FTaSDH - Current Ep - 1x05 - To Russia, With Love

[J]

So ummm...how's it coming along?

[Sarevok]

It is a good story. I wish I was included in it.

[The Duchess of Zeon]

It is a good story. I wish I was included in it.

I'm sure someone based on you could worked in with a possible relation to infamous Israeli-Palestinian wars in the hallways that got so bad they were actually banned.

[Shroom Man 777]

Awesome fic! Though it would be way more awesome if I were in it

[Durandal]

Okay fate is conspiring against this next episode. The plan had originally been to release it yesterday, but as Red and I were collaborating on the last scene, my internet connection died. Then I had to hop a bus home. I'll be back in on Sunday, so hopefully we can get something done then. With a little luck, we may be able to get in touch sometime today and finish it up, as there isn't a whole lot left.

[The Kernel]

I'll be looking forward to it.

[fgalkin]

It is a good story. I wish I was included in it.

I'm sure someone based on you could worked in with a possible relation to infamous Israeli-Palestinian wars in the hallways that got so bad they were actually banned.

Evilcat vs. Ace Pace. FIGHT.

Have a very nice day.
-fgalkin

[Mitth`raw`nuruodo]

This is... so fucking awesome. It is like my life*, if SDNet moved into my high school.

great work you guys. I can't wait to see the next chapters of this.

EDIT: *cough* SDNet IS my life.

[Shroom Man 777]

Evilcat vs. Ace Pace. FIGHT.

Have a very nice day.
-fgalkin

Evilcat gets drowned in Ace's vast E3 video collection

[Ace Pace]

It is a good story. I wish I was included in it.

I'm sure someone based on you could worked in with a possible relation to infamous Israeli-Palestinian wars in the hallways that got so bad they were actually banned.

If they do that, they must put me in :p "warrior on the frontlines "

EDIT:

Fgalkin, can I use local weapons ? :p

SHroom man, Stop reminding me the I havn't fixed the partition yet! I still have another 2 GB to go!

[Durandal]

/*************************************************
FAST TIMES AT SD HIGH

Starring
The Duchess of Zeon
Iceberg
Innerbrat
Joe
The Kernel

Also Starring
Lt. Hitman
Stravo

Featuring
Axis Kast
Dalton
Death from the Sea
Durandal
Einhander Snowman
Fighter of Foo
Keevan Colton
Patrick Degan
RedImperator
Rogue 9
SirNitram
Slartibartfast
Stuart Mackey
The Yosemite Bear

And Introducing
Pablo Sanchez
as
Superintendent Sanchez

With References To
BoredShirtless
Col. Crackpot
Darth Wong

Written by
Matt Lineberger
Damien Sorresso

Executive Producers
Matt Lineberger
Damien Sorresso

Special Thanks To
All the participants of the now infamous "Baghdad Tiger Thread."
*************************************************/

episode[3].setSeason (1);
episode[3].setTitle ("Reefer Madness");

A knock at the office door distracted Stravo from the execrable novel he'd been slogging through. The El Tee was standing in the doorframe and blocking most of the light from his secretary's office. The dean's right arm twitched like he wanted to salute his boss.

"Permission to enter, sir," said the El Tee.

Stravo sighed. He'd been trying to get the El Tee to stop calling him sir since he'd hired him. He suspected Hitman was doing it just to annoy him now.

"Yes, come in." He set the book down, forgetting to mark his page. Oh Christ, thought Stravo. Now I'm going to have to re-read parts of it to get back to where I was. It was a deeply distressing realization.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" asked Hitman.

"Superintendent Sanchez called this morning to ask about the assembly. He's been up my ass all week and now he's decided to attend personally." Stravo's hand jerked towards the whiskey drawer reflexively as he thought about his boss.

"I understand, sir. I'll make sure there isn't any trouble."

"Good," said Stravo. "Are we set for the show?"

"The Death From the Sea Players should be here any time. They did a show at East yesterday. A rousing success, from what I'm told. And the Junior Puritan League has been practicing all week for their part."

Stravo blinked. "Junior Puritan League? Who the hell are they?"

"Well, sir, it's not so much a 'they' as it is a 'he'. Gauner Negen is going to be putting on a one-man show on the dangers of marijuana. The Players thought it would be a great idea if one of our own students could be the opening act for them."

"So one of our students is responsible for this going well."

"Yes sir."

"Our student. A student at Sunnyvale West High School."

"Yes sir."

I need a drink.

"It will be fine, sir. Gauner is a good lad. He can communicate with these kids. He's down with the lingo, as they say." The El Tee was unfased by Stravo's look. "Sir."

"I want all the hall moniters on duty. And I want every teacher in there. And I want Crackpot and Shirtless seated as far apart as possible."

"I thought that was settled, sir."

"No use taking chances."

"Aye sir."

"Try to glare a lot at the kids when they come in."

"Can do, sir."

"Am I forgetting anything?"

"Which hall moniter is in charge?"

Stravo thought about this. "Better make it David. I don't trust Spanky with that much power."

"Spanky won't be happy, sir. He considers David too leniant."

"Spanky will be happy if you order him to be happy."

"Perhaps we can give him that nightstick he's been requesting, sir? That would smooth any ruffled feathers." The El Tee pulled a yellow supply requisition form from his back pocket.

"I don't see why he needs a nightstick when he doesn't use the one he's got up his ass already."

"Aye sir. Will that be all, sir?"

"Yeah. Go make sure everything is ready for when Superintendent Sanchez gets here."

"Aye, sir." The El Tee stood up and noticed the book for the first time.

"I see you have the latest Frank Fontaine novel, sir. I hear it's excellent."

"It sucks. I can't believe people read this crap. You want to borrow it, El Tee? At this rate, I'm never going to get to the ending anyway."

"Perhaps later, sir. I've still got three hundred pages left on that Torquemada biography."

"I see," said Stravo. He picked up the book again. "Now where the hell was I..."

It took him a minute to realize the El Tee hadn't left. "Dismissed, Hitman," he said. The former Marine turned smartly and marched out. Stravo sighed, grabbed his flask, and took a huge gulp.

"I can't believe I spent money on this crap. Captain Kirk is strong in the force. Thrawn ordering Darth Vader around. Wesley Crusher a Sith Apprentice. Jesus Christ. Starcrossed my ass." He tried reading another page and finally threw the book in the wastepaper basket in disgust.

"What a fucking hack," muttered Stravo. He took another drink.

