Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Season 1 - Episode 11 - Act IV

            “What if he’s dead?” asked Vani as he poked Willy with his foot.
            It was nearly noon and he still hadn’t woken up.  He seriously could be dead, except he was still snoring, so probably not.
            Karl opened the door and stepped outside, grabbing a handful of snow.  He came back in and threw the snow in Willy’s face.  “Wakey, wakey, Willy boy!”
            “What?” gurgled Willy, wiping the cold wetness off his face.
            “Time to become conscious!” said Karl.
            “As much as is possible for you,” smirked Vani.
            “Wass’ goin’ on?  Wha happened?”
            “You passed out last night, wacktard,” Jay explained.
            “Shut up.  Stop yelling!”
            “It’s time to get up!  We’re leaving!”
            “Augh.  Leave me alone.  I have a headache.”
            “Someone has a hangover,” smirked Jay.
            “That’s the price you pay for cool I guess.”
            “Yeah ‘cause this is super cool,” said Karl while rolling his eyes.
            “Well it is kinda cool,” smiled Vani.  “You know, to know someone who like passed out in the snow.”
            “Is that why I’m so cold?  And wet?” asked Willy, sitting up and finding his pants at his ankles and his boxers damp.
            “Hah!  You totally pissed yourself!” Vani shrieked with laughter.
            “No I didn’t!” Willy protested but he squeezed his boxers anyway and sniffed his hand.  “It’s just snow.  Did you guys throw snow on me?”
            “Willy, you went outside and passed out in the snow!  All we did was save your sorry life,” explained Karl with much more patience than Willy deserved.
            Willy looked skeptical and as he stood up, he grabbed his head in agony.  “Fuck, my head is killing me.  I didn’t even drink that much.  Did I?”
            “You had ten beers,” shrugged Karl.  “I dunno, is that a lot?  I mean for a guy your size?”
            None of them knew. 
            “How come you guys don’t have hangovers?” asked Willy.
            “’Cause I didn’t drink,” said Karl.
            “I didn’t drink that much,” said Jay.  “And actually I do kinda have a headache.”
            “And I’m immune!  It didn’t affect me at all!  It’s my superpower!” yelled Vani.
            “You’re not immune, wacktard.  You only had one beer. And you had four hotdogs so I’m sure they absorbed most of the alcohol,” reasoned Karl.
            “But I was totally drunk.”
            “No you weren’t.  You always act like that.”
            “Like what?” asked Willy.  “I don’t remember any of it.”
            Vani, Jay and Karl all looked at each other and grinned. 
            “What?” asked Willy.
            “Oh nothing,” said Vani cryptically.
            “You don’t wanna know,” snickered Jay.
            “We should prob’ly lord this over him for a while,” said Jay.
            “We can get a lot of mileage out of this one,” agreed Vani.
            “You guys are full of shit.  Nothing even happened I bet.  We played the game and then fell asleep.”
            “Shows how much you know,” smirked Karl.  “We barely even gamed.  We were too distracted by the tears frankly.”
            “YOU CRIED!”  They all sang in unison.
            “You cried!  You totally cried!”
            “Yeah right…”
            “You so cried!”
            “Like a baby!”
            “Like a wittle girl!”
            “It was hilarious!  You were crying for your mommy!”
            “You were like, I’m scared, I want my mommy!”
            “Mommy, mommy, where are you?”
            “I’m scared, mommy!”
            “I want my bottle!”
            “My dirt bottle!”
            Karl uploaded his pictures and they watched a slide show on his laptop.  Every stage of Willy’s drunkenness and subsequent crying jag was documented.  The best picture was the one of Willy passed out in the snow flanked by Vani and Jay who were giving thumbs up. 

            “So I was thinking about our skit tonight,” said Terry as he joined the gang at the chairlift.
            “Oh so now all of a sudden it’s our skit?” smirked Karine.  “I thought you were too cool to join in.”
            “Whatever.  Just listen.  I think we should be even more direct about it.”
            “It’s already pretty mean,” said Christina.
            “Yeah, how much more direct can you be without actually saying her name?” asked Steven.
            “Like any of us know her name,” smirked Erica.
            “Yeah but we should just make it more obvious.”

