at the Sex Ed. classroom, Mr. Bundy finished writing something on the board,
and turned around to face the class.
"Now
remember kids," he began seriously. "Just say no! Sex leads to marriage,
which leads to children, which leads to you working in a women's shoestore
for the rest of your life, which leads to a slow and painful death, which
leads to the Red Reaper, which leads to..."
*SNORE*
Mr. Bundy paused in his tirade, blinking at having
been so rudely interrupted, before shrugging it off and continuing.
"...Which
leads to making deals with the Devil, which leads to wife and kids joining
you in Hell, which leads to eternity of torture, which leads to pesky neighbors
going to Hell with you, which leads to rigged football game against the
likes of King Kong and such, which leads to..." he ranted on, when suddenly...
*SNORE*
"...Ahem!
Which leads to family and neighbors as your teammates, which leads to you
getting squashed by the Devil's henchmen, which leads to serious headache,
ouch, ouch, ouch, which leads to you looking like an idiot, which leads
to..."
*SNORE*
Having
been interrupted by the third time, Mr. Bundy, who needed an intake of
oxygen anyway (unless he wanted to go Wufei's way), abruptly stopped his
ranting and glared in the direction from which the loud snores where coming
from--specifically, Duo's seat. He cleared his throat loudly.
*SNORE*
Irritated, Mr. Bundy cleared his throat even
louder.
*SNORE*
More irritated (Wow, I must really be impressing
you all with my vocabulary, huh?), Mr. Bundy took a ruler and rapped it
against the blackboard. He waited for a few seconds.
*SNORE*
Shrugging, as if to say, What the hell, Mr. Bundy
balled up the day's lesson plans and hurled it with a vengeance at Duo's
head. Smack! The wadded up paper landed solidly against Duo's head. As
the paper ball bounced around, Duo snapped up with a start and instinctively
threw the nearest object at his assailant. Fortunately for Mr. Bundy, it
was a harmless projectile, unfortunately for the teacher, however, it turned
out to be the half-eaten banana that he'd given him (it was an especially
large banana, and Duo couldn't finish it--he never did quite figure out
just exactly why all those girls were giggling and pointing to his half-eaten
banana, anyway).
"Ow,"
Mr. Bundy muttered, as the banana landed with a loud squish against his
forehead. Duo looked sheepish, and mumbled, "Um...sorry?" He glanced around
at the incredulous stares he was getting from the other students.
"What?
What did I do?" Duo asked, blinking innocent violet eyes at the rest of
his classmates. Mr. Bundy absently wiped banana mush from his brow and
growled, "For starters, you were snoring in class!'
Duo huffed, and looked offended.
"I
do not snore! I'm much too pretty to do such a thing!" he spouted,
looking rather insulted to be accused of such a thing. Mr. Bundy raised
an eyebrow.
"You're
right," he, surprisingly, agreed with Duo's statement. "Humans snore. Elephants
trumpet. You boom box!"
Cue
over to Room 3.00, where Mr. Jericho and his very, very shiny black pants
was (were?) pacing back and forth, microphone in hand. Trowa, meanwhile,
got dizzy of following his rapid movements with his eyes, and quickly stopped,
discreetly holding his head.
"The
way to perfect mic skills is simple," Mr. Jericho was ranting up in the
front of the classroom. "All you have to do really is make fun of a girl's
breast implants and call her a ho, and you'll be a hit with your audience,
whom you've made sure to dub Jerichoholics."
"Um,
Mr. Jericho?" A hand went up. Mr. Jericho glared impatiently.
"What
is it, junior?" he demanded irritably. The voice spoke up timidly, "Isn't
it kind of rude to accuse a girl of having breast implants?"
Mr. Jericho looked at his student like he'd just
grown two heads.
"Oh,
and I suppose you're one of those sissy boys who thinks drinking milk is
good for the human body," he snorted scornfully.
"But
Mr. Jericho, drinking milk is good for the human body..."
Mr. Jericho gawked.
"Whatever.
You must be one of Coach Angle's kids," he harrumphed, clearing his throat
loudly. "So, anyway, as I was saying, before this little assclown here
so rudely interrupted me, Speech and Drama is really simple, if you just
open your mouth and don't SHUT THE HELL UP!" He waited dramatically. A
couple of crickets chirped, as the students all gaped openmouthed at him.
Mr. Jericho cleared his throat again, before continuing.
"Yeah.
So, can I have a volunteer who'll get up here and talk?" Mr. Jericho glanced
around expectantly. When nobody responded, he pointed at Trowa and said,
"How about that little assclown over there with the weird hair?"
Trowa's eyes bulged out. Get up here and talk,
Mr.
Jericho's words echoed eerily in his head. Get up here and talk...get
up here and talk...get up here and talk...and talk...and talk...and talk...and
talk...talk...talk...Trowa responded to this the only logical way he
knew how: His eyes rolled up into his head, and he fainted.