----

The whiteboard squeaked like a hamster in an oven as Mr. Degan's writing quickened. He was nearing the bottom of the board with his list of various ethical schools of thought. He stuck "Appealing to Authority/Religion" somewhere at the bottom. The Kernel was pretty sure that Mr. Degan's likeness to Megatron was no coincidence. The man could be writing on the floor and still keep his back ramrod straight. His arms must be robotic or something, Kernel theorized internally.

Mr. Degan finished his list and spun around to face the class, holding his right hand in front of him and proceeding to crack every knuckle on it as well as some that weren't. He spied a student turn to check the clock. "It has been approximately 20 seconds since you last checked the clock. Time is still flowing at its normal pace, but your concern for the consistency of physical law is appreciated," he said with all the biting superiority of a college professor. The anonymous student attempted to become more so by sinking a little further into his desk.

"All right, this is where we left off yesterday," he said, gesturing at "Secular Humanism/Human Rights." "We had just begun a discussion about the assumption that all humans have inalienable rights versus the assumption that other animals with less complex and developed brains do not." The Kernel had been admittedly intrigued by the topic, but he was still a little shy about throwing comments out in the air, and he'd stayed mostly silent during the debate.

He'd managed to spot the students whose parents were most likely members of PETA, though. A lot of them were blondes as good-looking as they were sympathetic to animals' plight. While there had been one or two intelligent comments among the spiels about the cute and cuddly animals being killed en masse for human consumption, Kernel had mostly come to the conclusion that many of them very seriously needed to be fucked up the ass.

"Now, since the class seemed so intrigued by the subject, I dug around last night for a few stories in the news to discuss, so that we could apply what we've been talking about in a somewhat practical manner," Mr. Degan said, opening a folder on his desk and pulling out a stack of papers. "Here is the first article; I'd like you all to take a few minutes to read it." He began passing copies out.

The article was about an endangered tiger in a Baghdad zoo which had attacked an off-duty US soldier who was part of the occupation. The soldier and his friend were both drinking and in the zoo after normal operating hours. They had both gone into the inner cage, reserved for zoo keepers, and one had tried feeding it through the cage's bars and had gotten attacked. His friend shot the tiger, killing it on the spot.

"Okay, everyone done reading?" Mr. Degan asked. No one indicated otherwise, so he assumed that everyone had read the short article. "So, what do we all think? Was the soldier justified in shooting the tiger after it attacked his companion?"

One student spoke up without raising his hand. Mostly, Kernel figured that the kid's parents must have been obsessed with The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, and thus had named their son Slartibartfast. Mr. Degan called him "Bart" for short. "Maybe if the soldier had put his arm in a meat grinder, the other soldier would have shot it," he said, completely dead-pan. "After all, it's necessary to send a clear message to all the dangerous carnivores -- and dangerous food processing appliances -- that they must not stand in the way of freedom," Bart said. The class erupted into laughter, except for one who waited for the laughter to subdue. He raised his hand to speak.

"Yes, Alex?" Mr. Degan gave him permission to speak. Alexander Kast was a hard-core right-winger. He was also completely impervious to all forms of criticism and famous for going to great lengths to avoid admitting error. Mr. Degan knew that this was going to be good, and he could barely keep the stone-cold seriousness from giving way to an anticipating grin on his face.

"The incident is extremely unfortunate. That does not, however, preclude normal animal control measures. Animals that become too used to humans are a grave danger. Especially a tiger such as the one in this situation, probably frightened out of its mind by the events of the past several months and enjoying only sub-standard care," Kast said. That drew about ten counter-arguments simultaneously. Mr. Degan quieted down the rabble and let everyone who wanted to speak do so one at a time.

Stuart Mackey, head editor for the school paper "The Sunnyvale West Headline News," was up first. "A wild animal in a zoo, particularly endangered ones are not normally put down after a attack on a human because they are too rare to just do away with," he said. "And on that note a wild animal in a zoo is managed by trained, professional keepers, not drunk idiot soldiers with firearms; there is a difference. That tiger acted on instinct, exactly as it should. The soldiers acted out of drunken stupidity." Kast didn't give Mr. Degan the chance to let someone else speak, and Mr. Degan loved hearing Kast's arguments anyway.

"Oh, I'll agree the tiger probably acted out of instinct. That doesn't mean its action won't have consequences however. The issue of desensitization remains. Even in open habitats, animals that attack humans who come too close -- even though it's virtually always the human's fault -- are often put down. It's a matter of precluding a breakdown in psychological barriers," Kast said. Mr. Degan selected someone to reply.

"Colton, what've you got for us?" Mr. Degan addressed Kevin Colton. Colton was the lead singer for a band composed of students called "Fifty-Dollar Fine," and they performed at the talent show yearly, as well as other school functions.

"Apparently a functioning brain, unlike Kast over there," Colton prefaced his reply with a properly demeaning insult. "An animal in a cage that's mauled someone dumb enough to stick bits of themselves into that cage and one that's mauled someone wandering the countryside are totally different. You cannot even begin to compare them. Animals in the wild aren't the same as caged up ones." He had barely finished when Alex was already addressing (in a very loose sense of the word) his argument.

"Human incompetence is almost always the problem. That doesn't change the result of an attack however: the breakdown of psychological barriers that discourage an animal from making aggressive moves toward a human being. The animal is still made more dangerous by the attack -- even if the human being was the fulcrum for that eventuality," he said, completely seriously.

Bart responded. "It's not a pet; it's a wild animal in a cage. Whether it fears human or not is irrelevant. Whether it can attack humans or not is irrelevant. Whether it eats human flesh or Fruit Loops is irrelevant."

"Prove to me that wild animals in cages have no contact with human beings," Kast demanded.

Bart held up his hand parallel to the wall. He pointed to the palm side and said, "Wild animal." He then pointed to his hand and said, "Cage." To finish, he pointed to the other side of his hand and said, "Human being. Get it?"

Apparently, he did not. "In a national park, most animals therein never have contact with human beings," Kast said.

Another student, Damien Sorresso, one of the ones who had been buying pot from the flamboyantly gay Dale the other day, responded. "There's a big difference between what happens in a national park as opposed to what happens in a zoo. In a national park, animals roam freely, while in a zoo, they do not. In a zoo, the human patrons are in full control of their interactions with the animal. They can either do the intelligent thing and not stick their hands into the cage, or they can be morons and stick their hands in the cage," he said, pausing for a second.

