Chapter 4: I Never

Author's Note: Today, I leave for a week long vacation (aka rehab). I'm going to attach my Mac to my body so I can some get some writing done, but if they do a full cavity search, I might not get a chapter in for two or more weeks. Not that I want to put you through those kind of withdrawals. I understand this story is like heroin and I am enabling you (but I like enabling you and I know going cold turkey is not an option). But if I don't get any writing done while I'm laying by the pool, you can all burn me. I promise!

Disclaimer: I made the executive decision after conferring with my Keebler elves and my one stop candy stop that I should probably bump up my story rating to an M. It protects the kids and allows me to talk about tits and mouths and other things that the Parents and Family crazies who rival PETA in scaring me would call "mind blowingly inappropriate." So from now on, anything that disturbs you or violates you, like the licking of lollipops, isn't my fault. It's the dirty in me.

Kinsey owns sex. Well, at least in the psych world. Don't want to offend Jenna Jameson here.


When E came marching up to Tristan DuGrey in the library he knew he should have run the other way. Whenever she wore her Gucci black leather knee high boots she had her bitch face on and you didn't want to get mixed up in that perfect storm of leather, MAC Cherry ice lip-gloss and blonde hair.

The bitch really was back.

She leaned over his table, making her cleavage visible and certainly not out of reach of his hands.

Every undersexed Chilton boy was leaned back in his chair, blood rushing to the one place in his body that wasn't easy to hide. E's cleavage glowed like God himself had put a holy light around it.

Some guys would say it was just like heaven.

"Hey, Tris," she said, in that deep voice every phone sex operator used. E got it from smoking a pack of French cigarettes every day.

She played with the third button on her crisp, collared shirt, the black lace of her bra becoming increasingly visible.

"Not a fan of the dress code, I see." He forced himself not to look up. Looking up in the past had ended in either a cold shower, being left naked in the janitor's closet, alone, or worst of all, forcing him to say yes to whatever she asked.

"You know what's great about buttons? They easily come undone." She popped another button with her finger, the valley between her breasts hanging out for any of these geeks to jerk off to under the table.

Just don't get any on the books, boys. Those stains never come out.

"No," he said coldly.

"I haven't asked you anything, Tris."

"Stop calling me that."

"Would you prefer if I purred your name in your ear?"

"I'm not taking part in one of your little games. I can't go to jail again. They'll kick me out of this place."

"But bad boys have to be punished."

"Shut up, E. Your act doesn't work on me anymore. I am immune."

"Aw, did Rory make you fear tits? You're like one of those sad animals that are released into the wild and don't know what to do."

"My hands don't want anything to do with your tits."

"What about your mouth?"

Tristan slammed his book shut, making E move a step away from him. Tristan was known to have a bit of a temper. "Why are you in here? Shouldn't you be off getting fucked by Mariano or Huntz?"

"See, it's the talking to you that will eventually lead to the fucking Huntz."

"Mariano figured out your vagina would rot his dick off? I'm impressed."

"So that's where yours went."

Actually, Rory kept his in a jar. Don't cross Miss Gilmore; she'll castrate you.

"I can't believe they haven't closed down your gateway to hell yet. Someone needs to call the EPA and tell them about the toxic things you're holding between your legs."

She took a step in his direction, grinding her stiletto into his foot. He probably mumbled bitch or another insult that would make our mother's blush, but who didn't know E was a bitch? Her parents didn't ship her away because she was a delightful Georgia peach.

Think Regina George but brilliant.

"Listen, Tris, I just need you to give me something."

"I'm not getting caught up in whatever you are plotting," he choked out, trying not to cry like a pussy from the pain she was inflicting on his foot. E would squeal with delight if she made him cry.

She pressed her stiletto down harder, grinding back and forth. "You feel that? That's just a little pain. And it'll eventually go away. But if you don't do what I want, I'll be forced to make your entire life feel like this. Nonstop. And I don't want to do that. I'm a good girl, but people just do things that force me to be bad."

"If I agree to help you, will you remove your heel?"

"Of course I will. I'm not crazy."

"Enjoying torture isn't insane at all," he deadpanned, searching for feeling in his foot that Gucci had destroyed. "What do you want?"

"Rory's panties."

"I have no clue what you're talking back."

"Tris, my heel, in your foot, everyday. Metaphorically speaking, of course. I can't wear the same shoes everyday."

"Why would I still have Rory's panties?'

"Because you're obsessed with her in an illegal sort of way."

"And why do you want her panties?"

"I forgot mine today." Add a unicorn, a gun and cinnamon bun hair and this was every boy's fantasy that was in the library at the moment. It was even better than their virtual Laura Croft.

Tristan reached for her wrist, applying just enough pressure to scare her. "I don't want to hurt you either, darling. But I'm also not in the mood for your games."

"Does it make you feel like you're still a man grabbing me like this?"

"Why, is it turning you on?"

"If it was turning me on you wouldn't be wearing any pants."

"Still the little slut, I see."

E's normally sparkling blue eyes had gone cold. "I'm not a slut."

He squeezed harder, her wrist almost purple. "Aw, did I hit a nerve?"

"Give me the underwear DuGrey. Unless you're wearing them right now." She wiggled out of his grip, knowing she had won. Being a drag queen wasn't popular at Chilton.

"Shut up."

"If you just hand over Rory's underwear, I'll leave you alone."

"Fine," he said like a four year old who had just been sent to the time out chair and had his favorite toy taken away. And he kind of had. He loved Rory's panties.

"Oh I forgot to ask, are they clean?"

"I didn't steal her dirty underwear."

"No, I mean how many times did you whack off into them? Semen underwear is of no use to me."

"They're clean."

"Did Francesca use bleach?" Yes, the virgin wore white underwear. Could she be more obvious?

"Yes."

"What an angel. Thank her for me. Of course, you probably do that everyday when mommy and daddy are away."

He pulled the underwear out of his pocket.

Interesting hiding place, Tristan. Planning on a panty love fest during lunch? Say high to Huntz in the bathroom for us. "Now go. And button up your shirt. No one needs to see that."

"I can't figure you out DuGrey."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She simply smiled, another button popping open. It was a good thing nuns didn't teach at this school. "Have a good day, Tris. And I'll try to get these back to you, but I can't make any promises."


Was E auditioning for the Chilton production of Basic Instinct? Everyone was fine with the possibility that she might ice pick them to death if she ever ran out of strawberry gum, but the unladylike manner in which she was sitting in the Headmaster's office was a bit much.

