I'm SO SORRY! School is killing me with a rusty knife, but that is still no excuse for leaving you guys like this! Feel free to flame me for it, I REALLY deserve it... The flame retardant suit is ready...
Anyway, because of the close pools, I decided to do one and three! They'll be separate though. Originally they were the same, but it just wouldn't fit a time line properly. Bad news... It has no real plot and is really a bunch of stupid memories... Like the Simpson's clip show...
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DETENTION WITH DANNY:
ALERT THE ALLITERATION AGENCY!
I sigh as I drum my fingers along the desk. Detention with Lancer. AGAIN. You'd think the old farce would give it the heck up already. No matter how many detentions you give me I'm still gonna be late. You want to do something about it, take it up with the billionaire sociopath after my mom (ew).
But now, Lancer is Lancer, has been Lancer, and-unless personality surgery becomes available within the next decade (please, let karma have a date tonight!)- will always be Lancer. I pity the generations to come. The poor saps'll have to live with something even worse than a farce-- an old, wrinkly, middle age-crisis ridden farce.
Anyway, here I am stuck in detention with Sam, Tucker, Dash, Paulina, Valerie, and Joe Average. No really, that's his name; Joe Average. And Mrs. Average. And all the little Averages too come. Ah well, it beats Smith. And that poor sap named carp...
So here we are, merrily drumming away our fingers on balsa wood slabs stabbed and held up on sticks in the building come to be known as life's living hell. Lord take me now.
I look around to 'study' my 'classmates'. Tucker's messing with his PDA under the desk- no surprise there. I swear the kid's more addicted to that thing then I am to Reeses... Well, maybe not that much. I still need to talk to those guys at Guinness. Still, his twenty waking hours a day are filled with that device. I think he named it Hubert... Looking away now.
Paulina's messing with her makeup... her really, really, hot makeup... over there... (slap) Snap out of it Fenton, you want Sam's size seven to meet your inner plumbing? Again? It took long enough getting your stomach pumped for it last time. I'm pretty sure her foot print is still visible on my small intestine...That's what the doctor said... Next Person.
Dash is sitting there, grumbling. Ah yes, justice was finally served; Mr. Lancer caught Dash giving me a swirly... Funnily enough, neither of them noticed that my head was intangible the whole time. Figures really, karma's gotta let up some time. A couple of idiots like them would never, never notice the fact that my head was partially see-through. What's the word, eh... transport? Transpartial? Transparent? That's the one! Let's hear it for evil English teachers forcing us to memorize crap we'll never use!
Valerie next. Late in class for hunting me. You'd think she would have given up after I melted her suit in outer space, but no, she has to be a right stubborn git about it and shove an elephant gun the size of several small European countries at my head. That's Val for you. Never gives up, especially about mounting my head above her pillow.
Sam is doodling at the moment. She is also grumbling several expletives she shouldn't know. Then again, I know them... So they have to be legal in some states. I think she just doodled me blasting Paulina's face off. Come now Sammy, that would be a sin. Blasting away Dash's ability to have children... Now that's something to doodle!
...Man I want my pencil to draw that, but no, Skulker just had to get a new chainsaw this morning. My poor little 99-cent-store-stick didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell.
Last is Joe Average, who strangely, has the least average reason for being here. Namely, tripping on the floor, hitting the janitor, who knocked over the mop and bucket, which spilled water, which annihilated the cafeteria schedule for year 2017. Nobody cares how though. Heck, I didn't even know he existed before this.
I remember the moment that landed me in this hellhole like it was yesterday... Then again, it was seven hours ago. Maybe my memory is failing... Then I could forget everything, start as life as some random hobo doing magic tricks on street corners, and slowly tear apart the very fabric of reality until it's a mutilated, bloodied shadow of it's former self... By god, I need to stop borrowing Sam's goth books.
Anyway, here's how it happened. I had just come back from a triple fight with Pop princess, Frog boy and Fruit loop. With the Fenton anti-creep stick. Because mom decided that it would be fun to use this new weapon that made overshadowing ghosts go unconscious. It also happened to send my ghost half on a nice trip to dream land. Lucky. He gets to sleep, but do I? No. Wait, am I being jealous of myself? Jazz'll have a field day with that one... Anyway...
If my daydreams have been anything to go by, he's dreaming of a swimming pool full of melted cheese, ranch dressing, and glowing fudge. Lots of glowing fudge. In the shape of the world's largest deep fried Twinkie(1). With little gummy bats on top reading "I LIKE POINTY THINGS!"
guess insanity is contagious after all. Moving on...