"In a park, on the other hand, a bear can just wander up to a tent and start harassing people, which is why there is justification for putting it down if it does so and injures someone. In zoos, humans are in full control. In parks, they are not. If you get attacked by a bear in a park, that may be cause for concern over the bear that attacked you and justification for punishing it, but if you're so stupid that you think it's a good idea to wave appendages around in close proximity to vicious predators, then the only animal that should be punished is you." Kernel never would've guessed that a pot head would've had the requisite attention span to say that much in one sitting.

Kast lost no time responding. "Human fault has nothing to do with this argument. It still results in the same consequence whether or not it was stupid. You've been repeating yourself endlessly, just like everybody else in this class who can't distance themselves from the subject of whose responsibility this whole situation actually happens to be." He didn't stop there.

"Get it through your heads: nobody is arguing that the soldier didn't make a mistake. It must be recognized that the animal had to be put down however. If the soldier didn't do it, somebody else should have," he said. "Iraq is a war zone, and the tiger was under fantastic levels of stress."

Mr. Degan replied with a question. "What do you mean by 'stress'?"

"Bombs. They fell throughout Baghdad. They cause stress for animals that have no idea what they are. They cause stress for people who do know what they are."

Stuart responded. "This was after the US forces had already taken over Baghdad. The bombing ended months before this happened."

"The tiger is more likely to display increased aggression toward humans after the air-strikes -- even those not engaging in stupid, provocative behavior," Kast said. "Animal aggression is tied to stress, and after the incident, the human being is now directly associated with food. Before, it wasn't necessarily the choice target. So the tiger had to be put down. If not by the soldier, someone else should have done it." Martin Nitram spoke up from the back of the class.

"A mama bear whose cub was killed by campers will have an obvious instinctive desire to seek revenge, thus making her dangerous. A circus elephant which has been ruthlessly abused by human trainers may become more dangerous. But a tiger who heard some loud popping noises three months ago is only analogous if you're a blithering idiot. It's already extremely dangerous, in case you're too stupid to read books," he said.

"My point is that no matter why the animal bit the guy, the stress it must have been under would only have reinforced the negative reinforcement gained. But then, if you'd listened to me rather than jumped in because it was me, you might have noticed that," Alex responded.

"As to stress from bombs, air strikes are extended affairs that create a great deal of variable-strength noise. On a sustained level, the tiger would probably be somewhat stressed out. Even moreso if looting and gunfire marked activity at the zoo only a short time before."

"So let me see if I've got your argument straight: there were some loud noises a few months ago, and a lot of shooting and looting in the zoo since then -- which you can't substantiate at all -- so you figure the tiger lost its respect for humans and is now willing to eat them, whereas a normal tiger would not. It sounds to me like your keepers need to increase your daily dosage of thorazine," Nitram responded. Kast was unfazed by his insult.

"The unacceptable living conditions would have contibuted to the stress, and developed during the run-up to war when the zoo's staff vacated to avoid death, looters, et cetera," Kast said. Nitram wasn't letting him off.

"And then they would have been relieved when the conditions improved. Real animals in the wild face the specter of starvation and death every day of their lives. Do you think wild tigers lay around in little tiger resorts, sipping tiger pina coladas and relaxing to the sound of Jimmy Buffet? Have you ever seen a real tiger up close? Do you ever go to the zoo? I've seen tigers up close, and if that cage weren't there, you know you'd be a dead man. No 'stress' is necessary to make tigers dangerous, and you are merely tattoing 'MORON' on your forehead the longer you participate in this ridiculous Quixotic battle to 'prove' that it's somehow out of the ordinary for a tiger to bite a human who stupidly offers his hand," Nitram tore into Kast. The whole class was almost wetting themselves in hysterical laughter from the mental image of tigers in Hawaiian shirts, relaxing in beach chairs, wearing star-shaped sunglasses and straw hats and sipping "tiger pina coladas."

Mr. Degan smiled. He was glad that he'd failed Kast last term. Now he got to enjoy his antics all over again.

----

Think, Spanky, think, Spanky thought ... to himself. His quest would exhaust every mental faculty he possessed, tap every connection he'd made in his 2 months being a hall monitor and call in every favor he was owed. His investigation might even demand that he bend a few rules, but if he could get the two most infamous pot-heads in the school booted out, his name would ring with fear in the contemptible skulls of drug users throughout the school. He could clean up the school with an example of but two. The clean-up started with Lineberger and Sorresso.

And what a perfect day, too. The school was kicking off the year with an anti-drug assembly that all students were required to attend. Word on the street was that Dale, everyone's one-stop source for illegal pleasure center stimulants, was doing a deal during the assembly some time. With who, he could not be sure, but Lineberger and Sorresso had such an utter contempt and disdain for the institution of the law that he could bet money on their being the other party involved. He'd heard it was high-quality stuff, as well, and lots of it. At least a dime-bag of schwag ... wait, is a dime-bag a lot? Or is dank good?

Whatever, Spanky thought. He couldn't keep up to date on all the slang terms for the various forms and distribution quantities of illicit substances. While the worthless junkies may make a distinction among various types of marijuana, the law did not. The scales of justice were beginning to tip, and they were in his favor. Wait ... is that how the justice scale works?

Whatever. However the scales worked and whatever they were doing, it was in his favor, that much he could be sure of.

It all starts with Dale. Find him, and then it's just a matter of following the bread crumbs. Once he spotted Dale, he'd stick to him like glue, but he couldn't risk being seen. To prepare for his deep cover espionage, he had rented the movie The Recruit -- well, he hadn't rented it. He was only 16, and he couldn't rent R-rated movies without parental consent. So he told his mom it was for a class presentation, and she begrudgingly agreed to pick it up for him. Luckily for him, none of the scenes involving following techniques had explicit material, so his mother hadn't made him leave the room while they played out.

He had gleaned a few really cool- and professional-sounding intelligence terms. The person being followed was the "rabbit." The person following was the "eye." Behind the eye were other eyes following him and rotating in and out of the lead position. But Spanky had no one to rotate in and out of the lead position. That was a problem.

Whatever. He could maintain the cover himself. His mark was so hyper and ... and ... Is there an adjective for describing Attention Deficit Disorder? 'He's ADD' doesn't sound right.

Whatever. Dale would never notice him. That's what he was trying to say. Er, think.

Two students walked past him. "Did you hear about Shirtless and Crackpot?"

"Yeah, I heard Crackpot broke Shirtless' leg, and that's why he's limping," one said.

"No way! I heard that Shirtless sprained his ankle when he kicked Crackpot in the face and broke his nose," the other said. They disappeared up the stair well.