Emily Gilmore would have glued her knees shut to teach her a lesson.

At least she had opted to not walk into her meeting with Charleston in that black lace bra. The man was not a spring chicken. Heart attacks happened. No need for E to get that special feeling of killing a man with your cleavage. That was a feeling only nice girls should experience.

The wait was the worst part for her. She had psyched herself up for this. Wiped off her lip-gloss. Practiced a range of devastated expressions in front of the mirror.

Charleston needed to get his ass in his office pronto before she had a divalike meltdown and started stripping in front of Miss Higgins.

Remember Mariah Carey during TRL? E used to have those meltdowns on a daily basis before she went off and became a little reformed Goldilocks.

Waiting made her do things, like blow off of some girl's stomach. A good girl she was not. Until right now. Right now she was an angel in Italian leather.

Charleston fumbled with the doorknob, almost falling into this office. He had sprinted the whole way, knowing he couldn't leave Miss Rigby waiting.

Sweat was pouring off his face. Ew.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Mss Rigby. And welcome back to Chilton. Settling back in well, I hope." As he fell into his chair, his ten chins jiggled around, sweat continuing to pour off his face. E had to force the vomit back down at the sight of Jabba the Hut dying right in front of her eyes. When he licked his lips, she almost lost the muffin she had consumed that morning.

Which actually wouldn't be that bad. She hadn't found time to make it to the bathroom yet today to get rid of the blueberry muffin that would go straight to her ass, so why not double task?

Bulimia and scheming. The perfect breakfast.

She forced an expression on her face that resembled a smile. "Well, I miss mommy and daddy terribly, but I am so happy to be back at Chilton. My education has always been my top priority and those French boarding schools are just one nonstop party. No one wears clothes! It wasn't a conducive environment."

He inwardly cursed his appearance. Just because he was seventy didn't mean he was blind. He took Viagra. He had hair plugs. He longed to still impress the ladies, even his students, especially the ones who didn't cross their legs. "You were always so gifted. It was such a shame that the Hartford lifestyle misguided you for awhile."

Um, no. Thank God the Hartford lifestyle misguided her. Who else would we get coke from? An actual drug dealer? So not happening!

She looked down at her feet, then up, giving him that kicked puppy face she did so well. "Yes, it appears someone else at Chilton may be lost. That's what I'm here for, actually. I couldn't let another Chilton girl, especially my best friend, lose her way."

Best fucking friends forever, even if they were ripping out each other's hair, right?

"This meeting is about Miss Gilmore?"

E blinked a few times, forcing tears to form in the corners of her eyes. Girls fake everything. "I'm afraid so. I found these in the library." She held up a pair of white La Perla underwear.

Good intentions were best left for people who worked at the Red Cross. And the pope.

Charleston knew that girls these days had an aversion to wearing underwear. He'd put a paragraph in the dress code that specifically required the wearing of underwear everyday. Had Rory lost hers? "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"I found Rory's underwear inside of Anna Karenina." Violating a classic? To believe this, you would have to believe Rory Gilmore had an evil twin. Rory would never have sex in front of the innocent books!

"How can you be sure they are Miss Gilmore's?"

E pointed out the little monogrammed RG on the left hip. "Rory has all of her underwear shipped in from France. And on each pair, she gets RG monogrammed. RG is Rory Gilmore."

"Why would Miss Gilmore use her underwear as a bookmark?"

"Oh you didn't hear? Rory was caught in an unsettling situation with several Chilton boys last week at her mother's party. It appears she is a sex fiend!"

And a witch! Burn her! Burn her!

Charleston shifted in his chair, not liking where this conversation was headed. "Miss Gilmore is one of our most promising students. She is focused, hardworking, has perfect attendance. Those aren't the type of girls who fornicate with a male peer in the library."

"I wish this wasn't true. She's my best friend, Headmaster. I hate to see her this way. That's why I came to you for help. She wants to go to Harvard. If she continues with this behavior, she'll be in a nunnery having Jess Mariano's child! We can't have that. And she loves books. To violate a book with her dirty underwear means something is wrong. A call to her mother and the elder Gilmore's should be made."

"I'm not sure I can do that from just a pair of panties."

Tears fell from E's eyes. "Do you not care about your students? I thought this was an institution that molded young minds and guided them! If one of your minds is lost, you must help it become found again. If you ignore this you will find underwear in your office one day!"

She produced a few sniffles that would have made even Hitler want to comfort her.

Charleston reminded her of why she was sent away to boarding school. "Fornication on school property is a suspendable offense."

"Sometimes the toughest lessons come with the toughest consequences. Do what needs to be done. My friend is drowning in sex!" Give the girl a hanky and an Oscar.

And a rubber room at the Hartford insane asylum.

Or maybe what she really needed was protective custody when Rory put this together 6.5 seconds after Charleston showed her the panties.

E handed Charleston the panties on her way out. Now there was an image we never needed: Charleston touching Rory's La Perla underwear.

First Tristan's love stains, now Charleston's hands. And it will only get worse when Richard and Emily Gilmore are brought in on this job.

Watson and Sherlock will surely pull out their magnifying glasses to examine the panties in question.

Her panties will be more infamous than Monica Lewinsky's semen-stained blue dress.

"Miss Rigby," Charleston called after her. She spun around, in that perfect shampoo commercial sort of way.

"Yes?" she asked sweetly, her face the perfect picture of slutty innocence.

"We pride Chilton in sending well bred men and women out into the world. Please try to keep your legs crossed." He might have liked the view, but he couldn't encourage it. He didn't need an outbreak of syphilis on his hands again.

"Sorry, sir. I developed a terrible rash from the tights and haven't been able to cross my legs all day. As you can guess, the boys have been terribly rude."

She really was a master bullshitter. Rory would almost be in awe of her if she didn't hate her so much.


Rory was never a fan of public displays of affection. It was like being forced to watch porn a 13-year-old had shot with his camera phone. It was raw, unpleasant, always in bad lighting and never involved people she wanted to spend more than two seconds thinking about, much less see grope each other in a sea of plaid and hair gel.

Nothing was ever edited out. The moves were messy. There was no build up. One minute there was plaid; the next minute there were boobs. It was only pleasing for the male part of the encounter.

And for Alex Ostrof, because she was a big tited "foreign exchange" student that Rory was sure was a prostitute when she lived in France. At least, that's what she wrote on her blog, so it must be true.