I am running down the hallway, cursing every time I come to one of those damn corners. Why do they use corners anyway? Curves would be easier... More, eh, what was that world my science teacher used? Airodynamco? Areodingin? Aerodynamic? Yeah, I think that's it... Besides, what happened to going 'as the crow flies'? If that saying lasted this long, it has to have some truth behind it... Then again, there is 'Spare the rod, spoil the child...'
So, anyway, I run into the back door to Lancer's room, and right into his potted plant. The damn pine tree that left pine needles up my nose! It's been there since CHRISTMAS TWENTY YEARS AGO, for the sake of all that is good and Reesesity. It's a danger to society, health, and most of all, Mikey's allergies! That kid can shoot a booger bomb clear across the room! I think he got a medal for it in the nerd Olympics.
...don't ask HOW a kid is allergic to silk plants. You don't want to know.
So, I crash and stumble over the potted plant, landing smack dab on the middle of the floor. Next to an all too familiar jello mark. That thing give won't give up, will it? It's been THREE MONTHS... Shouldn't the janitor have, I dunno, CLEANED it by now? Lazy gits...
Lancer glares at me from where he's standing... two feet from me. GREAT...
"Late again, Mr. Fenton?" he patronizes, glancing at my backpack, which I just noticed landed in my seat... Oh sure, I don't make it in time, but my backpack? A perfect landing... Except that something's dripping from it. There goes my peach snapple... Karma's. Punching. Bag.
I glare up at him, my eyes beginning to glow. He takes a step back. Yeah, he'd better be scared, I'm a half ghost geek who can kill him in forty-two different ways without touching him. Pick a number between one and forty-two...
Instead, I yell out, "Well DUH, if you had to beat off a fruit loop, a frog in a robot suit and a rock singer with self esteem issues with a glowing stick before school you'd be late too!"
His eyebrows raise, and his mouth hangs. Yeah, you heard me! I'm one pissed off halfa! Don't mess with m, because I'm about two seconds from making a PMSING Sam look like JAZZ!
His eyes twitch, and he mumbles, "What?"
I glare again, saying, "I said--" realization dawns..."--Oh crap. Oh crap..."
...nice going, Fenton. Why don't you just blurt that you're a half ghost freakazoid to a pack of rabid Fourteen year olds who open their mouth more than they do their books? By the end of the day the whole friggin' school will know... and Oh, the THINGS Jazz'll do to me! Holy crud, I'll be full ghost before I even get the chance to write my will!
"Perhaps it would aid in exorcising your overactive imagination to join drama club, Mr. Fenton. Detention after school, no excuses." he mutters, turning around, leaving me slamming my head against the cold Linoleum tiles.
So, here I am. Stuck in detention with everybody who hates me in one room... Just like Walker's prison. Except this time Tucker and Sam are around, too. Ah well, at least they won't form a plan to snipe with with a poison dart disguised as a spitball using notes... No, I'm not paranoid. My parents did the same thing to me on the way to school, just replace 'spitball' with 'fudge bar'.
Writing about ways to improve society via having a stop sign installed on Spook Street. Yes, Spook Street. My street, by the way. Shouldn't surprise you, Amity is a ghoul town. Think about it. Casper High? The Casper High Ravens? Amity Park, the Amityville Horror? I'm pretty sure Jaws was done in an Amity too. This place was a supernatural hot spot even before my insane parents moved in. If course, just to top it all off, my parents had to move onto the corner of Spook Street and Leer Lane.
Well, how can I work this? What's happened on my street... There was that car accident on the way to a kid's birthday party... Oh yeah, there was also the time that kid's mom ran over their foot with a car... In fact, I'm pretty sure it was the same kid(2)...
I should write this stuff down, I suppose. Otherwise I'll be stuck here for hell knows how long. Damn it, how many years did it take them to get this torture perfected? No talking, no joking around... Just sitting there. Doing nothing. For an hour. Good god, we're teenagers, this goes against every code teenagers follow! --except for those chess nerds that don't do anything anyway. Yeah, they must have helped along. No teacher could invade a person's mind this thoroughly... Well, Jazz maybe, but she's not going to be a teacher.
...I hope. Otherwise, the generations to come won't stand a chance. Sugar coated over protective psychoanalyzing teacher? That is a worse nightmare than Dark Dan... Or, as I have christened him, Y.A.T.Z.I. You are turning zanily insane. Y.A.T.Z.I
...Okay, so Sam came up with it. Cut me a break, I'm not exactly the sharpest knife on the Christmas tree... No, I mean that. You want to know what Sam does to the Christmas tree when her parents aren't looking? I'm pretty sure she snook up on a ladder and replaced the angel's head with a punk'd out dismembered head when she was ten. In fact, a garden gnome was missing it's head that year...
