Fast Times at SD High Teaser
Moderator: LadyTevar
- Durandal
- Bile-Driven Hate Machine
- Posts: 17927
- Joined: 2002-07-03 06:26pm
- Location: Silicon Valley, CA
- Contact:
Fast Times at SD High Teaser
This will hopefully grow into a semi-regular series.
Fast Times at SD High
Written by Damien Sorresso and Matthew Lineberger
Principle Stravo slouched just a little further in his chair. What is this now, 10 times he's been in here? In two days? He asked himself. Sometimes he loved his job; other times he hated it. The kids saw him as some Orwellian nightmare figure. He could goose-step around the halls with a swastika on his right arm and one of those lens-on-a-string things that only evil Nazi guys in the movies ever wore without damaging his reputation.
Kids need to understand authority. That's why I'm doing this. To mold them into productive citizens. He pondered his own thoughts for a moment. Yeah, that should keep me sleeping at night.
"Are you stoned or something?" Stravo's head tilted slightly up, more as a attentive reflex than a result of actually caring about what the student on the business-end of his ornate, wooden desk had asked. The student in question, Walter, had to have possessed a brain. Stravo could simply not find a way around that simple necessity. Locked away, underneath the round cranium and face that looked like a pepperoni pizza that had been sitting under a sunlamp for the past 10 hours, there had to be a brain.
Mmm ... pizza. Stravo made a mental note to start having the cafeteria serve pepperoni pizza on ... What day is it today? Oh right, Tuesday.
"Listen Walter, I know that students often like to nickname other students, but that doesn't mean that–" Walter cut him off.
"My name is TRANSCEND!" He exclaimed.
"But that doesn't mean that teachers have to respect those nicknames in class during roll-call," Stravo finished, ignoring Wally's outburst. In the frequent times Wally had been in his office, Stravo had learned that it was best to speak in compound sentences. Wally had a propensity of cutting him off, so he figured that he'd like to at least get one, complete thought out of his mouth before the 15 year-old sophomore forcibly injected his conversational equivalent of epinephrine into the still-beating heart of a hapless sentence.
Wally, or Transcend, as he insisted on being called, had a problem with authority, specifically any authority which did not address him as "Transcend" or instead addressed him as "Tranny," "Wally" or "Dumb-ass." To this end, he often disrupted classes by yelling at his teacher for having the temerity to use his real name.
"Why is it so fucking hard to just fucking call me by my REAL NAME?" Wally asked. Stravo was beyond the point of caring about some foul language. Technically, it was against the rules, but a foul mouth was the least of this kid's problems.
Stravo sighed, exasperated.
"Just get out of here and stop harassing your teachers," he said. He wished he could get a button installed under his desk, one of the cool ones in the movies. A button that would activate the spring-loaded ejector plate underneath the chair opposite him. A spring-loaded ejector plate powerful enough to propel a student into low orbit. He'd even settle for a trap door leading to a fire-pit, like Dr. Evil had.
He was fairly certain that the board would shout down that budget proposal fairly quickly, though. Those were the types of hunches he usually followed.
Wally removed his ass from the chair which regrettably had no ejector plate underneath it. Stravo noticed a slight aberration in the boy's uniform as he was leaving the office. His navy-blue button-up shirt was defiantly untucked in the back. This was probably no fault of Wally. The kid had no relaxed state of being, so he was always leaning forward whenever he sat in a chair, pulling his shirt out of its housing in his khakis.
Nevertheless, it annoyed Stravo. The longer he spent at this school, the more little things began to annoy him. He was about to reprimand Wally for his dress-code impudence, but he figured it'd be best left to one of the student hall monitors, whose job it was to spot uniform violations and report roving students.
Who watches the office floor at eleven? Stravo asked himself. Ah yes, Spanky. Spanky was about as straight-arrow as students came these days. Though Stravo thought that he took his "power" as a hall monitor a little too seriously, at times.
Ah well. He'll give ole Wally Hell, Stravo thought to himself, satisfied at Wally's fate upon attempting to return to class while in violation of the school's dress code.