Alex Ostrof. Rory had always been tempted to shove a stiletto into her jugular. Her fake French accent and insistence on not wearing a bra gave her automatic slut status in Rory's mind and since E, Rory had very little patience for sluts.

Alex wasn't helping her case at this very moment by sucking face with Jess Mariano right behind Rory.

The smacking would not stop. It was set on replay in Rory's mind, the cd never moving on to the next song.

Normally, this wouldn't bother Rory. She'd be too busy mentally writing the story of how and when she'd lose her virginity. But today, she wanted to strangle Alex. Or at least cut her tongue out with kid safety scissors so Jess would have no use for her (and it would be incredibly painful, which is what that French prostitute deserved).

Slow down there tiger! At least offer Tits McGee a Valium before taking away the holy grail of Chilton tongues.

Rory's hand shot into the air in a frantic pursuit for Mademoiselle Coco to put a cease and desist order on this herpes fest.

Mademoiselle Coco was always a bit snookered. It didn't matter if it was nine in the morning; she had the faint smell of vodka and tomato juice on her breath. And since she didn't believe in bathing more than once a month, the air around her was always thick with the smell of sweat, Yves Saint Laurent perfume and smoke.

She was attractive in a Kate Moss sort of way and if she would have taken the occasional bath, she might have gotten the opportunity to blow Jess Mariano.

What a lucky girl she would have been!

But the problem with Mademoiselle Coco's drunken state was that she didn't pay much attention to her class, too busy flipping through Vogue and cursing in French about how fat her thighs were. And when you interrupted her pre-hangover exuberance, she would puff smoke in your face and call you a stupid little cunt.

But because she said it in French, you had to smile. It sounded lovely.

"Oui, Mademoiselle Gilmore?"

"Chilton is an institution for learning, is it not?"

"Rory, I will not answer you if you do not ask the question in French. This is French class, is it not?"

"But we don't know how to say what I need to say in French," Rory whined. She only knew how to tell people she was bleeding from the head. And that zombies were attacking.

There was this freak in her class named Dean or Bleam or something like that who was obsessed with zombies, so the only sentences the class were taught had to do with death and zombies because Mademoiselle Coco had a crush on the floppy haired psychopath.

"Then it must not be important, non?" But zombies were certainly important!

"So Alex and Jess are allowed to swap fluids while I am trying to conjugate verbs because they are French kissing?"

"French is the language of love, oui?"

"So if I started having sex with someone on my desk right now it would be fine because French is the language of love?"

"It would depend on if you were speaking French throughout the encounter."

Rory had to grab the sides of her desk to keep herself from beating Mademoiselle Coco to death with her French book. The thing weighed like five hundred pounds, so it wouldn't take long to give her a little blunt force trauma to the head. "Are you serious?"

"Paris is the most wonderful city to fall in love. Persian men understand how to make the woman happy." So did Jess Mariano. That or Alex had a disorder where she moaned a lot.

Over-exaggerated porn star moan, party of one!

"I can't believe you are letting them continue!"

Jess pushed Alex Ostrof's tongue out of his mouth, sick of the taste of powdered doughnuts. He looked at her, her eyes still closed, staring dreamily in his direction. She probably expected him to lean his forehead against hers, still panting, and whisper perfect nothings, brushing his nose against hers.

Maybe if she wasn't such a slut he might do that.

Instead he leaned forward, edging himself closer to Rory, and ran his hand down her neck.

She instinctively smacked his hand away, not wanting the feeling of his smoldering heat on her cool skin. "Don't touch me with that hand. We all know where it was right before class."

"Sorry, I can't help myself. You have a lovely neck."

"How about you go back to swapping diseases with the French prostitute back there and leave my neck alone?" If he didn't, she was going to have to scrub it for at least an hour with bleach. The stench of slut didn't wash out easily.

He shook his head, like he could read her mind. "I don't think that's what you want."

"You're right; I wish you'd walk in front of a bus." At least she didn't want to push him in front of a bus. Small victories!

"I'm not into murder-suicides, Freckles. We aren't star crossed lovers."

"Why won't you leave me alone?" she almost begged.

"Because nothing makes my day more than watching your cheeks flush."

Mademoiselle Coco interrupted their little Hepburn/Grant moment. "Rory, the Headmaster wants to see you."

"You already lit E on fire? I'm impressed, really." Jess did have a thing for the psycho bitches. They gave it way better than they got it.

She smiled that dopey smile she always smiled at him when she was trying hard not to flirt. "You know I'm into slow torture."

"Ah yes, the stapler through the penis."

"A slow, sweet torture," she said in a eerily low, husky voice.

"Charleston's office after sixth period?"

"Take off your pants, put them outside the door and maybe I'll show up."

"And if you don't?"

"You and your hand will have one sadistic party together." Unless he decided to go find Finn or Colin or both in the shower to work out all that sexual tension.

"I hear my hand is warmer than you." It depended on which part of her you were referring to. Certain parts of her were pulsating at this very moment.

"Once a frigid bitch, always a frigid bitch."

"Is that what they told you at the convent?"

"Actually showed me. They all have it tattooed on their asses. Want to see?"

"I can't look at one of God's asses. It would be wrong. Immoral."

"And you're such a morally upstanding boy."

Mademoiselle Coco hadn't had nearly enough vodka to listen to all this verbal copulating. "Miss Gilmore, the Headmaster is waiting! You can flirt with Jess later."

Rory's face broke. "I don't flirt with people who give it to any girl who knows how to lie still on her back."

"Or situate herself upright," he added, reminding Rory that he did it, a lot.

Alex, in her horrible fake French accent, decided to use her words instead of her tongue for the first time in her life. "Rory, Jess iz boutiful. You can take him. My pussy iz tired."

"Oh my god, you're from Connecticut! You lived in France for like a year! Speak proper English. Even Mademoiselle Coco manages to form proper sentences! It's not that hard."

"Iz you jealous of moi?"

"Of your perpetual case of syphilis? Or of the fact that every boy in this school has given you a pelvic exam?"

"You iz such a bitch. No wonder Logan iz fucking everyone but tu."

"Quit substituting easy words with French. You make no sense!"

Paris interjected in her perfect Gellar way. "Rory, Jess isn't worth throwing down with Miss Les Miserables back there."

"This isn't about Jess! This is about the fact that people can practically fornicate in French class because Mademoiselle Coco is too full of vodka to care and that certain people walk around this school saying iz this and iz that and it's okay just because they never learned how to cross their legs."

