Author's Notes: Sorry for the absence. I've been on vacation, to anyone who's reading this. And I've also been really bus(laz)y.

October 3, 2003

7:09 AM

A corroded old Honda Escalade, not unfamiliar to the various sounds a car makes when it's in serious need of repair, pulled up to the stop sign across the street from the bus stop. Strong Bad and The Ugly One got out of the car, Coach Z said goodbye to the two of them, and he drove off in his car.

Already waiting at the bus stop was Strong Bad's friends Pom Pom and Homsar, along with The Ugly One's friend from Interpretive Dance Club, Meaghan, and Steve, the foreign exchange student from Potamia.

"Sup, my pallies?" said Strong Bad.

"Hey, Steve," said The Ugly One.

Steve remained silent, determined ever since he got to FCUSA to avoid making friends.

Meanwhile, Pom Pom said to Strong Bad, "Bubble bubble bubble bubble! Bubble bubble bubble bubble bubble bubble bubble bubble bubble! Bubble bubble bubble bubble bubble bubble."

Translated, as will all of Pom Pom's speech be, this meant, "Wrestle-man cheats death! I called you like a jillion times last night! But the calls never got through."

"We're at a hotel," said Strong Bad. "And my phone was, you know…"

"Destroyed, right."

"Hey, I heard you woke up on the golf course last night. Sleepwalkin' again?"

"I wouldn't tell you even if I was," said Strong Bad quietly.

"I'm a twirling blue elephant!" decreed Homsar.

"Yeah that sucks," muttered Pom Pom. "Cold One?"

He pulled out a Coldson Light can, which he could luckily fit in his jacket pocket due to it's new "bullet can" version, which was considerably smaller than the normal kind.

Just before he drank the Cold One, he said to The Ugly One, "What happens if you tell Z 'bout this, Ugg?"

"You'll use my pinebark collection in your woodburning kit," she said sadly.

"Dat's what I thought," said Strong Bad, and he downed the One.

"Coldson, Pierre?" Pom Pom offered to Steve.

Steve said nothing.

"Fine, be that way," muttered Pom Pom. "Go back to Franceland, Silent Jay."

"Lay off him, man," said Strong Bad.

October 3, 2003

8:04 AM

The schoolbus finally screeched to a halt in front of Free Country School Thing, Strong Bad and his friends and fellow students poured out of the bus door and towards the entrance to the school.

The school was a buzz of activity around this point.

Among the students filling the school this morning were Strong Bad (who was very happy about the mild celebrity status he had recently received), Strong Mad (the school bully who was actually in no way related to Strong Bad, and who was at the moment bawling various exclamations and smashing in his locker door), Strong Sad (the new kid who was feeling midly disoriented), The Ugly One (who was outside in the school courtyard practicing her Interpretive Dance with the rest of the members of the club, which was named Dance Styles), and Steve (who was also in the courtyard, sitting alone against to the big bronze statue of the school mascot—a large bulldog of some sort—scribbling something in a book).

Among the staff at the school this morning were the King of Town (a creepy old man, and also the vice prinicpal, who was the teacher of Dance Styles), Bubs (a motivational speaker/self-help guru who had been invited to the school to give a lecture), The Umpire (the prinicpal of the school, who was introducing Bubs), Marzipan (the english teacher who was being introduced to Bubs), and Homeschool Winner (the science teacher, and best friend of Marzipan, who was also being introduced to Bubs).

I shall now break away from these long boring and hard to read descriptions to say that now is about the time when Strong Bad and numerous other students sat down in Marzipan's english class.

The class's current book George Orwell's Nineteen Eighty Four. They had just started it, and were supposed to have read the first chapter the night before. Marzipan had decided to read a passage from the first chapter to illustrate the feel of what the rest of the book would be like.

"You had to live—did live, from habit that became instinct—in the assumption that every sound you made was overheard, and, except in darkness, every movement scrutinized.

"What was Orwell trying to communicate with this passage?" asked Marzipan. "Why did IngSoc use video surveillance of all the citizens 24/7?"

"Man, is it just me, or is Marzipan acting really weird today?" murmured Strong Bad to Pom Pom, who was sitting on the right side of him.

"Yes, Joanie," said Marzipan.

A girl sitting on the left of Strong Bad put her hand down and said, "They wanted to make sure that all of the citizens were safe from crime, so they put up security cameras everywhere to make sure criminals could be caught on tape. Like, security cameras at convienence stores."

"Joanie, if you had actually read the first chapter—at a whopping twelve pages, it probably would've kept you up all night—you would know that the government sets up constant video monitoring to make sure the citizens don't disagree with any of the government's insane rules."

The girl named Joanie looked down sadly.

