I didn’t hear from the main office for quite a while. It was almost as if I was deliberately being ignored, passed over by the scanning, piercing gaze of authority. This had quite the positive effect on me.
Instead of spending the days pining away as I usually do, the destroyed campus gave me quite an electric atmosphere to bask in. Walking amidst uprooted trees and torn hills, I slowly replenished myself. My pace quickened, ever more and more, until I found myself running flat out, flying over hills and slipping across turns. As I neared the “Table”, I heard bass pounding, thudding through the damp air. A BMW 535i was parked next to it, doors open and speakers booming. Inside, a rather tubby, pale white teen with stereotypical asian eyes was sitting in the driver’s seat, pretending to drive, while a very, VERY fobby teen performed an odd dance in the passenger seat. I was practically FLYING now, so I leaped, aiming to jump over the car. Instead, I pierced through the windshield, landing in the backseat. The two individuals recoiled, screaming and shielding their faces from bits of glass. I regained my composure, and turned off the stereo. The tubby guy in the driver’s seat started screaming at me in a high-pitched voice and a badly executed gangster accent.
“MUH-F*CK, WHAT Y’ALL THINK YA DOIN’ TA MAH BEEMER?” he screamed.
“YAHH, WHAT YOU DOING TO MY BEE-EM-DUBBOWYU?!” the FOB screamed in perfect harmony. Like Michael MacDonald, almost.
I raised both my hands, gesturing for them to calm down. “Pop open the trunk”, I said.
“WHAT? WHY, MUH-F*CK?!” The senseless screaming continued for quite a while.
“Trust me on this, I’m going to fix ‘your’ car”. I replied. The tubby one obliged unwillingly, and I stepped out of the back door, making my way to the trunk. Inside, I lifted the boot cover and pulled out a hydraulic jack. I carried it to the side of the car, and began jacking it up.
“WHATDYA THINK YER DOIN’?!” The tubby one screamed. Again. “FIXING YOUR CAR” I screamed back. “Stay in the car, or else the balance will be messed up!”
The car was parked sideways on a hill, and I was jacking the car up from the side that was higher up on the slope. Within a minute, the car was perched precariously on two wheels. I gave it a good, solid kick, and it tumbled down the hill, kicking up tufts of grass. I then reached under the “Table” and pulled out the .45 that I kept under there for security reasons. Without aiming, I shot at the car, piercing the underbody and into the gas tank, causing the car to explode, jumping 10, 20 feet up into the air. I tossed the gun into the burning wreckage, and strutted away.
- – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - -
“Wait, wait. No. I’m pretty sure that didn’t happen” Lennon said testily.
“H-hold on” I told him, reaching for the light switch. A small lamp flickered on overhead, casting its glow on three bearded men standing amongst various articles of clothing. All three of them are looking dead ahead, at the closet door.
“So you’ve GOT to remember, this was seven years ago, so you can’t blame me if memory falls short.” I said.
“Yeah, well you certainly didn’t blow up some damned Bimmer” said the third man, donned in a fisherman’s hat.
“Right, so what if I didn’t?” I retorted. “The details aren’t important!”
“So what really happened?”, Lennon asked.
I gave a small *ahem*
“Well…..”
- – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - -
So, truthfully, I didn’t blow up any cars. I did, however, make some new enemies. You see, I really WAS making my way along towards the Table, when a BMW 535i screeched along a service road, and stopped next to me.
“Yo faggot, what do you think yo’ doin’ on our turf?” a pale, tubby kid asked me in a poor gangster accent. “YEAH, FAGGOT!”, chimed in a FOB from the passenger seat.
“I’ve got a question for you.” I said, bending down to look at the tubby kid face-to-face. “Do you think you can drive? Do you think you REALLY know a car?”
“Yeah, faggot, I do!” the tubby one screamed, his voice breaking.
“Move aside.” I commanded, pulling him out of the driver’s seat and throwing him in the back. I leaped into the driver’s seat, and my left foot stomped down, only to find that there was no clutch pedal. This tubby fellow drove an automatic transmission….
Making do with what I had, I decided to race across the school’s campus, taking a few shortcuts over hills and between buildings. The run-flat tires squealed in opposition, as I kicked the rear out while pulling into the main two-lane service road.
“Why you driving all wierd-like, faggot?” the Tubby one asked. “YEAH, FAGGOT!”, the FOB chimed.
“I’M HITTING THE APEX, YOU FOOL!” I screamed, taking the Bimmer around an uncomfortably tight corner.
“APEX? HA, this faggot!” the tubby one screamed. ”You hear that, Calvin? This faggot’s hitting the ‘APEX’!”
I rammed my way up a hill, and launched into the air, and my passengers started screaming. Their screams were cut short, though, when the car jolted back onto earth and knocked the wind out of them. A flick of my wrist transmitted through the chassis, executing a Scandinavian Flick, causing both of them to fly against the side of the car. The car slid along the wet grass, kicking up a trail of uprooted grass behind it.
Having thoroughly frightened them, I made my way back towards the table, screeching to a stop next to the drink machines.
“Thanks for the ride, faggots.” I said to them, closing the door with a hefty kick.
The tubby one, trying to regain his composition, opened the back door and tumbled out onto the tarmac, screaming :”YOU JUST MESSED WITH THE WRONG B.A.M.F.S, MOFO! YOU MESSED WITH LOS MASCULINOS, AND WE GONNA KILL YOU. YOU WAIT, WE GONNA KILL YOU!”
“YEAH! KILL YOU!” the fobby one echoed, half-leaning out of a window.
“Los Masculinos” again. &@#$.
AngerBRAWG
originalblogger
solitaryjohn