"Rory, Headmaster Charleston, now!" Mademoiselle Coco was going to pull out her paddle if Rory didn't exit, stage right, soon.

"Iz going!" She stalked out of the classroom, slamming the door behind her, pressing her heels so hard against the wood floors that a trail of smoke was following her.

That was how high society girl scouts started fires. All you needed was a pair of Manolos and anger seeping out of your veins.


Miss Higgins was wearing a lavender angora sweater that was probably sewn by ten little Asian children in a sweatshop and a visually paralyzing brooch. Rory had to shield her eyes from the atrocious mismatch to keep herself from tumbling to the ground in an all encompassing fit of laughter.

Her grandmother had sent her to princess classes when she was five, so she knew how to be politefully bitchy. "Lovely sweater, Miss Higgins. Donna Karen?"

"Walmart," the forty-five year old virgin blushed. Like every other person at this school, she feared the critical eye and venom-laced tongue of Miss Gilmore. The only person in Hartford more terrifying was Emily Gilmore.

Rory wrinkled her nose. Fried chicken hands had probably raped that sweater in the dressing room. "That's tragic. Oh well. Someone has to buy Juicy knock off sweat pants." She tapped her freshly manicured fingers on the desk. For some reason, she'd decided on the color black this week. Was black the new French manicure? Or just an awful trend we have Avril Lavigne to thank for?

There was so much to blame Canadians for. Celine Dion. Flannel. Maple leaves. And that stupid Britney Spears version of a punk.

Joe Strummer's guitar gently wept for sure.

"So is the Headmaster waiting for me?"

Miss Higgins, who rarely looked Rory in the eye, had a look of wicked pleasure on her face. Rory instantly recognized that look. It was reflected back to her every morning when she applied her Chanel Inimitable mascara. "Oh, he's most certainly ready for you." She looked down at Rory's bottom, making those lady leaning tendencies seem more like the truth and less like a vicious rumor Rory decided to make up because of Miss Higgins love for Puma sweat pants.

Only stoners or lesbians wore those.

"Has it been an unusually cold day for you, Miss Gilmore?"

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing. Don't want to keep the Headmaster waiting. He might get his panties in a bunch."

And everyone thought Rory and E were the only ones who enjoyed sushi at Chilton.


Instantly, like she had radar for her lost pair of La Perla panties, Rory's eyes noticed the clumped up heap of white situated on Charleston's desk.

Her Snow White face lost any bit of the rosy color it normally held for just a moment as her stomach collided with her ass.

She looked up, giving Charleston her famous "Fuck off and die" smile.

"Rory, please take a seat. We have much to discuss."

Like why her panties were occupying a spot on his desk.

Her mind made a list of all the people she needed to kill: Tristan, for giving Jess the underwear. Jess, for covering them with love stains. And Jess again, for leaving them behind in the boy's bathroom for anyone to find, like E.

And then E, for stealing her Gucci boots when they were thirteen, her favorite pair of La Perla panties and for telling Charleston she was a panty losing slut.

He looked grim, like he was about to tell her that her Diane Von Furstenberg wrap dress was so not in style anymore. "Rory, I have some unsettling news for you."

"What?" she asked, all Bambi eyed, like she'd never take off her underwear.

"Someone found a pair of your underwear in the library."

She eyed the pair of La Perla underwear. They were certainly hers. But she'd never admit defeat. E would not sink her battleship. "Those aren't mine."

"Are you sure? And do remember, we have an honor code at Chilton."

"I'm the president of the senior class, Headmaster. I would never leave my panties in the library." She was also a virgin. That reason would suffice as well.

"They were found in Anna Karenina. No one has ever checked out that book but you and Mr. Mariano."

"Then maybe they are Jess' underwear."

"Humor won't fix this situation, Miss Gilmore."

"I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help, Headmaster, but I am not the kind of girl that takes off her underwear at school. Maybe you should check with Miss Rigby."

"She was the one who reported the underwear, actually. Do you think Miss Rigby would report herself?"

"It depends on how sober she was." Oh come on Rory. Everyone knew E did her best scheming when she was under the influence of something.

"She seemed quite sober to me." Charleston wasn't the best judge of this seeing as his eyes were in her crotch for ninety-percent of the conversation.

"She hides her inebriated state well. She's had great practice."

"I have been assured that Miss Rigby has reformed herself. She is not the girl she left Chilton as."

"She still wears Diorshow mascara."

"Is that supposed to mean something?"

"A tiger doesn't change its stripes unless they go out of style. I am an avid reader of Vogue. E's ways are still very much in style. All she needs is a girl on her arm and she'll be a walking icon in plaid."

If only you two would kiss and make up you could be that girl on her arm, Rory! Leave all the boys behind! Thelma and Louise ended so wonderfully, right? Right? RIGHT?

Charleston was tired of Miss Gilmore trying to talk her way out of Pantygate. Time to pull out the truly incriminating evidence. "Miss Rigby's initials are ER, are they not?"

"I suppose, unless she got a name change after all that electroshock therapy."

"Well these panties have RG monogrammed on the hip. Any guesses on what that stands for?"

"Ready, set, go?"

"There is no S in the monogram."

"Maybe she forgot the S. She isn't that smart."

"I've been informed about your new extracurricular activities," he blurted out. He wasn't going to go down without getting in a few punches on this Raging Bull.

"Outside of serving as senior class president, head social chair, playing tennis and being perfect?"

"Miss Gilmore, the truth is the pillar on which we all stand on. At least have enough respect for yourself to tell the truth."

"Hypothetically speaking, so what if those are my panties? You can't suspend me for leaving my panties in Anna Karenina."

"Tolstoy would not…"

She attacked, knowing she was smarter at this point in her life than he ever would be. "How do you know how Tolstoy would feel? Have you ever read Anna Karenina? Or War and Peace?"

"So you are admitting those are your panties?"

"No, I said hypothetically."

"Fornicating on school property is a suspendable offense."

"You can't prove fornication went on in that library."

"I have eye witnesses that place you and Jess Mariano at the scene of the crime." Who had E paid off? They wouldn't be alive tomorrow if Rory found out who this supposed witness was.

"The crime? Forgetting your panties is not a crime." Unless your vagina looked like Britney Spears or you had recently given birth. Then it was a crime against humanity.

"What would your mother have to say about this?" He really didn't want to bring in Chilton's most famous slut on this case.