Stravo checked the time. Oh right ... eleven. 4 hours still until dismissal. Those 9 to 5 fuckers have it easy. His eyes wandered down from the clock to the second drawer on the right of his desk. He pulled it open, revealing the usual host of office crap that he didn't use. This drawer's sole purpose in life was to be filled with shit ... and a flask, which was in turn, filled with Captain Morgan's spiced rum. He lifted it from the desk drawer, holding it aloft like a prize and examining it as if he hadn't had it for decades.
It was quite a beautiful flask, all black with a silver etching that read "Class of 1969 Official Teller of Tales" in a pompously ornate font, with a quill pen and ink behind the text.
Aah, those were the days, he reminisced about his days at old Sunnyvale Central High, back when Sunnyvale only had one high school. The place had never been "new." It had been shitty and run-down as long as anyone could remember. The computer labs received an upgrade to 1997 technology around 2004, and the science labs were wonders of modern science in that they had managed never to kill a single student, despite numerous gas leaks and a 65% smoking rate among the student population.
But with the influx of soccer moms equipped with their fertile wombs and child-bearing hips, Sunnyvale, 10 years ago, decided that it was time for another high school. So was built Sunnyvale East, which quickly became the arch-rival of Sunnyvale Central. The Sunnyvale Central kids hated the Sunnyvale East kids because they were richer than a Corvette's exhaust, and the East kids hated the Central kids because the Central kids could kick their rich, pansy asses. Also, the East kids didn't like paying the Central kids' 50% markups on seedy dank. In fact, Central pretty much had a monopoly on supplying marijuana to the rich, white suburban kids, so the kids at Sunnyvale East began calling Central "Sunnyvale Dank," or "SD" for short.
They'd thought themselves terribly clever, but the Central kids had taken a liking to the nickname, much like early Americans had adopted the derisive term "Yankees." Despite their fondness for the nickname, they retaliated anyway by calling the East kids the "Sunnyvale Bitches," or "SB" for short.
Then the town decided it was time for Sunnyvale Central to go. Well, not so much "go" as "evolve into a parking lot," specifically a parking lot for a new high school. That school's name was Sunnyvale West High School. Brand new with state-of-the-art, spiffy-ass stuff. And it was all for the kids on the wrong side of town. Especially the metal detectors and drug-sniffing dogs.
This naturally infuriated the East kids, and thus did Sunnyvale West inherit the spot of Sunnyvale Central in Sunnyvale East's "People we fucking hate" book.
And now, Stravo was the head honcho of this institution. This institution, which admitted a kid who insisted on being called "Transcend." He eyed his flask again. Okay, you win.
He unscrewed the cap and brought the flask to his lips, slowly tipping back in his chair rather than tilt his head back to start the flow of liquor to his stomach. The alcohol hit his tongue like liquid flame, if there was such a thing. He inhaled the cleansing aroma and let himself forget about the bloody place for a few seconds. He imagined himself in a court room, arguing an epic legal battle about something important and awing the audience and jurors with his insight and powerful voice. Man ... why didn't I go to law school?
Mid-gulp, his intercomm buzzed, wrenching him back to reality. His eyes lazily rolled to where the obscene creation sat on his desk, partially obscured by the flask still held to his face. "Mr. Stravo, two students were just caught having sex in the janitor's closet. They're on their way down to your office right now," it squawked, ever the bearer of bad news. Stravo paused to consider this. A wave of apathy washed over him, and if he could've resigned himself any more to the bottle, he would have.
He tipped the flask again. God damn first week of school.
Fast Times at SD High
Written by Damien Sorresso and Matthew Lineberger
Principle Stravo slouched just a little further in his chair. What is this now, 10 times he's been in here? In two days? He asked himself. Sometimes he loved his job; other times he hated it. The kids saw him as some Orwellian nightmare figure. He could goose-step around the halls with a swastika on his right arm and one of those lens-on-a-string things that only evil Nazi guys in the movies ever wore without damaging his reputation.
Kids need to understand authority. That's why I'm doing this. To mold them into productive citizens. He pondered his own thoughts for a moment. Yeah, that should keep me sleeping at night.
