1:12 PM
"Left! Left! Right! Stab stab stab!"
"Thank, you lost contragulaton," read the horribly-translated machine.
Strong Bad and Strong Sad were at the arcade.
"Aw, this game sucks anyway," said Strong Bad. "So, Rudolph the Grey, what brings you to a dump like here?"
"The arcade? Well, you suggested we go here, and I—"
"No, I meant Free Country. It's a total dump. I live here, what's your excuse?"
"Well, my dad got in a fight with my mom about the last slice of pizza, and it kind of snowballed...anyway, I ended up eating the piece, but my dad tried to kidnap our house. This isn't exactly a crime, but he ran away so quickly the police assumed he must've been a criminal. They haven't found him yet, but we had to go through Witness Protection. I chose the name Strong Sad 'cause I thought people would see me as tough yet sensitive, you know? It didn't work."
"No, I can see that," said Strong Bad. "Who were you before you got a new you?"
"I can't really tell you...I think they'd have to shoot you if I told you."
"So, you're an unperson."
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You're kind of weird, you know?"
"Kay."
"You're like this weird tough-guy with boxing gloves, but you read all the time."
"Well, everyone in history's faced every problem someone could possibly faced, twice. And at least one of those times, they wrote down how they solved it. Read a lot, and you never don't know what to do in any situation."
"Whoa...that's literary things that."
"Yup."
"Hey, when you sleepwalk, what happens? Do you remember your dreams and stuff?"
"Sometimes, you remember your dreams. Sometimes, you don't remember your dreams too good, but you remember having your dreams. When I wake up after sleepwalking, I remember remembering having those dreams. But I don't remember the actual dreams. That would be weird."
"What do you wake up to?"
"The sound of my own screams. No, wait, that's what a goth kid does..."
"No, I meant where do you wake up?"
"Usually that hill down by the pond."
"Really?"
"No. I woke up there once, though."
"Do you like it there?"
"No. There's too much water. I'm more of a fire or wind guy."
"Hey, what if you're supposed to go there?"
"Why? For, like, a science project or something?"
"No, I mean, like, metaphysically? Maybe someone's guiding you. Some force beyond our control."
"Okay, one—no force is beyond my control, except the force emmited from myself that causes all other forces to become inside my control. I don't have that. And two—you've been reading way too much Calvanism Hobbes stuff. All that Final Destination stuff."
"Pre-destination. And it might actually be true, you know. Your sleepwalking might be leading you to something bigger than either of us combined."
There was a dramatic pause.
"Nothing's bigger than you, Washington Fatcat."
"Hey!"
October 13, 2003
8:07 AM
It was Poetry Day in Marzipan's class. Everyone had written poems and now was the day to present them. It was Strong Bad's turn, and he was reading his poem. His was a particularly creepy poem.
A crash, a flash, a bang
A huge light in the sky
No longer does it hang
The plane that should fly
Way up high in the sky
It comes to the ground
As the lightning bolt strikes
The plane, gravity's found
Not then, not that night
Will the plane reach its course
The storm is high in the sky
As parts wash up in the shores
As the lightning flashes
And the thunder rumbles
Homestar and his catches
Save them without fumbles
And though the plane will crash
And time is lost within a flash
I will be there to help him
Because I am Strong Bad
The class stared at him, wondering whether to laugh or run away screaming.
"Wow, that was very creative. I'm impressed, Strong Bad," said Marzipan. "Who's Homestar?"
"He's a guy with no arms in a bunny suit," said Strong Bad.
Strong Sad and Pom Pom laughed.
"Oh, man, that...hehe...the best, man," called Pom Pom.
"Maybe this bunny could help me plant my carrots," added Strong Sad jokingly. "Oh, wait, he doesn't have any arms! Hahahaha!"
"What?" said Strong Bad with a grin. "It's true!"
1:05 PM
"...and that's why I'm totally coolsome! Now press stop and do that exercise like it's the last one you've got!"
The King of Town pressed the stop button on the VCR, stopping Bubs' video.
"Now then, y'all!" said the King.
"You're not cool so stop trying," said Strong Bad.
"Yes, well...be that as it may," said Strong Bad. "Look over here, it's a line with words!"
The King pointed to a diagram he had written on the board. It was a long line with 'fear' written on one side of it, and 'love' written on the other side. There was a line in the middle, seperating the lines into the two sides of both words.
"Fear is cool!" said the King. "Love is not—wait...love is cool! Fear is not cool. Now, let's review. What's cool?"
"Fear is cool love is not wait love is cool," repeated the students, not taking the King's pauses as new sentences.