He peaked out from his covered position, the door frame into Junior Hall. Bingo. Dale was many things, and hard to spot was not one of them. He was at his locker, up to his usual antics with a group of females during the changing period. He heard a massive burst of squealing laughter erupt from them as he no doubt said something obscene. There was no indication that he'd been seen. The assembly was next period, so he'd probably skip this class, and that's when Spanky would start tailing him.

--

"I hear he's from out of town, and like, from Switzerland." The Kernel, aka the guy who kicked Hellenberg's ass, was the topic of conversation. Dale laughed.

"Oh no, sweetheart. He's one hundred-percent American. If he isn't, he had the awkwardness around gays down pat, I can tell you that much," Dale told Foo. Foo was a young sophomore girl who was obsessed with computer programming. Dale, loving computers and Linux, had naturally taken a liking to her. Her odd nickname had come from the wide use of the term in the computer world. Any example code on a website almost always included the term "foo" as a variable, function or practically anything else.

"I was gonna say, that's a little fast to be speaking from experience, even for you," she said.

"And what is that supposed to mean?!" Dale asked, acting shocked.

"What do you think it means?" She asked back. "Slut!"

"Uh!" Dale said in mock revulsion. "I swear, that term is so hetero. I'm tired of borrowing straight terms for gays."

"Fine, we'll call gay sluts 'Dale,' then. How about that?"

"Oh you are such a bitch! Why do I even keep talking to you? It's so bad for my self-esteem!" At that, the bell rang, indicating that Foo should probably be on her way to class. She called him a slut one more time and scuttled off.

Oh you are a slut. His ego told him. Slutty slut slut. The hallway was empty, now. He had to get to his car to pick up a little package for his best customers, Sorresso and Red. Dear God, why did you have to make Sorresso straight? Your friend, Dale.

P.S. Oh, and Red's not bad, either.

Oh well. Such is life, Dale lamented. He started off to his car. Right about now, David should be busy admiring his new friend Andrew Jackson, so he didn't have to worry about getting busted for roaming during class periods.

--

He's on the move, Spanky thought. If he had one of those cool, Secret Service ear-radio things, he'd have spoken into his collar. Some day ... He inched out from his hiding place behind the door frame, letting Dale get a good lead and turn the corner before going after him.

He saw Dale approach the end of the hallway and put his right foot out to begin creeping down the hallway. Right foot, now pivot and left-- A dull thud resonated through the hallway as he fell flatly on his face. One of the teachers poked his head out a doorway to see what had happened.

--

THUD! Dalton was in the middle of spinning some bullshit about the hidden meaning behind art when he heard something hit the hallway floor. He stopped talking and walked over to the door. Flinging it open, he looked down the hallway to see ... Shit! Spanky! He pulled out of the hallway faster than a virgin out of Jenna Jameson before Spanky saw him.

His class looked at him, wondering what had made him panic so. He eyed them all. "Don't give me that look. I don't have to explain myself to you."

He continued his lecture.

--

Spanky hastily got to his feet and, like a feline that had just slipped on a wet floor and fallen on its ass, acted like nothing had happened. He crept quickly down the hall, walking on the balls of his feet in a zig-zag pattern. Well, a zig-zag pattern to anybody else possibly watching; to him it was a "sweep" pattern, just like all those cool special ops guys did. His hands instinctively clasped in front of him as though he had a pistol, specifically a Beretta. No, a Desert Eagle. Those things rock in Counter Strike.

Wait, would a federal agent carry a Desert Eagle ...?

Whatever.

He approached the corner Dale had turned down and poked his head around. He saw Dale approaching an exit. With his Skin-Tone Hand .50 at the ready, he crept after Dale, following him to the parking lot.

--

Dale got to his car and opened his door up. He might have been flamboyantly gay, but he wasn't blind. As he was approaching his car, he saw someone following him in the reflection of his side-view mirror. As he leaned in to the get under the driver's seat where his product was stored, he took another look in his side-view mirror. All he could make out was a mess of hair styled in a pathetic imitation of Cloud Strife's poking up from behind another car.

Phew. He'd been worried for a second, but it was just Spanky. Why is he following me ...? Then it hit him.

That boy's got 'closet gay' written all over him! Of course he wouldn't directly approach him! He was so nervous and shy at this point about his sexuality. Dale could relate, and he knew that it'd be best not to force anything. Instead, he'd play a little bit with Spanky, get him more comfortable.

He's no Damien Sorresso, but he's probably a demon in the sack on the inside, Dale thought. After all, the repressed ones wanted to get it out the most, and the little nerdy types were always very ... creative.

Dale grabbed the little brown paper bag out from under his seat with a wicked smile and walked back in like he hadn't noticed Spanky.

----

Colin Brian Witz, English teacher, was an enthusiastic teacher's union member. He paid his dues happily, attended union functions, was there for every important vote. He sat on a number of committees, had been president of the local several times, and had been one of Sunnyvale West's representatives at the last contract negotiation with the school board.

"Now, here we can see that Hamlet has his opportunity to avenge his father, but he balks. What does that tell us about his character, and how does that--SHIT COCK MOTHERFUCKER!--help illustrate Shakespeare's theme in the play? BALLSACK!"

Mr. Witz had Tourette's syndrome which mysteriously never responded to treatment. It had developed out of the blue one day, when in the midst of a discussion on Fitzgerald he unloaded a fourteen minute stream of profanity so vile it would have set nuns and small housepets on fire at ten paces. Fortunately, as this had happened at Central High, no students had been harmed, but it was considered bad form in high school. The union had prevented him from being fired.

"I feel like I owe the union something," Mr. Witz would say. "They were there for me when I needed them. CUNTFACE!"

Mr. Witz's class was the most popular in the Language Arts department. He also taught a poetry writing course which had resulted in several Federal obscenity charges.

Joe was absently doodling in his notebook, not really paying attention to Shakespeare or the blue crackling profanities that laced the air. He was trying to draw a human face, but it came out looking like a Laffer curve. They always ended up looking like Laffer curves. He'd taken Mr. Witz's poetry class the previous semester and had wound up making actuarial tables punctuated with synonyms for genitals.

Joe's mind had a certain fiduciary cast.

Mark wasn't paying attention, either. He was too busy penning an editorial for the school newspaper explaining, in great detail with many useful references, that George W. Bush was a wanker and needed to be thrown out of office, even if all the voters got in exchange was John Kerry. "An empty suit is better than a pile of shit with a necktie," he wrote.