"Are you stoned or something?" Stravo's head tilted slightly up, more as a attentive reflex than a result of actually caring about what the student on the business-end of his ornate, wooden desk had asked. The student in question, Walter, had to have possessed a brain. Stravo could simply not find a way around that simple necessity. Locked away, underneath the round cranium and face that looked like a pepperoni pizza that had been sitting under a sunlamp for the past 10 hours, there had to be a brain.
Mmm ... pizza. Stravo made a mental note to start having the cafeteria serve pepperoni pizza on ... What day is it today? Oh right, Tuesday.
"Listen Walter, I know that students often like to nickname other students, but that doesn't mean that–" Walter cut him off.
"My name is TRANSCEND!" He exclaimed.
"But that doesn't mean that teachers have to respect those nicknames in class during roll-call," Stravo finished, ignoring Wally's outburst. In the frequent times Wally had been in his office, Stravo had learned that it was best to speak in compound sentences. Wally had a propensity of cutting him off, so he figured that he'd like to at least get one, complete thought out of his mouth before the 15 year-old sophomore forcibly injected his conversational equivalent of epinephrine into the still-beating heart of a hapless sentence.
Wally, or Transcend, as he insisted on being called, had a problem with authority, specifically any authority which did not address him as "Transcend" or instead addressed him as "Tranny," "Wally" or "Dumb-ass." To this end, he often disrupted classes by yelling at his teacher for having the temerity to use his real name.
"Why is it so fucking hard to just fucking call me by my REAL NAME?" Wally asked. Stravo was beyond the point of caring about some foul language. Technically, it was against the rules, but a foul mouth was the least of this kid's problems.
Stravo sighed, exasperated.
"Just get out of here and stop harassing your teachers," he said. He wished he could get a button installed under his desk, one of the cool ones in the movies. A button that would activate the spring-loaded ejector plate underneath the chair opposite him. A spring-loaded ejector plate powerful enough to propel a student into low orbit. He'd even settle for a trap door leading to a fire-pit, like Dr. Evil had.
He was fairly certain that the board would shout down that budget proposal fairly quickly, though. Those were the types of hunches he usually followed.
Wally removed his ass from the chair which regrettably had no ejector plate underneath it. Stravo noticed a slight aberration in the boy's uniform as he was leaving the office. His navy-blue button-up shirt was defiantly untucked in the back. This was probably no fault of Wally. The kid had no relaxed state of being, so he was always leaning forward whenever he sat in a chair, pulling his shirt out of its housing in his khakis.
Nevertheless, it annoyed Stravo. The longer he spent at this school, the more little things began to annoy him. He was about to reprimand Wally for his dress-code impudence, but he figured it'd be best left to one of the student hall monitors, whose job it was to spot uniform violations and report roving students.
Who watches the office floor at eleven? Stravo asked himself. Ah yes, Spanky. Spanky was about as straight-arrow as students came these days. Though Stravo thought that he took his "power" as a hall monitor a little too seriously, at times.
Ah well. He'll give ole Wally Hell, Stravo thought to himself, satisfied at Wally's fate upon attempting to return to class while in violation of the school's dress code.
Stravo checked the time. Oh right ... eleven. 4 hours still until dismissal. Those 9 to 5 fuckers have it easy. His eyes wandered down from the clock to the second drawer on the right of his desk. He pulled it open, revealing the usual host of office crap that he didn't use. This drawer's sole purpose in life was to be filled with shit ... and a flask, which was in turn, filled with Captain Morgan's spiced rum. He lifted it from the desk drawer, holding it aloft like a prize and examining it as if he hadn't had it for decades.
It was quite a beautiful flask, all black with a silver etching that read "Class of 1969 Official Teller of Tales" in a pompously ornate font, with a quill pen and ink behind the text.
Aah, those were the days, he reminisced about his days at old Sunnyvale Central High, back when Sunnyvale only had one high school. The place had never been "new." It had been shitty and run-down as long as anyone could remember. The computer labs received an upgrade to 1997 technology around 2004, and the science labs were wonders of modern science in that they had managed never to kill a single student, despite numerous gas leaks and a 65% smoking rate among the student population.
