Morning Stories

"What's up?" I said to the morbid-looking Anthony C.

"[Moan]" was his reply.

Big deal. One more day and we get our break. You can't give me a facial expression which is even thinking about pointing upward?

I skipped ahead of the man in the Enter Shikari t-shirt and blue stilettos. I made my way to the school and found myself in the gymnasium soon after. There they were -- Vlad, Anthony M, and Mathias. My coffee. Jen's Red Bull. It blows that the most energetic of my peers are entirely against Nick Rapper. His blog, his (nonexistent) freestyle rapping skills, and his salt and pepper beard are targets of ridicule in their presence.

"Nick, rap-battle Mathias," Anthony said with his trademark smile locked in position.

I began a beat. Then I started my rhyme spree, knowing this would fully wake me. "Yo Mathias, you can't touch me, you're ugly, but yo mom is lovely. You can't come near me, ya fear me, you're movements are queery." By that last, terribly-constructed insult, Mathias was chasing me and I was running in mock-fear. I always guffaw when he gets offended, because everything I throw at him is painfully sub-par.

It was time to jog. Within seconds we were in the park. The acorn fights were officially underway -- in spirit at least. Wait for it . . . okay, in action too. The first hit belonged to Vlad -- he nailed me on the left shoulder. Mathias threw three in succession at my head, hitting me once on the left eyelid.

Five laps in the bag, and I was waiting for my de facto posse to finish so I could whip out a line to Mathias. Seven years later they completed their, I don't know, mission. I forgot the line by then. I remember it now, vaguely, so, "something something acorn, something else gay porn." Worth it? Text me your thoughts.

Not entirely sure where I'm going with this. Fine, Jen, I'll let you take over. "Thanks, Nick." Without further ado, here's some of Jen's amateur poetry:

I am not in love, spirits

I am in passion

I am in disbelief

apprehension, confusion

tension, illusion

Like a movie without a conclusion

Like underage prostitution

I stood there, exhausted

Never again will I let her creepy literature enter my blog. This is a family friendly establishment, Miss Filth. You're not too talented either. Take a look at Dave's latest poem:

This girl Jen is pretty cool

Goes to my shitty school

Is it love? I think so

I'll buy her a pink bow

Shit, I'll have to explain to Dave that I abducted his diary "for purely linguistic pursuits." Erm, I still sense a beating tomorrow. Take care, friends. Looks like fascistic villain Chris Christie is the governor of New Jersey. Be aware. I hear this dude is anti-rape! Goodbye.