"Call her and find out. She loves getting calls from idiots. She thinks they're fun. Much more entertaining than those Botox injected hags she's forced to have lunch with everyday."

"Then what about Richard and Emily? They are paying for your education, if I remember correctly."

"I'm the golden orb of life in which they rest all their hopes and dreams on. Your word against mine won't mean much to them. My grandfather might even have you fired. And he'll own this place. How do you feel about magenta curtains?"

He tried to speak, but she cut him off. "Oh who cares what you think. You're a man. You're only necessary for one thing and I don't need impregnating anytime soon. Besides, if I was looking for a donor, there is much prettier specimen floating around in Hartford."

"Then Harvard! Harvard certainly won't accept someone who was suspended for fornicating on school property, especially if I add that you have developed an addiction to Oxycontin."

"I might be scared if I wasn't sure you were bluffing. I am well on my way to being Valedictorian. I scored 2300 on my practice SAT's. I highly doubt Harvard will even glance at your letter of recommendation."

"Oh they most certainly will. I've kept many students from going to Ivy League schools. How do you feel about NYU?"

"Charleston, sorry to break it to you, but your threats don't scare me. I'm a seventeen-year-old girl who was raised in high society, attends private school and deals with the likes of Miss Rigby. People like you, who are so easily manipulated by boobs and blonde hair, can't do much to people like me."

His head was spinning around like one those charming cartoon characters. "You're getting a weeks detention for this little stunt."

"Don't tease me," she laughed, because she had won, even if she was going to be punished.

"And I am making phone calls to your mother and grandparents."

"I hope Richard invites you to the club. I'd love to see what he does with a nine iron."

"You're dismissed," he looked down at his desk, "and take your underwear with you."

"Where is detention held?"

"Miss Higgins will write you a slip."

"Is this going on my permanent record?"

"Of course it is."

"Thank god for erasable pens and white out."

"Enjoy spending a week with Dean Hessler."

"And you have fun making that call to Harvard. I wonder how you'll explain why you have a Dean on staff that sleeps with his students? That'll be a tough one to spin."

"You wouldn't…"

"I have a meeting with Harvard next week. Our chat will be fascinating, I'm sure. I'll be sure to put in a good word for you," she winked at him, and then left his office, a thousand thoughts pulsating through her mind.

But the one that required the most attention, that was glowing like the neon motel signs on the highway, was the most obvious one: Miss Rigby must die.


Rory was always warned not to become like her mother. Her mother was the girl who left her panties in the torn pages of a Tolstoy book; the girl who spent every afternoon in detention until she realized windows opened from the inside; the girl who was caught in the janitor's closet without a vital piece of her Chilton uniform on; the girl who got pregnant at sixteen.

Trouble wasn't something Rory Gilmore had even experienced until E decided to lose her mind and forget sobriety was necessary some of the time to function, so room 306 wasn't a place Rory had spent much time.

She didn't have her name engraved into any of the desks or nail polish stains left on one of the chairs.

Being alone in that room was almost suffocating for Chilton's Princess. Her mind wandered to places where the next day, Charleston found her body chopped up in perfect little pieces in the closet, all the blood drained and another pair of La Perla underwear stolen off her body.

Someone had watched a bit too much Dexter.

She heard footsteps enter the room.

Hopefully, it wasn't her murderer.

Not the sound of heels, so unless it was one of those woefully unfashionable girls, it must be Dean Hessler.

"Fancy seeing you here, Gilmore," Jess said in a tone that was supposed to covey surprise.

She spun around. This boy followed her everywhere. "You have detention?'

"Until I die or graduate."

"And you actually come?"

"It's a good place to read. No one bothers me."

"You're always alone?"

"It's common knowledge Dean Hessler never makes an appearance. You're such a virgin, sweetheart."

She stood up, not wanting to stay in this terribly lit room a second longer. They could at least buy a nice pair of curtains. "So we can just leave?"

"Or you could stay," he suggested, moving so close to her that he almost stepped on her toes. For some reason, she wore sandals today.

Sandals versus Gucci. No wonder she had lost.

She fell back into her chair to keep his hands from roaming her body. Being in a room alone with Jess wasn't good for her reputation because she tended to do this. Stupid things. Things Audrey Hepburn would frown out and then run Rory over with her moped for.

"Why would I stay?" Yes Jess, why should Rory subject herself to your charm?

"I get lonely in here all on my lonesome sometimes." He almost looked sad. What did Jess have to be sad about? Was he low on hair gel?

"Then invite Alex to come visit you in your fortress of solitude."

"Alex isn't as much fun as you are."

See girls, playing hard to get is much more attractive than shoving your tongue down your crushes throat or getting on your knees in his bedroom. You get your skirt cleaned if you play hard to get!

"What are you reading?" With a question like that, maybe she had decided to stay.

He pulled the book out of his back pocket, letting her examine the cover. "Killing Johnny Fry."

"Figures," she huffed. Maybe she was huffing because he pulled the book out of his back pocket instead of letting her stare at his ass, pretending it was all for the sake of literature. What girl wouldn't huff if she lost Jess ass staring time?

He was a little confused. He thought if there were pages and words, Rory became a drooling vegetable. "What?"

"It's porn disguised as literature."

"I know you don't partake in sex but you can't sit here and tell me you don't read about it."

"I didn't say I haven't read the book. I just said figures."

"I read about more than sex."

"Yes, sex and Hemingway. You're such a diverse man."

"I prefer being known as a man of many talents."

"What are your talents, besides the obvious?" Did it really matter what else he could do? His dick giving abilities satisfied most of the female population.

"So you have read the bathroom walls."

"Your handwriting is lovely, by the way."

"How do you know what my handwriting looks like?"

"You've vandalized most of the books in the library."

His lips produced that smile that always got him what he wanted. "Hey Gilmore, want to play a game?" Weren't they a little old for hide and seek? Unless they added a few obstacles, like no clothes.

"I'm not playing doctor with you. You never keep it professional." Come on Rory, let Jess give you a check up. You're looking a bit pale.

"We were six and I was curious. Can you blame a boy?"

"My mother certainly did."

Lorelai had walked in on Jess and Rory showing each other what made them different.

Jess wasn't allowed to come over again until Rory was ten and realized Jess was a little Warren Beatty in the making.

"Well, she couldn't have her princess letting boys in the castle just yet."

"Fantastic metaphor." She played with the hem on her cardigan, not wanting to talk about who guarded her castle. "So where is Dean Hessler?"