But with the influx of soccer moms equipped with their fertile wombs and child-bearing hips, Sunnyvale, 10 years ago, decided that it was time for another high school. So was built Sunnyvale East, which quickly became the arch-rival of Sunnyvale Central. The Sunnyvale Central kids hated the Sunnyvale East kids because they were richer than a Corvette's exhaust, and the East kids hated the Central kids because the Central kids could kick their rich, pansy asses. Also, the East kids didn't like paying the Central kids' 50% markups on seedy dank. In fact, Central pretty much had a monopoly on supplying marijuana to the rich, white suburban kids, so the kids at Sunnyvale East began calling Central "Sunnyvale Dank," or "SD" for short.
They'd thought themselves terribly clever, but the Central kids had taken a liking to the nickname, much like early Americans had adopted the derisive term "Yankees." Despite their fondness for the nickname, they retaliated anyway by calling the East kids the "Sunnyvale Bitches," or "SB" for short.
Then the town decided it was time for Sunnyvale Central to go. Well, not so much "go" as "evolve into a parking lot," specifically a parking lot for a new high school. That school's name was Sunnyvale West High School. Brand new with state-of-the-art, spiffy-ass stuff. And it was all for the kids on the wrong side of town. Especially the metal detectors and drug-sniffing dogs.
This naturally infuriated the East kids, and thus did Sunnyvale West inherit the spot of Sunnyvale Central in Sunnyvale East's "People we fucking hate" book.
And now, Stravo was the head honcho of this institution. This institution, which admitted a kid who insisted on being called "Transcend." He eyed his flask again. Okay, you win.
He unscrewed the cap and brought the flask to his lips, slowly tipping back in his chair rather than tilt his head back to start the flow of liquor to his stomach. The alcohol hit his tongue like liquid flame, if there was such a thing. He inhaled the cleansing aroma and let himself forget about the bloody place for a few seconds. He imagined himself in a court room, arguing an epic legal battle about something important and awing the audience and jurors with his insight and powerful voice. Man ... why didn't I go to law school?
Mid-gulp, his intercomm buzzed, wrenching him back to reality. His eyes lazily rolled to where the obscene creation sat on his desk, partially obscured by the flask still held to his face. "Mr. Stravo, two students were just caught having sex in the janitor's closet. They're on their way down to your office right now," it squawked, ever the bearer of bad news. Stravo paused to consider this. A wave of apathy washed over him, and if he could've resigned himself any more to the bottle, he would have.
He tipped the flask again. God damn first week of school.
Damien Sorresso
"Ever see what them computa bitchez do to numbas? It ain't natural. Numbas ain't supposed to be code, they supposed to quantify shit."
- The Onion
"Ever see what them computa bitchez do to numbas? It ain't natural. Numbas ain't supposed to be code, they supposed to quantify shit."
- The Onion
-
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 11924
- Joined: 2003-04-10 03:45pm
- Location: Cheshire, England
- Spanky The Dolphin
- Mammy Two-Shoes
- Posts: 30776
- Joined: 2002-07-05 05:45pm
- Location: Reykjavík, Iceland (not really)
Particularly well written thereand the science labs were wonders of modern science in that they had managed never to kill a single student, despite numerous gas leaks and a 65% smoking rate among the student population.
"A cult is a religion with no political power." -Tom Wolfe
Pardon me for sounding like a dick, but I'm playing the tiniest violin in the world right now-Dalton
- Shroom Man 777
- FUCKING DICK-STABBER!
- Posts: 21222
- Joined: 2003-05-11 08:39am
- Location: Bleeding breasts and stabbing dicks since 2003
- Contact:
Okay, how did I miss this gem? Great work, I particular like that its mostly about me. (Kidding)
I hope we get to see more and I am so interested to see how others will appear in this tale.
I hope we get to see more and I am so interested to see how others will appear in this tale.
Wherever you go, there you are.
Ripped Shirt Monkey - BOTMWriter's Guild Cybertron's Finest Justice League
This updated sig brought to you by JME2
Ripped Shirt Monkey - BOTMWriter's Guild Cybertron's Finest Justice League
This updated sig brought to you by JME2
So is this like an intellectual version of SD doing "Boston Public?"
