A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To . . .
What'cha think?
After Steve slammed his eighteenth Steel Reserve 211, he stumbled into his Algebra II class, where the pupils and Mrs. Stern had been practicing their exponentials.
Steve liked to drink Steel Reserve 211. Steve liked to drink Steel Reserve 211 all the fucking time. A classy, funky spotted hyena, with rolling yellow eyes, crazy pointed pink hair, dangling green earrings, and a bright "Nine Inch Nails" logo shirt on highlighted white with the shirt being black placed all wrinkled adorned his upper half. A smelly pair of rat-infested green jeans covered with some kind of furry moss attached to his fleshy ass completed the strange ensemble.
"Mr. Rotund, you are late!" remarked Mrs. Stern, with a gleaming set of purple eyes that cast a nasty look into Steve's own beleaguered gray pupils.
"Fuck you, bitch."
"WHAT DID YOU SAY, STEVE ROTUND?"
"I said, 'You can take my fifty-foot motherfucking scat-covered cock, PRINCESS, and SLAM IT UP YOUR MOTHERFUCKING PUSSY, YOU FUCKING PIECE OF ALGEBRAIC SHIT!'"
Mrs. Stern wore a Catholic cross around her small, Siamese cat neck. Dressed impeccable in an ocean blue skirt and white linen top with decent matching stockings and dainty white sandals to match, Mrs. Indiana Stern was a typical good Catholic woman. At forty-three, she had raised three very good boys. She was married to a health insurance salesman, owned a very beautiful yet modest vehicle, and insisted on going to Mass every morning before teaching her class at Monterey Park High School here in Monterey Park, Florida, just between Winter Park and Orlando.
But, now, Mrs. Indiana Stern looked like a blooming crimson rocket ready to blow, with great blooming plumes of steam basking out of every possible orifice. With as much grace and dignity as she could muster in the situation, she said with a voice so calm and mild that you would have thought she was speaking to a two-year-old child.
Well, Steve was. In a way.
"Mr. Rotund, you are to go directly to Principal Sticker's office right now and explain to him what you have just said to me. Your very disposition is enough to disgrace the entire Orange County region of schools."
"Fuck Orange County. Fuck you."
POP.
The rocket launched.
And, without hesitance, Steve Rotund, with his rolling eyes and crazy hair, jumped out of the algebra classroom as if Satan himself had cast an iron brand on his mossy ass.
And, of course, off he went, down to Principal Sticker's office.