"No," said the King. "Love is fear! I mean—fear is love! Not cool. Fear is not cool. Love is cool."
"All those greeting cards say love's warm, not cool," said Strong Sad.
"Well, the greeting cards are wrong," said the King.
"Greeting cards are wrong?" said Strong Bad. "Then what's the point of Mother's and Father's respective days? I don't know what to think!"
"Fine! Greeting cards are right," said the King in annoyance, "and love is warm and cool."
"Oh, I see now," said Strong Sad.
"Anyways," said the King, "if you look on your desk, you'll find what's card a Character Called. On it is written a single situation, and you each have to come up here, read the situation, say which emotion it is and why, and write an X on the ap-rap-rit side. Ready? Go! You there, new kid, Peir. Come up here."
The King pointed to Pierre, who got up from his desk, came up to the chalkboard, and read, "Marco is going to have an important test but he hasn't studied so he decides to cheat. Uh...it's fear, cause—because...he's afraid he's going to fail the test, so he cheats."
Pierre drew an X on the 'fear' side, and then he went back to his desk.
"Next!" said the King. "You there...wrestling chap."
"You should learn your students' names, you know," said Strong Bad, getting up from his desk and walking to the board.
He began reading, "Polo finds a wallet full of money and a drivers license he takes the money but gives back the license. Oh wait, I mean he takes the license but keeps the money. I mean—he gives back the license but keeps the license. I mean money. I think it's love, because Polo loves having money, so he keeps the money."
"Um, I don't think that's it, Strong Bad," said the King with a frown.
"Well then I don't get it," said Strong Bad.
"What's not to get? Just decide if it's fear or love."
"I can't."
"But you must."
"This scenario has nothing to do with fear or love. This guy doesn't love anything, and he doesn't fear anything. He just wants money. That's more like greed than fear or love."
"Greed isn't on the lifeline."
"But—life's not that simple. People don't love or are afraid of everything. There's some other stuff to take into account."
"I don't think you understand the assignment."
"No, I do, but this can't be answered."
"Look, I am not impressed if you've just been doing this to get me to give you the answer! And if that really is the case...well, it worked. The answer is fear."
"But what's he afraid of?"
"That's your job to say."
"But I can't!"
"Then you'll get a zero for the class."
"Fine. That's just great. You know why? I'll tell you why, Mr. of Town!"
2:09 PM
"Thank you for coming, Coach," said the Umpire. "I'm sorry we had to interrupt you at practice, but you know how Strong Bad gets."
"I sure do, Ump," said Coach Z. "I sure do."
Strong Bad, Coach Z, and the Umpire were in the principal's office. What's Her Face had come along too, just for fun. The Umpire was sitting in a comfortable leather chair with arms. Coach Z and Strong Bad were sitting in uncomfortable and very itchy wooden chairs that had arms, but they were made out of wood and were very thin, so they hurt your elbows if you put your arms on them.
"Now...Strong Bad, I must say," said the Umpire (presumably, he must have), "this isn't the first time you've been in a situation like this."
Strong Bad just sat still, staring back.
"Your lowest marks are in health class. Why do you think that is?"
"What's healthy?"
"What?"
"What's healthy about it? All we do is watch that movie with that guy Bubs."
"I've met Bubs. I know him very well. He seems to think that learning to overcome fear is very important. Are you scared, Strong Bad?"
"No."
"Well...tell me again, what exactly you said to Mr. of Town?"
Strong Bad glanced down. He said nothing.
After a pause, an old, whiny voice said, "I'll tell you what he said! He said-a my moustache was lame!"
The King was standing just off to the side.
"Ha!" shrieked What's Her Face.
2:12
Out in the office waiting room/teacher's lounge, the King of Town and Coach Z were conversing. What's Her Face was sitting on one of the secretary's desks nearby.
"I'm really sorry, Kingy...ever since that engine crashed into our house..."
"Yes, yes, we all know a jet engine fell on your friend's room. Let it go!"
"Well, he's just been acting different, ya know? He's not himself."
"Look, Coach, I'm telling you this because both my niece, Carmella, and that girl you rent out one of the rooms in your house to, Joy—"
"Actually, I think she prefers her nickname, The Ugly One."
"In some capacity, she does. Anyway, they're both on my interpretive dance team—"
What's Her Face interjected by saying, "It's called 'interpretive dance,' because you have to interpret how anyone could call a mess of what looks like a poor imitation of seizure spams 'dance.'"
"Quite," said the King. "Anyway, Coach, I know The Ugly One very well. And from what I can see—well, and now there's Strong Bad acting out...I just don't want them to be under the wrong influence, know'm sayin'?"