Excellent writing so far.
Excellent writing so far.
"On the infrequent occasions when I have been called upon in a formal place to play the bongo drums, the introducer never seems to find it necessary to mention that I also do theoretical physics." -Richard Feynman
- Pablo Sanchez
- Commissar
- Posts: 6998
- Joined: 2002-07-03 05:41pm
- Location: The Wasteland
- Durandal
- Bile-Driven Hate Machine
- Posts: 17927
- Joined: 2002-07-03 06:26pm
- Location: Silicon Valley, CA
- Contact:
Actually, it's not mostly about you. Thank you for your compliments, though.Stravo wrote:Okay, how did I miss this gem? Great work, I particular like that its mostly about me. (Kidding)
We are working on the pilot episode right now.I hope we get to see more and I am so interested to see how others will appear in this tale.
Sort of, yeah. It's kind of like Boston Public, That 70's Show and American Pie taking place with SD.Net characters. I think that most people will be pleasantly surprised at the cast of main characters we've assembled.Zaia wrote:So is this like an intellectual version of SD doing "Boston Public?"
Damien Sorresso
"Ever see what them computa bitchez do to numbas? It ain't natural. Numbas ain't supposed to be code, they supposed to quantify shit."
- The Onion
"Ever see what them computa bitchez do to numbas? It ain't natural. Numbas ain't supposed to be code, they supposed to quantify shit."
- The Onion
- Mitth`raw`nuruodo
- Harry Potter on Acid
- Posts: 2867
- Joined: 2003-03-23 07:38pm
This is good. I can't wait to see more.
<< SEGNOR: Grand Admiral of the Gnomish Hordes >< GALE: Equal Opportunity Lover >< SDNet Keeper of the Lore >< Great Dolphin Conspiracy >>
My Audioscrobbler
Cult of Vin Diesel - When you mix Vin Diesel with a strong acid you get salt water.
My Audioscrobbler
Cult of Vin Diesel - When you mix Vin Diesel with a strong acid you get salt water.
Oh oh "checks to make sure his copywrite is still intact".... ooh damn thats right I'll sold it off to Stravo way back when for the chance to read Starcrossed thirty seconds eariler than anyone elseSort of, yeah. It's kind of like Boston Public, That 70's Show and American Pie taking place with SD.Net characters. I think that most people will be pleasantly surprised at the cast of main characters we've assembled.
"A cult is a religion with no political power." -Tom Wolfe
Pardon me for sounding like a dick, but I'm playing the tiniest violin in the world right now-Dalton
- Illuminatus Primus
- All Seeing Eye
- Posts: 15774
- Joined: 2002-10-12 02:52pm
- Location: Gainesville, Florida, USA
- Contact:
Oooohh....I hope I'm in it.
You put yourself in it, Sorresso?
You put yourself in it, Sorresso?
"You know what the problem with Hollywood is. They make shit. Unbelievable. Unremarkable. Shit." - Gabriel Shear, Swordfish
"This statement, in its utterly clueless hubristic stupidity, cannot be improved upon. I merely quote it in admiration of its perfection." - Garibaldi in reply to an incredibly stupid post.
The Fifth Illuminatus Primus | Warsie | Skeptical Empiricist | Florida Gator | Sustainability Advocate | Libertarian Socialist |
"This statement, in its utterly clueless hubristic stupidity, cannot be improved upon. I merely quote it in admiration of its perfection." - Garibaldi in reply to an incredibly stupid post.
The Fifth Illuminatus Primus | Warsie | Skeptical Empiricist | Florida Gator | Sustainability Advocate | Libertarian Socialist |
- Durandal
- Bile-Driven Hate Machine
- Posts: 17927
- Joined: 2002-07-03 06:26pm
- Location: Silicon Valley, CA
- Contact:
No, I'm in there, as is RedImperator. A lot of board members are. We're not main characters. As I said, I think people will be surprised at who we've chosen for a main cast.Mr Bean wrote:Of course not that would comprise his artistic integirityYou put yourself in it, Sorresso?