"With Gellar in his office." Chilton really did care about its students.

"No way!" She actually had respected Gelllar, before she knew she was giving it to the L.L Bean pants wearing loser.

"Aren't you the gossip queen? How did you not know this?"

"I knew Gellar was seeing an older guy but I didn't know it was Hessler."

"He's why she is less frightening lately. He fucked the uptightness right out of her." That must have taken a lot of thrusting. That stick had been shoved up her ass for quite a long time.

"I can't believe she fell for Hessler. He's been with almost every girl at this school, except for me, of course."

"He wishes it was you in his office instead of Gellar."

"Shut up."

"He could not take his eyes off your perfect ass when you were leaving the bathroom the other day. Not that I blame him."

She stood up, not wanting to listen to Jess compare her ass to peaches or apples or some other food. Baby didn't want to hear that she had back. "I'm leaving."

Jess pulled out everyone's favorite lubrication. "Want a drink?"

She stopped, staring at her favorite bedtime story. "You brought a bottle of Bacardi to detention?"

"I'm a bad boy."

She reached for the bottle, but he pulled it back. "Come on Jess, don't be a Bacardi tease. I've had a long day."

"Without underwear, I hear."

"I'm wearing underwear."

"That's a shame. But it's more fun taking them off anyways."

"Jess, give me the bottle." Alcohol wasn't the answer, Rory. They say don't drink and bone for a reason. Or was it don't drink and drive? Oh well, Bacardi can only lead to boning.

"I'll give you a sip, if you stay and play a game with me."

"What game?"

"'I Never'."

"Why do you want to play 'I Never'?"

"Because getting you smashed is more fun than Cordell's twisted sexual adventures."

She didn't look impressed. "I'm flattered."

"Come on. It'll last five minutes, tops. What better can you do in five minutes?"

Get to third base. Eat a pint of Rocky Road. Make a baby (not that she wanted to get fat, but 'I Never' was seriously lame).

"Fine. But no stupid things to get me drunk like 'I Never kissed a man'."

"But that'd be a lie." So the rumors were true. Jess and Finn did cuddle that day behind the trashcans. And obviously not just for warmth.

"Now I'm intrigued."

He sat down at the closest desk, knowing that if the game went how he had planned, he'd be too sloshed to stand. "Any more rules, Princess?"

"Don't call me Princess." She reached out for the bottle, again, jerking it out of his hands. "So tell me, how soft are Finn's lips?"

"Only if you tell me about all that time you spent in Finn's hot tub two years ago."

"I know you were watching."

"But I want to hear your lovely voice narrate it."

"There are services that do that for only 25 cents a minute."

"How would you know that?"

Because phone sex isn't technically sex, Mr. Mariano. She was still a Virgin Mary in the eyes of God and her gynecologist no matter how many quarters she burned on that hotline.

He smirked at her inability to form a response, her tongue too heavy with embarrassment. It was a rare occasion to witness.

But Jess planned on witnessing a few other rare occasions for Rory, so for him, this wouldn't be so rare. He loosened the tie around his neck, knowing this wouldn't be five minutes tops.

Gilmore's were known to hang from chandeliers singing 'Creep' in a terrible fashion once you got a little Bacardi in them.

"I never called a phone sex line." He didn't need to. He could get any girl at Chilton to do whatever he wanted. One of his regulars would dress up like Princess Leia, but made sounds like Chewbacca when she came, per his request. All he needed was in his little black sex book.

Rory took a swig of the rum, enjoying the sweet taste it left on her lips. "I get bored easily."

"You can always call me." He'd even drop the Chewbacca wailer for Miss Gilmore.

"I don't need you as a friend."

"Well, you've got a friend in me if you ever want one."

"I never liked that song." Jess smiled and took the bottle from Rory's hands, taking a sip of the Bacardi.

"I never pictured you as a Carole King fan."

"Now you're just abusing the phrase 'I Never.'"

"I'm sorry." She got that look on her face, the look of pure mischief crossed with elation. It was probably how she would look right at the point of orgasm. "I never had a threesome."

"Do I have to drink for every threesome?"

She had to take a seat at this point in the game. Her virgin mind couldn't process more than one threesome. "How many have you had?"

"I don't keep count. That'd be demeaning to the girls."

"Not that threesomes are demeaning at all."

"I'm quite good at sharing."

"Just drink up, sailor."

He chugged for a minute, his mind racing to think of something that would royally piss her off. "I never pretended I didn't like Hemingway just because I wanted someone, who might be in this room, to pay more attention to me."

"I hate Hemingway."

"Then you might not want to leave notes in 'The Sun Also Rises.'"

"How do you know what my handwriting looks like?"

"Well, since I'm your stalker, I really don't have to explain myself, now do I? Drink up, Freckles."

"Why would I drink?"

"Because you can't lie in 'I Never.' God is watching."

She didn't want to give him that satisfaction (or any satisfaction for that matter) but if God was watching, the angel certainly couldn't lie.

Oh as if God had anything to do with it.

She pushed back, harder. Faster. Stronger. "I never made out with some French slut just because I knew it would bother the girl sitting in front of me."

"Are you sure? I heard you and E used to have some wild times." Making our with your best friend is normal, gosh!

"I never acted like a jerk around everyone but me."

"That sentence doesn't quite work."

"You know what I mean."

"You sure do think highly of yourself." He took a sip. It was time for the game to get a little rough. "I've never been in love."

She rolled her eyes at his admission. "Shocker."

When she didn't take a sip, he couldn't help but smile. "Why aren't you drinking?"

"Why do you think?"

"For some reason, I don't believe that. And what would Logan have to say?"

"I don't know. How about you extract Louise from his face and ask him?"

"I'm sure she's not on his face by now."

She studied her hands, begging her eyes to not let the tears fall that were threatening. She couldn't cry in front of him.

Clenching her jaw, she was bitter. Pissed off. Angry that he was right. "I never cared about you."

She looked up at him, waiting, the corners of her eyes gleaming with tears.

He grabbed the Bacardi off the table, and took a sip.

"Why are you drinking?" When he didn't say anything, giving her that look like she should know perfectly well why he was drinking, she grabbed the bottle out of his hands and took a sip.

Finally, he answered her. "This is 'I Never'."

"Yeah?"

"If I didn't drink, it'd be a lie," he reminded her, except this time, there was nothing resembling feeling in his tone.

Once you let your walls down, it was hard to recover, without a lot of coke.