What I don't get is, if she's Jewish, why does she even have a tree? Probably so her parents 'fit in'. Blah blah blah... Like that'll ever work... I heard a snippet of conversation that she was planning on asking Tucker (read, forcing using blackmail) to mess around with the menorah so that five foot tall black flames came out. Sounds like loads of fun.
So, back to working on this damn assignment from hell... You know what, screw this. It's note passing time, and Lancer's gone on a 'restroom break'. Truth be told, I doubt that is what he does in there. The horrors of an overweight middle aged teacher in a bathroom. Oh good god, I will never erase that picture from my nightmares... It went like this...
It was lunch, and my ghost sense went off. I, being the gentlemen I am, cussed out the floor while trying to find a place to transform. At last, I spot a bathroom on the right hand side, and yank open the door. Really, I should have stopped to consider before hand. What if it was a girl's room?No person can ever escape that kind of torment if word got out. Pretty soon everybody would pin me a cross dresser and I'd be sent to some stupid reformation academy in Ohio!
But, instead, I went into something even more horrifying... The teacher's bathroom. The epiphany of grotesque bodies.(let's her it for being belted down to a chair and being forced to watch the National Geographic Channel on Saturday night by evil sisters!) Bearbert has yet to be found, by the way. Still in the chimney, probably singed from that chestnut roast we had during Christmas.
There I came face to face with one shirtless Mr. Lancer, proudly holding a hand shaver to his back and whistling 'American Pie'. I quickly jetted to the next bathroom to transform and take care of the job.
That image will forever be burned into my poor eyeballs. It haunts my dreams to this very day. Heck, just last night I had a dream about being crushed by that mountain of hair on the man's back when he shaved. Jazz is trying to get me to a therapist, but it would take quite a bit of explaining about why I went into the teacher's bathroom in the first place.
Anyway, back to something that won't send me to the crazy house, I yanked a piece of lined paper and began writing notes. (Danny is bold, Sam italic, Tucker underline. Because I'm a lazy git like that.)
Hey guys, this suck or what?
You know it dude. Like I'll give a damn about the history of the toaster in ten years...
Hey, it beats reasons to have a stop sign on my street.
Or the affect better glue formulas had on library budgets during the fifties.
Ouch.
Are they this evil on purpose?
98 of the teenage population agrees...
DO. NOT. GO. THERE. You know how badly I hate those things.
Yeah, I still have the campaign sign in my closet.
Ditto here.
...So... What now?
Rant about my life?
No.
Damn. Ah dang it, Lancer's back. Hide the no-
I was cut off by Lancer grabbing the note. Ah crap, this will not end well. I can already feel my parent's glares now.
"Note passing is not allowed in detention, Mr. Fenton. The three of you have essays about your life story due tomorrow. Five thousand words, single spaced, handwritten. Yes, handwritten, Mr. Foley." he hisses before moving back to his chair.
Well, I guess I won't be getting any sleep this time either... My parents never notice that I am always groggy like heck in the mornings. You have to love that attentive parenting. They didn't notice when Skulker broke my arm either. Nor the black eyes... Or the sling... OR THE BLOODSTAINS ON MY SHEETS...
I'm ranting again, aren't I? Damn genetics. Why couldn't I be the child of lawyers or something? I'm not going to say it aloud, because I'll never know when Desiree will get loose. After that whole 'never met Sam' incident, I'm more careful around the green skinned genie. She really should wish that she finally got her heart's desire- she's happy, I don't have to kick her butt on a weekly basis, everybody wins. Well, except whatever poor country she ends up queen as... But I digress. Not my issue.
I glare down at the college rule, my pencil pushing so hard into it that it's swiftly becoming a very efficient paper cutter. Maybe if I am it right it'll go up Lancer's nose... If it can clear that chin of his, that is. I swear, how he doesn't stab himself with that when he looks down to tie his shoes is a secret I will never know.
Might as well begin this evil assignment. The life of god's punching bag...
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(1)Deep fried Twinkie: These were actually sold at the Los Angeles State fair. I have a cell phone picture to prove it, too. Email me for the picture, because my computer crashes every time I try to change my profile. It's a 99 dollar piece of crap from the after holidays sale at Fry's Electronics running on the same operating system as my toaster. That should tell you something.
(2) True story, except it was my friend's birthday party. I just happened to be carpooling with her. Oh the legal documents! ...and that cast was so itchy...
Keep in mind, this was written while under the influence of four month old Reeses pieces. You have to love what you find half frozen in the back of the refrigerator. I know this was a bit cut off, but I will get around to writing Danny's report EVENTUALLY.