"Joe, could you tell us--ASSFUCK!--why Hamlet feels the need to concoct an elaborate--PISS SHIT SPOOGE!--scheme to entrap Claudius?"

Joe "eeped" and looked around in panic.

"Never mind, hatfucker. I can see you're not paying attention." Joe turned dark red and tried to melt into his seat. It was moments like that which made him suspect the Tourette's was just a little too convenient.

When Mr. Witz's attention was safely focused elsewhere, Mark elbowed Joe from across the aisle. "Hey, what's with you?"

Joe showed him the drawing. "Laffer curve."

"You're upset over tax policy?"

"I'm not upset over anything."

Mark shrugged and went back to his essay.

"It's just that Debi has gotten a little cozy with the new guy, hasn't she?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Joe shook his head. "Nothing. Never mind."

Mark shrugged and went back to his essay.

"You mean you didn't see it? How she hugged him in the parking lot?"

Mark dropped his pencil and took a deep breath to calm himself down. "It wasn't a hug. It was a pat. And it was a week ago. It means absolutely nothing. And I don't see what your problem is anyway even if she did like him."

Joe looks stricken. "Do you think she likes him?"

"Did I say that? No, I didn't say that. Calm the hell down."

"Well do you?"

"No, for Christ's sake. Why do you care?"

"Well, she's hot."

"So's Marina."

"Marina is a lesbian."

"She's hot. That's the only reason you gave for Debi. So what's the difference?"

"Marina is unavailable. I can content myself with staring at her tits. Debi is available."

"Not to you. And if you did less tit-staring, you'd probably have better luck with the women."

"Like you don't."

"You don't hear my whining about how I'm not in Debi's knickers, though, do you? I accept the consequences of my lechery."

"Forget about it. You're right, I'm being stupid."

Mark shrugged and pretended to go back to his essay. Three...two...one...

"Do you think I have a chance with her?"

"No."

"Well, the hell with you, then."

"I can give you my honest opinion or I can tell you what you want to hear. You didn't specify which one you wanted."

"'Yeeeaaargh'."

"Fuck you. I'm giving you friendly, useful advice here."

"What are you two--FUCK--talking about in my class?" demanded Mr. Witz.

"Good going," said Joe. "Now we're fucked."

"How is this my fault, Bush zombie?"

"Joe, Mark, go down to--"

"Attention, maggots!" squaked the El Tee intercom. "Get your asses down to the auditorium right now!" There was some feedback and a muffled, "Put that damn thing down!" followed by "Yes sir," and then Stravo started speaking. "All faculty and students, please report to the auditorium for an important educational performance on the dangers of marijuana by the Death from the Sea Players and the Sunnyvale West Junior Puritan League."

There were groans all around, except from Mark and Joe. Mr. Witz looked furious he'd been interrupted, and as his class filed out, he stood in the corner and fired of a stream of dirty words that would have made Mike Wong proud.

"Sorry about that," said Joe to Mark once they were in the hall.

"It's cool," said Mark. He went back to re-reading his essay as they walked.

----

Debi and Marina got into the auditorium early and snagged choice seats as far away from the stage as possible without being close enough to the back aisle to be easily spotted by roving teachers.

"What do you think the odds are that this won't be terrible?" said Debi as they settled in.

"I have high hopes for unintentionally hilarious," said Marina. "Oh look! It's the often unintentionally hilarious Joe and Mark!"

"Shut up," said Joe.

"He's cranky," said Mark.

"Maybe he needs to change his pad," suggested Debi.

"Who needs to do what now?" said the Kernel, the last to arrive. "Jesus, Mr. Galkine likes to talk a lot."

The place was filling up rapidly as teachers herded students in. Mr. Dalton rumbled by virtually shoving students forward.

"Does he have a donut stuck in his beard?" asked Kernel. The others shrugged. If he did, it wouldn't have been terribly noteworthy. Up on stage, the stage crew was finishing its last minute preparations. In the buzz, nobody noticed two figures slip behind the curtain.

--

Dale filed into the auditorium with the rest of the student body. The announcement for the assembly was abrupt enough that he could sneak out and back in without being spotted in the mess of students. His pants now contained a few various treasures, some of them for gays, some for anybody and some for money.

Sorresso and Red should be behind the stage-left curtain about now. The crowd was still large enough that he should be able to slip behind there, and aside from that, he had a few ... "friends" in the theatre department who wouldn't question his presence back there. The curtains back there were thick enough that the three of them could stay comfortably hidden within the giant three-layer affair. Not only was he getting a deal on some very expensive marijuana, but he got a new sexual fantasy about Sorresso behind the stage curtains. Oh, why must you pawn after that which you cannot have?

He stepped into a side door that led back-stage-left, one that was very infrequently used, but would be left open for the performers. He slipped inside and closed the door, making his way up the back-stage stairs to the curtains, which were drawn back, and to his customers.

--

"Mr. Galkine is hilarious," said Marina. "Best teacher in the school."

"All he does is prattle on and on about how drunk he got in Russia," said Debi. "I mean, it was funny the first time, but is this all we're going to hear all year?"

"I don't get the guy's rep," said Kernel.

"What do you mean?" said Marina.

"I mean, I don't understand why everyone thinks he's such a badass. The El Tee, I get, but not him. He's just a funny old drunk."

"He's an arms dealer," said Joe.

"No he's not. He looks like an arms dealer from a movie. That means, at best, he's an actor."

"Then why didn't the school fire him when they dumped Russian class?" demanded Marina.

"The union maybe? They didn't fire Mr. Witz, and I don't think that guy even really has Tourettes."

"You know," said Joe, "I'm starting to think the same thing."

Debi continued on undaunted. "Even the El Tee gives him a wide berth."

"He's just running on reputation. He's harmless."

"Kernel, you have to understand," said Marina, "The student body here is like a pack of wild dogs. They smell weakness, and if Galkine wasn't dangerous, they would have done something to him by now. His house hasn't even gotten a good toilet papering. Even Mr. Degan's house has been toilet papered."

"Really now," said Kernel. "Never you say?"

"You have this problem with your brain," said Debi. "Perhaps in a past life, you were a bear-baiter."

"And he got reincarnated as a West student?" said Mark. "God must really hate bear-baiters."

Joe noticed a banner being stretched out above the stage. He interrupted the debate to ask a question.

"Hey," said Joe, "What the hell is the Junior Puritan League?"

"I don't know," said Mark. "Is Spanky in it?"

"Sounds like something he'd do," agreed Debi.

