Four bad boys, Ayden, Hayden, Brayden, and Okayden, try to form a school club to learn how to fight their bad boy instincts, or succumb to cliches trying.
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When Ayden's six-pack ap...
And so, we come to the end of this tale of ours. Not with a bang, but with a tweet. This is gonna make sense after a few moments, but you will praise me for being witty and clever when you do.
See, here's the thing: I can't avoid my nature. None of us do. We can huddle together, sing kumbaya, and jerk off in the woods while tossing firecrackers at old man McGee's chickens, but the fact is, we are bad boys. For better or for worse. Mostly for worse.
But sometimes, just sometimes, being a bad boy can be used to our advantage. Do you wanna stan me? Fine. Do you wanna break into my house to smell my dirty underwear and add them to the altar you built of me in your closet? I can't stop you. Wanna make a raunchy Wattpad fanfiction of me and you set in the same universe as "My Immortal"? Don't ever show that shit to me, but otherwise, it's inevitable, I guess. That's part of the curse.
But it also comes with benefits. See, when a bad boy wants to do something, they achieve it. Be it being a rich CEO, an asshole tennis player, or a mildly-infuriating right-wing commentator. Except not being a bad boy, of course. That's like asking God to make a paperclip so heavy he can't lift it. Waste of metal, and also of a good paradox.
We are going to have a club. That's not up for debate. If we have to dip into our bad boy power to do so, then so be it. We walk in the dark so...uh...something about the light.
Look, let's get this over with. I'm as embarrassed as you are about this whole shtick.
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I highly overestimated Billiam's ability to actually make a decent article. It took Grammarly an hour to make head or tails of whatever the fuck he was saying, and another one of us trying to convince him that no, "moustache" doesn't have an "u, " and that Oxford commas are there for a reason, and that not using wasn't "an aesthetic" choice.
Neither is describing the student council as a, and I quote, "Neo-liberal den of capitalist cuck-servatives swines hell-bent of taking our freedom to chill." Not entirely inaccurate, but kinda muddles the point.
In the end, we only have about ten minutes to spare. Ten minutes to use our bad boy powers to make a miracle happen.
I would say it's gonna be easy, peasy, lemon squeezy, but I'm feeling stressy, depressy, lemon zesty. I hope Hayden and Brayden manage to pull through their end of the plan.
I grab the doorknob, and, to the surprise of nobody, I turn it to open.
Let the game begin.
9'59"
I step in with Hayden and Brayden to find three people sitting on the far side of the room. Two of them will be omitted 'cuz I don't have the time for monologues. The one in the middle is the most important one.
Lee Vazquez.
"Ah, if it isn't Mr. Gomez, Mr. Wilson, Mr. Messina-Park," says Lee without a shred of feeling or surprise. "I was wondering when you were going to show up. It is rude to keep a lady waiting."