"Strong Bad, you seemed particularly interested in the prospect of overthrowing the government, perhaps you can give us your oppinion from Winston's point of view?"

"Oh, yeah, right…well, Big Brother just kinda wants everyone to do what they want them to do…they're telling the public what they can and can't do, they wanna make sure the people aren't thinking maybe they shouldn't listen any more…so they put cameras everywhere to try to make sure everyone's scared so they think what the don't wanna think…wouldn't work on me, man."

There was a knock at the door. Everyone turned to look.

There was a new student at the door. A big round grey kid with nervous looking eyes and matted down white hair.

"Yes?" said Marzipan.

"Oh, no," murmured the kid. "I, um—my name's Strong Sad, I'm supposed to be in this class, I think…but I might be lost."

"Well, you look like you belong here."

"Um…where should I sit?"

"Sit next to the kid who looks the coolest," said Marzipan, in a very un-Marzipan-ish way.

Strong Sad slowly looked around the room, trying to pick out the student who looked the least like they would beat him up if they sat next to them. His eyes finally stopped on a short kid wearing a red mask and no shirt.

Looks harmless enough, thought Strong Sad. I wonder if he'll be friends with me.

"Joanie, get up," said Marzipan, reading Strong Sad's face. Joanie stood up and went to a desk on the other side of the class. Strong Sad sat down next to Strong Bad. The classroom laughed.

Strong Bad looked over him for a moment and said, "Sup, four-finger?"

October 3, 2003

6:07 PM

"So," said Coach Z, in the Honda Escalade, driving Strong Bad home from…well, I don't know where they were going, school ended at 3:30. Well, anyway. …driving somewhere. "How wass cool?"

"Um, Coach, I think you mean 'was school.' You missplaced an 's'."

"Oh, yeah," said Coach Z.

"So, anyway, what's the latest with the jet engine fiasco?"

"Well, da FAA's still not sure where it came from. Somethin' about a serial number that got burnt off, I dunno…"

"Sounds pretty mysterious," said Strong Bad. "I wonder if they'll send in those Shoulder and Scull-facey guys."

"Yeah, speaking of which," said Coach Z, "they made me sign some forms…uh, I can't really talk about it…"

"You signed forms saying you wouldn't tell anyone that the government is clueless?"

"Yeah!"

"Well, you just told me, genius."

"Oh…" murmured Coach Z, unsure what to say. "Mouthwarsh?"

He took his hands off the wheel to hold out a bottle of Listerine.

"Um…Coach?"

"Yeah?"

"It's great that you're offering me poisonous b/w acidic dental-type liquids…"

"Great!"

"But maybe you can occupy your time driving your car with WATCHING THE FREAKIN' ROAD!"

Strong Bad leaped across the car and pushed the steering wheel to the side just before they ran into the Poopsmith.

Not much was known about the Poopsmith. He was a strange old man with very large lips, weird shaped eyes, and large orange gloves covered in gross dirt-coloured stains which was always clenching a large shovel. He lived by himself in a large run down shack-like house up on the hill. No one ever talked to him, but it was normal to see him standing in the middle of the road like now. He remained perfectly still as the car screeched past him.

Coach Z and Strong Bad hurried out of the car and rushed over to the Poopsmith.

"Oh, geeze…uh, sorry there, uh…Poopsy…I didn't see ya there…um…oh, crap, I think I ran over some broken glass! I'll be right back!"

Coach Z hurried over to the car and bent down to examine the tires.

Strong Bad turned to the Poopsmith.

The Poopsmith did what he normally did after standing in the middle of the street, he shambled over to his mailbox, which was marked Smith. He slowly opened it and peered inside. It was empty. It was always empty.

"No mail today," said Strong Bad, trying to sound comforting. "Don't worry, maybe tomorrow, man."

The Poopsmith turned to him and looked into his eyes.

Strong Bad felt strange standing next to the Poopsmith…as if they had something in common, something deep…a connection, that he didn't know about, but would become clear later.

The Poopsmith stared back at him with his huge black and white eyes.He sensed something too.

"Look, man, sorry 'bout Coach Z, he's a really big creep and a pretty big jerk sometimes…" he said akwardly.

The Poopsmith leaned forward to Strong Bad and whispered eight words that set into his skull like mud.

Strong Bad staggered backwards from the Poopsmith in confusion, and he slowly shambled up towards the car.

The Poopsmith turned back to his mailbox. He put the mailbox door back up, walked back up into his house, and closed the front door.

Coach Z looked over at Strong Bad from across the roof of the car.

"What'd he say?" asked Coach Z. Strong Bad said nothing. He just blinked. "What'd he say, Strong Bad?" asked Coach Z again. Strong Bad remained silent again.

Author's Notes: Read George Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four. Seriously, it's the best.