"Maybe," said Joe. "There goes Spanky now on his way backstage."

--

Dale was about half-way to the curtain when he bumped into someone. It was hard to see back-stage, seeing as how everything was dark. "Who's that?" The figure asked. The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.

"Oh, I guess I'm kinda lost. It's my first day here," Dale said, covering.

"Freshman, huh? Well, it's your lucky day," the figure said.

"Oh ... why's that?"

"My name's Gauner Negen. I'm part of the Sunnyvale West Junior Puritans League."

Oh Jesus Christ, of course, Dale thought. Gauner Negen was the school's resident whiney Christian. He cried foul when the school shut down his initiative to begin every lunch with a completely optional prayer, which he felt was a grave injustice. He also was vehemently anti-drugs, and Dale had heard that he'd be part of this joke of an assembly in some way. Dale wasn't completely sure, but he could swear that his name, when appropriately translated, meant "Rogue Nine" in English.

"Oh, uh, cool," Dale said, trying to hide his normally flamboyant voice as much as possible.

"The only high I need is the one Jesus gives me. You can stay back here and watch the presentation from an exclusive position; consider it a 'back-stage pass.' How's that sound?" Gauner said. Dale couldn't see clearly, but he was pretty sure that Gauner winked at him when he said that.

Sounds like you're an accessory to an illegal drug deal, Dale thought, which brought a smile to his face. "Sounds great! Thanks so much!" Idiot.

Now he'd just have to wait until Gauner went out, and he could slip into the curtains.

"If anyone asks why you're back here, you just tell 'em that you're with Gauner and with God."

Will do, Dale though.

--

The curtain came up and the lights went down. This did nothing to quiet the crowd. The El Tee randomly pointing to raucuous students and yelling "My office, meat!" did.

Gauner walked out on stage. He wore gangsta pants, a wife-beater top, an open flannel shirt, combat boots, and a rhinestone studded Liberace cape.

Stravo, standing by the back doors next to Superintendant Sanchez, blew a snort of bourbon out of his nose.

"Guzentite," said Sanchez.

"Thank you sir."

Sanchez scowled. "Stravo, what the hell smells like Jim Beam?"

"Couldn't say, sir. I don't know what Jim Beam smells like." What did I do to deserve this?

--

"What the fuck is that?" said Mark.

"We're in the presense of something rare and wonderful," said Marina, plainly awestruck. "Here, finally, is 'dork' distilled to its purest essense."

"No, it's not," said Debi. "For it to be pure, he'd have to--"

She was interrupted by Gauner pressing the play button on a tired tape deck by his feet. Someone in the stage crew had somehow wired it to the sound system--the West High stage crew's motto was "Why do it right when you could do it complicated, dangerous, and inadequete?". There was a hiss of blank tape, and then the first few notes sounded. Everybody recognized the song, even the ones who weren't fans of Eminem.

"Ok," said Debi. "Now he's a pure dork."

--

Dale couldn't believe what he was seeing. When Gauner had gotten out on stage, he finally got a glimpse of what he was wearing. He was trying to look like a hardcore gangsta to appeal to the youth. He wasn't aware that such utter lameness could be achieved by anyone under the age of 40.

Just when he'd thought he'd seen everything up Gauner's sleeve, he noticed the little boom box sitting at his feet. Gauner bent down and pressed the "Play" button. Oh Christ I can't watch anymore. Dale firmly ignored the bastardized version of Eminem's "The Real Slim Shady" emanating from Gauner's throat, which was horridly unsuitable for gangsta rapping.

He slipped into the designated curtain, and surely enough there were his two favorite customers. Once the curtain flowed back into place, they couldn't see anything. "Oooh, this is so romantic boys," he said in a low voice. He heard Sorresso respond in a similarly quiet tone.

"It's a candle-light dinner. I hope you brought the candles."

"As long as you brought the green napkins." In response, he heard the crinkling noise distinctive to cash.

"Of course," Red said. Dale swung his hand around until it contacted Red's. He grabbed the cash from it.

"Ooh, new bills? You didn't have to do this," Dale said.

"Your turn, sweetheart," Sorresso said. Dale dug into his pants and extracted the bag, containing an eighth of marijuana.

"Oh you are such a tease," Dale said, sticking his hand out. Sorresso took the bag and began putting it in his pocket. All of a sudden, the curtains shrouding them all in secrecy were being disturbed. Someone else was trying to come through.

--

"May I have your attention please, may I have your attention please! Will the real Rogue 9 please stand up? I repeat will the real Rogue 9 please stand up ... we're gonna have a problem here ..."

"I hate this song!" complained Debi.

"I think you'll like this one," said Kernel. Debi giggled. Joe glared.

"Ya'll act like you never seen a clean person before
jaws all on the floor
like drug and alcohol abuse are the norm
burning you up and spitting you on the floor
they first ruin your life
messing up your furniture"

The audience, the entire faculty and student body of Sunnyvale West High School, stared, shocked beyond mockery.

"It's the return of the...
'awww ... wait, no wait, you're kidding,
he didn't just say drugs are bad, mmmkay,
did he?"
and McGruff said ...
'Don't do drugs and take a bite out of crime'
not even in your basement."

Stravo was frantically waving at the El Tee and making slashing motions across his throat. For God's sake, you lunatic, look at me!

"Did you just say something, Stravo?" said Sanchez.

"Um, no sir. Excellent show, don't you think, sir?"

"You should be ashamed of yourself, Stravo."

"I am, sir. Very ashamed." When he thought Sanchez wasn't watching, he started waving at the El Tee again. Finally, he caught his eye, and made another violent slashing gesture. "Get that dumbfuck off the stage!" he mouthed. The El Tee nodded and started walking towards the orchestra pit.

--

Dale felt a form plow into the curtain straight into him. "Ah hah! You're so--" Dale cut Spanky off. He must've followed him back to confess his love. It was after all, a very private place.

"Oh Spanky, you don't need to say anything!" Dale said, pulling Spanky's face to his and kissing him, full on the lips. Spanky was stunned into paralysis at first, but then started violently struggling. Dale and Spanky got caught in the curtains, and their rolling pulled the curtains off their supports at the top of the stage. Sorresso and Red both dove out before the mass of heavy cloth could hit the floor. And they found themselves on a very silent stage with a still rustling curtain beside them.

They both stood silently, looking at the entire student body. Red couldn't help noticing Principal Stravo's eyes protruding about four feet in front of his head.