"Oh." It had hit her. The reason he wanted her to stay. The reason he followed her into the bathroom. It all her hit at this very moment.

"Don't look so shocked, Freckles. But why did you drink? I'm pretty sure you read the obituaries everyday hoping to see my name. And then you cross your fingers hoping, wishing, praying that I suffered."

"I drank, didn't I?"

"That's all you have to say?"

"What do you want? Some grand admission that I care about you?"

"I'd take a Hallmark card. Or you on your knees." Jess really was the king of ruining a moment.

"Can I take that sip back?"

"There are no take backs in 'I Never'."

"Who made you king of 'I Never'?"

He held the bottle of Bacardi in his hands, the tool he used to get her to stay now a nuisance standing in the way of what he wanted to do next. "So how much do you care about me?"

"I might push you out of the way if a bus was headed toward us." She stopped, wanting him to be serious for once in his life. "How much do you care about me?"

He smirked, thinking of the implications of that question. "Do you want me to show you?"

"You can keep your boom box to yourself."

So that was what Jess called his Johnson.

"I prefer showing people I care in other ways." He reached for her hands but she jerked them back, hiding them behind her back. "Why won't you let me touch you?" He knew why she didn't want his hands on her but fretting her was too much fun to stop now.

"I said I cared about you in a I don't want you to die way."

"And I want to show you how I care about you."

"I'll pass."

"Or maybe you're afraid of what's going to happen when I touch you."

He leaned in, brushing his lips against her cheek. "Like this," he whispered.

He pulled back, wanting her to make the next move. He wanted her on top of him. He wanted her to beg him to be inside her.

He wanted control in that odd way where you wanted the other person to beg, but you also wanted them to jump you. It was complicated, just like everything between these two.

Too bad he was trying to control the one person who clung to control as if it was all she had left in life. Control and lip-gloss was really all Rory needed.

Passion was an odd emotion. With it flowing through your body, you were just as likely to slap someone as you were to rip off their clothes.

She thought about slapping him, leaving a bright red mark on his olive skin, a pulsating heat that he would probably just smirk at.

But she didn't.

She thought about slamming her body into his.

That was definitely the Bacardi talking.

But she didn't. She didn't do anything but stare, at nothing really. She wasn't staring into his eyes or at her feet. She just sat there, until, like clockwork, they were interrupted.

This time, it was her mother. "Lorelai Leigh Gilmore, say goodbye to your friend. And I don't mean the rum. We need to talk."

Lorelai stomped down the hall, her pencil skirt hugging her curves perfectly.

Jess definitely noticed. "Looks like mommy came to save Rapunzel."

"And I guess you don't even have a face a mother could love." The bitch in her couldn't stay at bay for too long.

"Mother is too stoned to notice that I somehow never have dinner with her anymore. And father is fucking Louise's mom, which makes things a bit awkward." Any normal person with feelings would pity the poor boy.

Not Rory.

"I'm sure."

"Say hello to Logan for me." Logan who?

"Tell E I know."

"You know what?"

"Everything."

"How Godlike of you. And I don't fuck E anymore."

"Why not?" Because she hired him to fuck you and you can't dip your dick into warring vaginas. That equaled bad karma.

"I heard terrible things about dicks rotting off."

"Well that makes you less disgusting."

"First you care about me, now you think I'm less disgusting. What's next? You love me."

She laughed even though it wasn't that ridiculous of a thought. Hate was only one step away from love in the book of emotions. "You wish."

"Lorelai Leigh Gilmore, let's hurry! Mommy needs a drink and you obviously need underwear."

"Looks like Mommy Dearest is calling," Jess pointed out.

She shook her head, saying one of the most obvious things that was only said to cut through the tension that was suffocating her in this room. "I need to leave."

"I'm not blocking your exit."

"I know."

"You seem to have a problem with leaving when I'm around."

"Most people have some sort of parting line before they leave." Was she waiting for a declaration of love? She did remember her boyfriend, right? Her unfaithful, loving, stupid, big trust fund boyfriend.

"Parting is such sweet sorrow." When you didn't get fucked, yes it was. Maybe that was what Shakespeare was truly referring to.

She rolled her eyes, not wanting to leave but knowing she had to. "Please, shut up."


Lorelai had waited long enough for, as Charleston had lovingly put it, her "out of control sex fiend who was addicted to oxycontin and needed a good spanking."

Jess would probably volunteer to put Rory over his knee and teach her a lesson.

Lorelai was a bit hung over from her martini lunch, and hadn't completely sobered from one of those weird ambien induced trips, so her mood wasn't exactly Mary Poppins esque.

That was why she found herself jerking her daughter away from the one boy who might actually work her out of Logan's slimy clutches.

But she wasn't too sure she wanted her daughter to have anything to do with a boy that might grow up to fuck for a living, whether it be lonely Manhattan housewives or on the set of Breast Wishes 20.

Ah, the historic battle of horny and evil vs. horny, charming and evil. Which should a mother prefer?

Lorelai dragged her daughter down the hall, forgetting that her arm was attached to her body. "You smell like a pirate."

"You smell like olives and gin."

"I'm the mother. If I want to spend all day drinking, I can. If I want to not wear panties, I can. But you're the kid. You're supposed to wear panties and not come home flammable."

"Your double standards are so tiresome." Someone was talking like the sixty-year old bitch that we all loved to hate.

"Don't talk like your grandmother."

"Someone has to be the adult in this relationship."

"Well it's certainly not the seventeen year old who loses her panties in Tolstoy. Did Anna Karenina get you that worked up?"

"And you wonder why I never take you seriously."

"I'm sorry. I'm just wondering if I need to put a lock on my medicine cabinet. According to Charleston, I've got some Judy Garland/Marilyn Monroe hybrid on my hands."

"At least I'm being compared to the original sex goddess and not some cheap knock off, like Paris Hilton."

"How are you being so cavalier about this?"

"It's the Bacardi talking." Thank god there weren't any chandeliers or tall buildings around, then.

"If you keep that behavior up, I'll be forced to put you on birth control." Girls who went on birth control were known as notorious sluts. Think twice about that, Lorelai. Your daughter's reputation at Chilton was more important than avoiding an accidental baby. They had other ways to deal with those that didn't involve wearing the slut crown.

"Then I really will be open for business." Jess will be the first in line, riding a unicorn.

"Which means I'll have to either lock you away or horribly disfigure you with a coffee pot."

"Or cut a permanent smile into my face. People don't seem to get too frisky around the Joker."