"Yer sayin' I'm a bad arnfluence?"
"Well, no, not as such—"
"Come on, What's Her Face, Strong Bad, we're outta here. Wait, where's Strong Bad?"
2:13
Strong Bad had left about a minute earlier, after he had been told he could leave, while Coach Z and the Umpire were talking.
He was walking down the sidewalk to his house when he walked by a window that had been left ajar to let in the air. He could hear a newscast from inside. He stopped for a second to listen.
"...the mildly unseasonable warm front drifting in eastward. Uh, unfortunately, there's not much warm air out here, but there's expected to be a sharp drop in the wind level, mostly in the lower rural areas of the county. The forecast for tomorrow is around 57 degrees with a fourteen percent chance of rain, and we'll have your full seven-day forecast tonight at 8. Back to you, Tom."
"Thanks, Zach. Anyway, a new set of town penal codes have been approved to cut down on traffic code violations. Special sensors implanted in the road at every crosswalk and street light will monitor any vehicles that pass the junction when the traffic light didn't signal for them to go. Violators of the rule, as monitored by cameras situated next to the light, will be eligible for fines of up to $20..."
Strong Bad wanted to keep listen, but he could see down the street about six cars coming down the street towards a nearby crosswalk. He ran over and pressed the crossing button. The yellow light above lit up and began beeping. The drivers of the cars had heard about the new law, and were forced to stop, as Strong Bad stood on the sidewalk, doing nothing.
"Hey, move it, pal!" shouted one of the drivers from his car.
"Why don't you make me, fatso?" called Strong Bad mockingly.
"Oh, you are so dead!" shouted the driver. He got out of his car and began hurrying over to Strong Bad, only to cross the crosswalk line, set of the sensor, and have a large flash of a nearby camera momentarily blind him.
"What?" shouted the driver to the camera feebly. "No! I didn't cross the line! I'm not in my car!"
"No, you're not," said a policeman walking up on the sidewalk. "And standing in the middle of the street and holding up traffic when the light says it's not your turn is a punishable offence."
"What?"
"That'll be $20."
"But—it was that guy in the wrestling mask..."
The driver turned. Strong Bad had already started to run away. He could barely talk, he was laughing so much. "Yeah! Thought criminal! Thought criminal! Take him away, Thought Police! He's one of Goldstein's forces!"
"Come on, man, don't got all day," said the cop.
"But...wrestleman..."
"Yes, yes, wrestleman. 20 dollars."
2:14
What's Her Face was talking on the phone in the hallway outside the office. A secretary approached her.
"So then my roommate tells his teacher that his moustache is stupid, and he gets suspended. Totalitarian, I know..."
"Excuse me, miss?"
"Yeah?"
"It's Coach Z, that friend of yours."
"Well, I wouldn't go so far as to say 'friend'..."
"He seems to have gone unconscious."
"Oh, really? That's just a mouthwash attack. Happens to him all the time, he'll be fine."
"Well, you're probably right, we still need to call an ambulance. Regulation."
"Ambulances are for lose-ons. And besides, I'm already on the phone."
"Shouldn't you have a cell phone, like all teenagers?"
"The stores that sell cell phones always seem to close just as I'm about to go get one. Kind of strange, really."
"Right. Well, is that a long distance call?"
"Is Vietnam long distance?"
"You're wasting the school's phone bill."
"It's an important call."
"Really?"
"Yeah, it is, so, you know, go away. So anyway, totally...yeah, so now Coach Z's buying him all this new stuff after he read a bunch of phycological books...he has no idea what he's doing."
"Yeah, I'm back now. I just checked. A call to a place like Vietnam would cost the school about $47 per second."
"Well, that's great, but I don't care. I'm not calling Vietnam."
"Oh...well, you said you were."
"Did I? Anyway...I know, he got like a new bed and everything...I wish a jet engine'd fall on my room..."
6:52
"Well, Coach, from what I've seen of Strong Bad," said So and So, "he's the type of guy who should be punished when he does stuff wrong. Remember that time he went to jail after he burnt that house down?"
"Well, he was sleepwalking then," said Coach Z.
"More like sleeparsoning," said So and So.
They were all back at the house. Coach Z and So and So (that's two people, the first being Coach Z, the second being So and So; not three people, one named Coach Z, two named So, such as 'Coach Z, So, and So,' as it were).
"I say you should ground him," said the one and only So and So.
"I say I should get him a moped," said Coach Z.
A third person walked into the room.