Quatre hated wrestling. Granted, he had only been doing it for, what, seven minutes, but you try to wrestle a hairy two-hundred-pound senior who's been held back for five consecutive years, with a broken neck and about a gallon of warm milk forced down your throat, and see how well you like wrestling! Of course, Quatre knew better than to judge wrestling merely by the way Coach Angle conducted his class...but still! His neck hurt like crazy--was it really necessary for the coach to break it with that sledgehammer that he'd borrowed from Mr. Helmsley?--and his smooth, creamy skin was now covered with sweaty, curly chest hairs from the senior he'd been pitted against.
Coach
Angle blew his whistle, and Quatre inwardly sighed with relief. His small
size had proven to be a major disadvantage, and he'd been dominated--in
more ways than one--by the hairy senior who'd been held back for five years
because of his utter stupidity throughought the entire 3-2-2 match up.
Or rather, mis-match up. But either way, the wrestling part was over for
now, and Quatre no longer had to worry about having to fight off two hundred
pounds of hairy blubber jiggling all over his face. There were some times
where it had gotten so bad that Quatre had seriously considered fluttering
to the floor and pretending to have a heart attack. It wouldn't be too
much of a stretch from the truth, anyway, but Quatre had fought against
the urge to pretend to have a heart attack and plowed on, withstanding
gelatinous blubber and sweaty hair and all. And he had done it. Quatre
Raberba Winner had survived a wrestling match, without having to give up
and pretend to have a heart attack! Quatre felt elated, he felt like he
was on top of the world, he felt...
"Okay,
Winner, after the milk break, you go over and wrestle him." Coach Angle
jerked his thumb toward a massive, four-hundred-pound Samoan with enough
armpit hair to make a coat out of. Like he was thinking, Quatre felt like
he was about to go into seizure. No! No! Quatre shook his head. No, he
mustn't give in to the desire to collapse onto the floor and pretend to
have a heart attack! It was immoral, it was unjust, it was deceptive...The
Samoan senior rumbled his way over, and Quatre's eyes widened when he saw
all the blubber jiggling underneath the sweaty coat of hair. Quatre promptly
dropped down onto the ground, and started pretending away.
Back
in the Sex Ed. classroom, Mr. Bundy had resumed ranting and writing on
a blackboard, when a glob of paper hit the nape of his neck.
"Ow!"
the teacher grumbled, before continuing writing. Minutes later...
"Ow!"
A few more minutes passed. And then...
"Ow!"
"Ow!"
"Ow!"
Mr. Bundy, and several of the students sitting
in front of Duo, cringed as they were continuously pelted by a shower of
paper balls. Duo, meanwhile, was ignoring the cries of outrage springing
up in front of and around him, and instead concentrated on making more
paper balls.
"Ow!"
"Ow!"
"Ow!"
Duo was viciously crumpling up a particularly
large piece of notebook paper, when he noticed the shadows that had suddenly
washed over his desk. Looking up, Duo saw four mean-looking two-hundred-pound
seniors glowering down at him, each lugging handfuls of balled-up binder
paper.
"These
yours, twerp?" one of the seniors growled. Duo smiled cheekily, and graciously
took the papers back.
"Hey,
thanks for bringing these back for me, especially considering how I never
planned on retrieving them myself," he chirped brightly. He was about to
turn around, when one of the bulky seniors slammed a fist down on Duo's
desk.
"We're
not done yet, little man," he snarled. Duo huffed, and looked insulted.
"Who're
you calling little, you...you...you big meanie?" he pouted, puffing out
his chest in a display of machismo.
"That's
it!" One of the seniors grabbed Duo, locking his arms behind his back,
while his buddy wound up and took good aim with his fist.
"Erm...what
are you going to do with that?" Duo squeaked out nervously, before the
senior threw the heavy punch. Fortunately for Duo, though, he ducked just
in time, and could only watch in fascination as the first guy slugged his
buddy. A cracking sound filled the room, as something small and white went
flying through the air and landed against Mr. Bundy's head.
"Ow!
Mah toofsh!" the guy that had been restraining Duo hollered, and he and
his former buddy promptly started going at it. Duo shook his head in disgust.
"Man,
you totally scream like a girl!" he scoffed, looking down at the scuffling
seniors, as he started to sit down again. Just then, someone yanked Duo
back by the braid, and the American boy gulped as he suddenly remembered
that there had been more than just two in the group of pissed seniors.
The guy who'd jerked Duo around wound up with his fist and swung, and it
was now Duo's turn to totally scream like a girl.
*Ouch, I know that was short and sucked really bad, and I'm REALLY sorry for this chapter! Ugh, guess I was far too lazy to write three different chapters, and just combined Duo, Trowa, and Quatre into one big old messed up waste of space! *Cringes*. Anyways, I'm REALLY sorry for turning out such a bad chapter, but I promise I'll make it up with my next GW fic: Attack Of The Justice-Crazed Self-Help Guru. The first chapter might not be up until January, though, since I'm occupied with writing a Creed fanfic (shameless self-promotion, I know). So, in the meantime, please put up with my half-assed antics at an attempt to finish Gundam High, and keep an eye out for Self-Help Guru--or the Creed fic, if you happen to be a fan (insert shameless plug). Bye for now ^_^*