            “So you know our skit?” asked Cerise.
            The Green Girls nodded.
            “We should make it funnier.”
            “But it’s about the environment.  It’s not supposed to be funny.”
            “I just have a few lines I wanna add.”

            Shauna sat at the back of the lounge, trying hard to be invisible.  Everyone else sat with their groups and they all took turns doing sketches and comedy routines and dance acts.  She hoped to god no one would notice she hadn’t joined a group.  So far none of the teachers had ever acknowledged her presence so she was hopeful she could get away with her lack of participation.
            Cerise and those three ethnic chicks walked to the stage, which was just a clearing that had been made next to the fireplace.  They talked about recycling and environmental footprints and stuff.
            What a bitch.  Why was she even hanging out with those girls?  She was nothing like them.  They were all giggly and annoying and Cerise wasn’t like that at all.  Cerise could be quiet and just listen and be nice.  Her hair was so bright, glowing under the fluorescent lights. 
            “And that’s why we should all recycle!  Because it’s wasteful not to and also, if we don’t, all our garbage becomes toxic and pollutes the environment,” said Sarah Wong.
            “Yeah, like if for instance you use a porta-potty.  It’s probably best to like, flush rather than you know, stew in your own waste,” smiled the black chick.
            “Always keep porta-potties upright.  It’s the only ecologically safe way to use a porta-potty,” said the Indian chick.
            Cerise smiled sweetly as she spoke.  “Remember the three Rs you should always do: Reduce, Reuse, Recycle.  And the three Ps you should never do:  Pollute, Perpetuate ignorance or use a Porta-potty.”
            Everyone laughed as the girls took their seats.  Tons of kids chanted Porta-potty and held their noses as if something smelled.  Shauna wondered how best to reach the exit without being seen.
            Cerise’s stupid huge boyfriend and all his cuntnugget friends went up to do their skit.  Andrew Lester left the room for a second and came back in a cardboard box that was painted blue.  It had the words ‘PORTA-POTTY’ written on it in magic marker.  He stood motionless while Karine Cavalière walked by him.
            “Dum de dum,” she hummed and then bumped into the box.
            “Whoa there little girl,” smarmed Andrew.
            “Mr. Porta-potty man!  I love you!  I’ve been looking all over for you!”
            “No, little girl.  You shouldn’t love me.  That’s dangerous.”
            “That’s right folks,” said Cerise’s stupid boyfriend, stepping over to join Karine and Andrew.  “Porta-potties aren’t toys.”
            “Nor should they be mistaken for sexual partners.  ‘Cause that’s just gross,” smiled Erica Mackey and her stupid blonde hair with its stupid black roots.
            “In fact, you should probably avoid porta-potties altogether,” said Christina Penna.
            “You never know what kind of disease you might catch from one,” said Steven Reid.
            “Or what kind of freak you’ll meet in one,” smirked Blonde Cuntnugget.
            “Sorry Mr. Porta-potty man.  I can’t hang out with you anymore,” said Karine sadly.
            “That’s ok, little girl.  I don’t really like you anyway.”
            “Nobody likes me!” she whined.
            “That’s right,” nodded Andrew and all the others, speaking in unison.  “Nobody does.”
            The crowd erupted into laughter as the assholes bowed. 
            “Ok.  I guess there was a bit of a theme there at the end,” said Mr. Taffenberg in confusion.  He announced that they’d determine the winner by applause.  Everyone clapped politely for all the sketches but the applause got much louder for the environmental sketch and the sound was absolutely deafening for the Porta-potty safety sketch, as Mr. Taffenberg called it.  He gave the assholes a bag of candy as a prize, along with other random dollar store crap. 
            Shauna was glued to the wall.  Everyone was laughing and running around and every time someone passed by her they held their nose and talked about the stink.  She wanted to run away but seemed unable to move.  She couldn’t make her legs work.
            Cerise’s jerkhole boyfriend was sharing his candy with her and they were laughing and eating and kissing and being gross.  They hung out with all the other assholes and every so often they would burst into laughter.  How the hell had Cerise gotten so popular all of a sudden?  Why did everyone love her now?  Why did she hate Shauna so much?  There were rumours going around that Shauna had attacked Cerise with a knife.  She wished it was true.  Cerise would make a lovely corpse and if she was dead she couldn’t stop Shauna from joining her in her grave.  They could turn to worm food together. 

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