"...yeah...I know, totally...okay, now that Coach Z guy's just said he gets a moped! I know, it's crazy..."
"Jennifer, what are you doing?" said So and So.
"Can't talk. Phone. Yeah, so anyway..."
That secretary from the school came up and said, "Sorry I had to come to your house, guys, but your friend here kind of took the phone with her when she left the school."
Coach Z paused and looked over where the long coil of plastic that came from the phone in What's Her Face's hand led to.
"Frankly, I didn't know that phone wire could stretch a mile and a half," said Coach Z, "but I guess I was mistarken."
Up in Strong Bad's room, Strong Bad was pencilling the finishing touches on a sketch of Homestar Runner in his fluffy pink bunny suit.
"28 Days Later...Rocky VI...Level 42...Ocean's Twelve..."
Strong Bad managed to remember the time until Homestar had said the world would end through tedious cultural references, mostly anacronistic ones.
He didn't know how the world would end. But he'd do anything he could to find out what he would face. And he would be ready.
He didn't know what the storm Homestar kept cryptically mentioning was. But when that storm came, he'll have watched the Weather Channel. And he'll have remembered to brought an umbrella.
Metaphorically.
October 14, 2003
3:26
The last class of the day, physics, taught by a guy named Homeschool Winner, had just ended. The kids had all put their chairs up on their desks and had gone off to their lockers. Except Strong Bad. He stayed behind. He wasn't in trouble, but he had some stuff to say.
Strong Bad, with whom the teachers in the school were all on a first-name basis, said, "Homeschool?"
"Strong Bad?" imitated Homeschool jokingly.
"You know a lot about physics, right?"
"Yeah, but don't tell anyone."
"I got a question."
"Shoot."
"You would've ever heard of, like, time travel, would you?"
"Ah, chaos physics. My old foe. Yes, I've heard of it."
"Could it, like, exist?"
"Some say no, some say yes. I say it could, maybe."
Homeschool pulled open a drawer in his desk and took out a well-thumbed paperback book. On the cover was a small black ball of light in some kind of brown shell.
"This is Stephen Hawking's newest book on quantum mechanics," said Hoemschool. "It's not exactly new, but it's the most recent. You should read it some time."
"Just try and stop me," said Strong Bad.
"Anyway," continued Homeschool, "most scientific time travel theories centre around wormholes. They're are a kind of trans-dimensional portal that you can go through."
"Yeah, I know about these...if you go through one, you can travel to a different place and a different time, right?"
"Theoretically. But wormholes that physicists focus on are usually Einstein-Rosen Bridges, or ERBs. These are manmade portals created by what's usually just called a vessel."
"So...what, are these, like, spaceships or something?"
"Well, you can probably work out a diagram in your head. You have your portal, you have your vessel, most likely a spacecraft of some kind."
"Like a DeLorean."
"Now, now, let's not violate copyright."
Meanwhile, outside, that kid Pierre was in the courtyard with the bulldog, standing next to the physics classroom window, listening intently.
"All you need is something made out of metal."
"Why?"
"There have been stories for thousands of years about metal objects travelling through time, like the ancient myth of the soldier who was impaled by a falling spear that he was just about to build."
"Or the engine of a jet that hadn't started its flight?"
Homeschool smiled and laughed.
"Could be," he said. "Look, I have something that might interest you...it's another book, written by someone who used to teach science here. He wanted to have the job I have now, physics, but they wouldn't let him. During his stay, he wrote this."
Homeschool picked up another book off his desk, an old dark red one that looked faux leatherbound.
After Strong Bad took the book, Homeschool led him out into the hallway to a kind of bulletin board with a bunch of old photos of classes through the years. Homeschool pointed out a specific one, on old photo that looked to be taken just around the time when people started switching from black and white cameras to colour ones.
Strong Bad looked at the figure in the picture pointed out. He looked familiar, but he needed to check the student index at the bottom of the picture for the name.
"Okay, let's just see here...and it's—wha?"
Strong Bad turned around in confusion, as if doubting what he was seeing. Homeschool smiled and nodded.
Strong Bad turned back to the photo. He looked at the index again. The person in the photo, the one who had written the book he had been given, was third from the left in the second row. The index for the second row read as this:
2ND ROW (L-R): MARCUS THOMPSON, NATHAN ABERNATHY, THE POOPSMITH, JOANNA LUCAS, PETER BLAIR, CHRISTINE STEVENS, ROBERT LEWIS, JAQUELINE NOLES
Author's Notes: Um...you know, guys, reviews aren't locked for this story. You can review it if you want...kind of strange how there's three whole chapters that don't have any reviews...just saying.