*Ugh, I feel like such a procrastinator for not having updated for so long! I'm sorry! But, seriously though, I had a good excuse...I was too busy gushing over Creed's newest album (Scott Stapp is soooo gorgeous--NOT that that has any influence over why I like Creed so much, of course, coughcoughshuffleshuffleclearsthroat). So, anyway, I was too busy squealing over the newest Creed album--and yes, it takes me two weeks to obsess over a new album, like that's so weird--and haven't really updated very much. Well, I've stopped gushing over Creed and Scott Stapp--for the time being, anyway--and have now posted the latest chapter to Gundam High. Enjoy!*


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 ^_^*