Just then, Spanky and Dale came rolling out of the curtains. Dale was still mounted on Spanky. Sorresso's, Red's and the rest of the student body's gaping jaws shifted over to the cute new couple.

Spanky finally managed to get out from under Dale. He stood up, and froze in front of the auditorium. After about 10 seconds, Spanky bolted from the stage. Dale quickly leapt up to follow his new love. That left Red and Sorresso on stage. Whatever asinine creature was operating the spot light decided to shine it directly on both of them.

Red looked at Sorresso. They then both looked at the audience. Then, in perfect simultaneity, they both sang, "Cause I'm the real Slim Shady!" and continued the rap to the best of their meager and pathetic performing abilities.

--

"Hey! Spanky is in it!" said Marina.

"I knew he didn't like girls," said Mark.

--

Stravo was having war flashbacks. He'd never actually faught in a war, but sometimes he fantasized about it, when crawling through the jungle underbrush while Charlie tore his platoon apart with machine gun and mortar fire was a pleasant change from running West High.

"Stravo, are those two who I think they are?"

"Who do you think they are sir? Besides upstanding young member of the Junior Puritan League, I mean."

"Don't bullshit me! Those two are the biggest potheads in the senior class!"

How the hell does he know that?! "Sir, what gave you that impression?"

"Your Dean of Discipline told me."

I knew it! That fucking traitor! Stravo thought about firing the El Tee, until he realized he probably wouldn't have a job himself if the show went on much longer. He started daydreaming about a mortar shell landing directly on the El Tee's head.

--

"Yeah, if you use drugs you've got a couple of screws up in your head loose but no worse than--" started Gauner, trying to keep his professionalism.

"Women wave your pantehose, sing the chorus and it goes ..." said Sorresso.

"You gotta, um, lose yourself in the music--" sand Red.

"Wrong song, dumbass! Jesus, you're such a fucking stoner!"

"Fuck you. All the other slim shadys are just imitating, so won't the real--"

"No!" exclaimed Gauner. "Not slim shady! I'm Rogue 9!"

The entire auditorium was shaking. The appearance of Red, Sorresso, Dale, and Spanky had broken Gauner's hold on the audience, and the student body was roaring with laughter. Marina and Debi had to support each other so as not to fall on the floor. Mark, Joe, and Kernel were already there, though they occasionally managed to glance back up at the girls, just in case Marina decided to grope Debi (it had never happened to their knowledge, but there was always hope).

The El Tee was marching towards the stage to abort the disaster in progress. Sorresso and Red gave each other significant glances. They were carrying an eighth of marijuana on stage at an anti-drug assembly and the Dean of Discipine was on the way. There was only one thing they could do.

Sorresso reached under Gauner's cape and "grabbed" a bag of marijuana. "Hey! You dirty, contemptible pothead! What do you think you're doing with this?!"

The audience gasped. Even at West, misdemeanors were rarely so brazenly committed. Even the El Tee stopped, not quite sure what to do.

"What?! That's not mine! That's yours!"

"See," said Red, "Shirking responsibility, bad judgement, copyright infringement, pregnancy -- all these are what marijuana can do to you! So don't do drugs, or you'll be like Gauner!" He spat at Gauner's feet. "You disgust me, pothead."

And with that, the two stoners ran to the edge of the stage, took a huge bow, and ran back behind the backdrop -- Red surreptitiously scooping up the bag of dope on the way.

Gauner wasn't much of a showman, but he had enough sense to improvise. He took a bow as well. Suddenly, the audience understood -- it had all been an act! An incoherent and ineffective one, but an act.

"See, sir?" said Stravo. "All part of the show."

"Your office," said Sanchez. "Right now."

----

"In all my years in education, the was the sorriest, most disgraceful performance I've ever seen, Stravo! You should be ashamed of yourself!"

"I am, sir. Very ashamed." Stravo was sitting in his chair trying to hide behind the desk as best he could. Sanchez was storming around the office, gesturing angrily.

"I'm tired of hearing about how this place is being run like a Goddamn zoo! It's worse than a zoo! In the zoo, the animals just stand around eating and shitting! If you were running a zoo, the visitors would have all been eaten by now!"

"Yes sir. I'd be a terrible zookeeper, sir."

"Stop mocking me! You're done, Stravo! Finished. I want to see your resignation in front of the board Monday morning!"

Stravo had been bracing himself for this moment as soon as the curtain had come up on Gauner. Truth be told, he'd been bracing himself for it since his first day on the job. He knew West would break him. It had broken everyone else.

So this is it. The end of my carreer. Pack up the desk, walk out, never see this office again. No more conferences, no more working with the teachers. No more students.

He paused. No more students. No more Spanky. No more Transcend. No more Shirtless and Crackpot. No more Sorresso and Red.

No more Galkine, no more Witz, no more union. No more El Tee. No more Sanchez.

I'll be finished, done, gone. Out of this job and out of this town. I've got money saved. They'll pay me severance! I can drive cross country, go to Europe, take a cruise, go on safari. Maybe go back to school myself--law school! Business school! Jiffy Lube school! I'll bet Jiffy Lube pays more. I'll open a bar! No, a hot dog stand! Everybody loves hot dogs. Who cares!? I'm FREE!!! I'm FREE!!!! I'M FREEEEEEEEE!!!!!!

"I understand, sir. I'll have it on your desk by--"

"What's this?" said Sanchez suddenly. Something in the wastepaper basket had caught his eye.

"Sir?"

Sanchez bent down and pulled Stravo's copy of Starcrossed out. "What's this doing in the trash?"

"It must have fallen in, sir." Wait, why am I lying? I'm fired anyway. "Actually, sir, I--"

"I didn't know you were a Frank Fontaine fan, Stravo."

"Um, sir, I'm not--"

"I love Frank Fontaine. Best novelist of our time."

"I don't--"

"You know, Stravo, this assembly was a disaster, but at least those morons managed to make it look like it was a disaster on purpose. Maybe they even learned something."

Oh no. "Sir, I'm pretty sure that was real marijuana."

"Yes, I'm sure it is. And for that, I'm going to put you on probation, and come make inspections weekly. But this is a tought school, and you've managed to make it work. After a fashion."

"Sir, I appreciate that, but--"

"And I think we need to spend more time together, learning how to communicate. I think that's part of your problem with me."

"Sir--"

"And what better way to learn to communicate than through Frank Fontaine? Did you know there's a Frank Fontaine book club? We meet at my house every Saturday night for four hours."