"That's because he wears the wrong color foundation."

"And a less harsh red might have made his lips pucker."

"Well, we've figured out how to get the Joker laid. Let's try to figure out how to not get you laid."

Rory stopped her mom, who was jerking her away from Chilton like it was the place where virgins went to become women. "I didn't take off my panties in the library."

"Then did you take them off somewhere else and they were planted in the library?"

"You could say that."

Lorelai closed her eyes, not wanting to imagine her daughter becoming like her. "Don't tell me you're a janitor closet slut."

"I prefer Charleston's desk."

"That's it; no more hanging out with Jess for you."

"Think about it, mom. It's classic E."

"I thought E had found Jesus, rode a unicorn and was Hartford's new Diana?"

"It's called being heavily medicated."

"And I had such high hopes for that girl. It really is a shame that you're going to kill her, metaphorically speaking, of course."

Rory brightened. With her mommy on her side, well, that really didn't matter. But it was nice. "So you believe me?"

"I'd be able to tell if you were no longer a virgin."

"How so?"

"You can just tell."

For one, Rory kept her shirt buttoned up to an appropriate level. And two, she still had her panties on. That was how any mother could tell.


Jess tossed the empty Bacardi bottle into the trash. It had been a rather productive day in detention.

A few more encounters like that and he might be able to produce a grainy, camera phone shot sex tape.

Of course, he was too much of a gentleman to ever share it, but it would be nice to have that little memento from fucking Gilmore.

He'd make sure he was buried with it, since he didn't trust E. She would make sure all regularly scheduled programming was preempted to show the world the day Gilmore's London Bridge came down.

Not that he wasn't still a part of her little game but some things he wasn't willing to share with the Princess of Darkness.

Speaking of her majesty, her claws flew over his eyes in an attempt to be adorable.

Unless she was going to bite him, he had another pair of hands he wanted covering his eyes.

"Guess who."

"A house hasn't fallen on you yet?" He shrugged her hands away from his face, not even trying to be inappropriate.

Uh oh, E. Looks like you're the one with the rusty game.

"You smell like Dolce Vita and a pirate. How was Rory?"

"Quite vocal."

"Bullshit."

"She would not shut up. I could barely concentrate with all the screaming and panting."

"Sometimes I wonder how you get so much ass."

"Do you need a reminder?" He grabbed his belt buckle, teasing E and the entire female population.

She placed her hand on his belt buckle, stopping his movements. "Once was enough for me." And if it wasn't, Jess' dick was all over the internet. Every girl had instant gratification at her fingertips.

No wonder Miss Fischer never went out on Friday nights. All she needed was a bottle of wine, google and her OhMiBod.

The only question was, did her OhMiBod vibrate in sync with Madonna or Marvin Gaye? Oh the choices.

Lorelai preferred her Lelo Golden Vibrator and Casino Royale. Who needed vibrations in sync with Marvin Gaye when you had Daniel Craig and 1500 dollars of pure gold pleasure?

Women in Hartford definitely weren't lacking in the pleasure department between Stella McCartney trunk sales and Swedish vibrators. It made you wonder why penises were so coveted.

Maybe it was the part that involved dick going into vagina? Just a guess.

E popped a massive strawberry bubble in his face. He hated girls who smelt like strawberries or vanilla. It was so pedestrian. "So how are things going with Rory?"

"She enjoys Bacardi. And my company."

"How long is it going to take you to get up her skirt?"

He shook his head at her stupidity. This wasn't a fuck and run. "You can't rush this process, darling."

"Could you hurry the foreplay up a bit before…"

He finished her morbid thought for her. "You end up at the bottom of a river somewhere?"

"I'd laugh but it might happen. So hurry the fucking up."

"I didn't hear a please." He was too used to girls begging. Rory would certainly be a wake up call for him. No wonder he enjoyed the chase so much.

"Please hurry up the fucking process."

"Thank you."

E studied him for a moment. He looked happy and not in that 'I just got fucked' way but in that 'I might like someone' way. "You're not falling for her, are you?"

"We're not having this conversation again, are we?"

"Humor me. If it's not true, say no."

"She's manipulative, cunning, deceitful and all around awful. Of course I'm in love."

"I love it when two despicable people mate."

"Then you must get excited every time you have sex."

"I should slap you for saying that."

"But you know I'd like it."

"You're sick."

"So I've heard."


Of course I'm in love.

He had to be so full of shit, Rory told herself.

She had run back inside because she forgot her Kate Spade bag, which was one of those things she couldn't live without. When she saw E, she stopped. She didn't want to murder her on school property. The blood wouldn't wash out of the wood floors as well as she wanted it to.

She couldn't stand to go to a school that was stained with E.

She would wait. Jess and E would go off to some closet if they were going to fuck.

But then she heard her and knew who they were talking about.

And of course, she had to listen. And she hadn't liked what she had heard.

If Jess loved her, that was it. Nothing would end the way it was supposed to.

Logan wouldn't be her Cary Grant.

She wouldn't ride around Italy on a moped.

She wouldn't get everything she wanted because Jess would ruin it all.

But why is that, Miss Gilmore?

Maybe it was because she wanted him to ruin it all. She wanted him to take her, fuck her and send her back to Chilton looking nothing like Holly Golightly.

Her head hurt from all these ridiculous thoughts. She was a Gilmore. Gilmore's didn't act like this; they didn't fall for boys who carried books around in their back pockets and seduced virgins with Bacardi.

She needed to go talk to Dr. Adams. And get a refill on her Prozac.

Oh eavesdropping. How we love thee.


Ending Author's Note: I got the inspiration for writing an 'I Never' scene, shockingly (if you know me), from a Skate scene on Lost that I watched about eight hundred times.

And the 1500 dollar Swedish pleasure device does exist. If you want one, I can link you. There is also a talking one you can program with different voices.

Reviewers: I just have to jump up and down on a couch on imaginary Oprah and tell the world how much I love ya'll. Ya'll really let me do whatever I want and make these characters as awfully awesome as possible without complaining. You guys own. I hope this chapter continued the tradition of being so bad that it's awesome. If I'm addicted to it, you should be too. It's like Pineapple Express: the dopest story you've ever smoked.

Or something like that.

And reviews are yummier than Bacardi.

And (again) sorry for the slow time between updates. Every time I go to write a chapter now it becomes this big historic event that takes over my hands and I can't stop until I bleed myself dry. Maybe it's a good thing I'm going on "vacation."