Damien Sorresso
"Ever see what them computa bitchez do to numbas? It ain't natural. Numbas ain't supposed to be code, they supposed to quantify shit."
- The Onion
"Ever see what them computa bitchez do to numbas? It ain't natural. Numbas ain't supposed to be code, they supposed to quantify shit."
- The Onion
Dang there you go spoiling my irony, I was all set up to help you vigioursly denny that you would ever put yourself in your own work due to artistic reasons and repeat and that the charater Urandal had nothing at all to do with yourself
"A cult is a religion with no political power." -Tom Wolfe
Pardon me for sounding like a dick, but I'm playing the tiniest violin in the world right now-Dalton
- RedImperator
- Roosevelt Republican
- Posts: 16465
- Joined: 2002-07-11 07:59pm
- Location: Delaware
- Contact:
We promise to keep our Mary Sueism to an absolute minimum, by which we mean, however the hell much we want.
Any city gets what it admires, will pay for, and, ultimately, deserves…We want and deserve tin-can architecture in a tinhorn culture. And we will probably be judged not by the monuments we build but by those we have destroyed.--Ada Louise Huxtable, "Farewell to Penn Station", New York Times editorial, 30 October 1963
X-Ray Blues
X-Ray Blues
- Durandal
- Bile-Driven Hate Machine
- Posts: 17927
- Joined: 2002-07-03 06:26pm
- Location: Silicon Valley, CA
- Contact:
Our characters are none of the following.Mr Bean wrote:Dang there you go spoiling my irony, I was all set up to help you vigioursly denny that you would ever put yourself in your own work due to artistic reasons and repeat and that the charater Urandal had nothing at all to do with yourself
Most popular kids in school.
Straight-A students.
All star athletes.
Athletes at all.
We're designing the environment to be similar to how it is here. The heavyweights on the board are well-respected seniors or faculty. There is some license being taken in some areas, but the story doesn't center around us; it centers around 5 posters that we chose on the basis of their capacity to fill certain character types we wanted. None of those 5 were introduced in the teaser above. That was simply meant to give you a feel for things to come.
So feel free to guess who the leads are.
Damien Sorresso
"Ever see what them computa bitchez do to numbas? It ain't natural. Numbas ain't supposed to be code, they supposed to quantify shit."
- The Onion
"Ever see what them computa bitchez do to numbas? It ain't natural. Numbas ain't supposed to be code, they supposed to quantify shit."
- The Onion
- Gandalf
- SD.net White Wizard
- Posts: 16351
- Joined: 2002-09-16 11:13pm
- Location: A video store in Australia
This sounds pretty cool.
"Oh no, oh yeah, tell me how can it be so fair
That we dying younger hiding from the police man over there
Just for breathing in the air they wanna leave me in the chair
Electric shocking body rocking beat streeting me to death"
- A.B. Original, Report to the Mist
"I think it’s the duty of the comedian to find out where the line is drawn and cross it deliberately."
- George Carlin
That we dying younger hiding from the police man over there
Just for breathing in the air they wanna leave me in the chair
Electric shocking body rocking beat streeting me to death"
- A.B. Original, Report to the Mist
"I think it’s the duty of the comedian to find out where the line is drawn and cross it deliberately."
- George Carlin
- Mitth`raw`nuruodo
- Harry Potter on Acid
- Posts: 2867
- Joined: 2003-03-23 07:38pm
This sounds very cool.
(even cooler than it did last time I read and posted )
Being a high-schooler myself, I will certainly watch this.
(even cooler than it did last time I read and posted )
Being a high-schooler myself, I will certainly watch this.
<< SEGNOR: Grand Admiral of the Gnomish Hordes >< GALE: Equal Opportunity Lover >< SDNet Keeper of the Lore >< Great Dolphin Conspiracy >>
My Audioscrobbler
Cult of Vin Diesel - When you mix Vin Diesel with a strong acid you get salt water.
My Audioscrobbler
Cult of Vin Diesel - When you mix Vin Diesel with a strong acid you get salt water.