Saturday night?! That's prime poontang time! "Sir, I couldn't--"

"I think this is the start of a whole new relationship for us, Stravo. I'll see you there Saturday night, I presume."

Charlie had tagged Stravo's Huey with AAA fire, and they were going down hard behind enemy lines. If they managed to live, the NVA would throw their broken, battered bodies into the Hanoi Hilton and they'd stay there for years in bamboo cages being poked with sharp sticks and living on a bowl of rice a day. Stravo smiled at the thought of years of nothing to do but sit in a cage and get poked by sticks.

"Yes sir."

--

Kernel was still wiping tears from his eyes. What had played out in the auditorium was hysterical beyond description. He intended to go back home that day and thank his parents profusely for transferring him to this school.

"And the look on Spanky's face, oh my God, that was hilarious!" Debi said, still doubled over as she walked to her car. She was leaning on Kernel's shoulder for support. Kernel was still laughing, but not quite as badly as Debi.

Marina had Joe and Mark under her arms as they helped her along along. "Oh Jesus, oh Jesus help me!" She said, laughing so hard her face was red and felt like it was going to explode. Mark was still chuckling a little, but Joe seemed to be a little more sober, forcing a few laughs in an attempt to not dampen the mood.

Marina looked at him. "Aw, wassamatter Joe? Disappointed that Spanky chose Dale over you?" Joe heard her words as an echo.

"What? Oh ... right. Yeah," Joe said, glaring at the Kernel's back.

Debi and the Kernel arrived at her car, and Joe spotted them talking as he walked along to his. He said something; she giggled. He was stalling and sticking around for the awkward silence. She broke the silence with some comment and mock-punched him in the shoulder, sending him on his way.

Mark passed Joe on his way to his car and smacked him on the shoulder, throwing him out of his icy-cold stare mode.

"Jesus will you stop staring? You look like you're about to kill something, or at least horribly maim a small animal." Joe shook it off, and opened his door absently. Debi drove out of the parking lot. Mark got into his car and drove away. Joe followed suit, almost praying for an accident so he'd have something else to be pissed off about.

[Sarevok]

Great chapter.

[haas mark]

Awesomeness!! I think you really captured Degan VERY well.

And the Baghdad tiger thread... I remember that.. the hilarity.

[Crown]

"I can't believe I spent money on this crap. Captain Kirk is strong in the force. Thrawn ordering Darth Vader around. Wesley Crusher a Sith Apprentice. Jesus Christ. Starcrossed my ass." He tried reading another page and finally threw the book in the wastepaper basket in disgust.

"What a fucking hack," muttered Stravo. He took another drink.

Poor, poor, Stravo. Fess up, which one of you put that in there?

[RedImperator]

"I can't believe I spent money on this crap. Captain Kirk is strong in the force. Thrawn ordering Darth Vader around. Wesley Crusher a Sith Apprentice. Jesus Christ. Starcrossed my ass." He tried reading another page and finally threw the book in the wastepaper basket in disgust.

"What a fucking hack," muttered Stravo. He took another drink.

Poor, poor, Stravo. Fess up, which one of you put that in there?

'Twas I. This was the first joke we had for the whole episode.

[El Moose Monstero]

One of the few fanfics to cause the occassional outloud giggle from my usual silently mirthful self... jolly good show, what what...

[Shroom Man 777]

BAHAHAHAHA!!!!

Good Lord! This is fucking awesome! Stravo is like Principal Skinner on steroids! And Spanky, LOL! Poor guy.

[Dalton]

The place was filling up rapidly as teachers herded students in. Mr. Dalton rumbled by virtually shoving students forward.

"Does he have a donut stuck in his beard?" asked Kernel. The others shrugged. If he did, it wouldn't have been terribly noteworthy. Up on stage, the stage crew was finishing its last minute preparations. In the buzz, nobody noticed two figures slip behind the curtain.

Fuck you two.

P.S. Colin with Turrett's was perhaps the funniest thing I've read all month. Bravo

[fgalkin]

Bwahaha. Tis great,

Have a very nice day.
-fgalkin

EDIT: After looking through the credits again, it seems I'm the only one who's been mentioned in the chapter, yet is not in the credits. Just my luck, I guess. Oh, and the Dalton scenes were HILARIOUS.

[Spanky The Dolphin]

1. Spanky still must be a girl.
2. I would honestly prefere it if this Spanky was not such a resentful caricature. Many of you may find it funny, but I personally find it to be quite hostile. I didn't indent for my name to be used in such a way.

Speaking of, Utsanomiko mentioned to me that he would like it to be known that he does not want his name to be used in any sort of fanfiction, just for the record.

[Daltonator]

1. Spanky still must be a girl.
2. I would honestly prefere it if this Spanky was not such a resentful caricature. Many of you may find it funny, but I personally find it to be quite hostile. I didn't indent for my name to be used in such a way.

Oh, come on. In every story I've been in so far on SDN I've been portrayed as a donut-gobbling fatso, and I don't complain at all aside from those jocular vulgarities I fling at the perpetrators.

[InnerBrat]

I'm a dirty little cocktease.

[Spanky The Dolphin]

1. Spanky still must be a girl.
2. I would honestly prefere it if this Spanky was not such a resentful caricature. Many of you may find it funny, but I personally find it to be quite hostile. I didn't indent for my name to be used in such a way.

Oh, come on. In every story I've been in so far on SDN I've been portrayed as a donut-gobbling fatso, and I don't complain at all aside from those jocular vulgarities I fling at the perpetrators.

That doesn't change the fact that I am personally uncomfortable with how my characture is portrayed and how my name is being used. To me it does not sound as if it is based on good natured jocular teasings but on hostile resentment, and I would greatly prefer that such a portrayal cease: kill my character off in the next chapter if needed.

[The Kernel]

I'm a dirty little cocktease.

Yes you are, but you better start putting out by next episode or I'm going to take a crack at Marina's sexuality.

Anyways, great episode as usual. I loved the parts with Einy, you guys captured him perfectly.

[The Kernel]

That doesn't change the fact that I am personally uncomfortable with how my characture is portrayed and how my name is being used. To me it does not sound as if it is based on good natured jocular teasings but on hostile resentment, and I would greatly prefer that such a portrayal cease: kill my character off in the next chapter if needed.

Oh come on now, none of these characters are supposed to be accurate depictions of us, they just take stereotypes and blow them out of proportion. We're all in the same boat, so you might as well sit back and enjoy it. If I know Durandal and Red, complaining will only cause them to feature your character even MORE prominently in the next episode.