The Bad Boys' Soft Boys' Lonely Hearts Club - The Full Package

The Fever Dream

Okay, I made a calculated risk knowing full well I'm shit at math. It happens. I already know what went shit last time. Let's get over it. It's a new day, a new plan, new vibes, new me. Let's get this bread.

You see, my mistake was to try and leave the bad boy to his own devices, when we know that a bad boy is the most bad boy when he can bounce off someone, be it a TAB/G, other bad boys, or literally any other breathing thing in existence. I once knew a bad boy had a crow that stole shit for him. He was dope as fuck. Just tailing him and waiting for him to stumble into a cliche plot that we can use to get him expelled is gonna go nowhere.

Well, it led us to a slow-speed chase, a full day of community service, and a ticket in Hayden's otherwise perfect record. But still, nothing we can use. Maybe the community service part.

We can always push ourselves into his life and drag him towards plot, but that's like cutting the nose to spite the face. I ain't down to clowning with this bozo and getting myself tangled into a plot when I spent a whole season trying to avoid plots. As such, we return to the sweet embrace of "The Art of War" to try and bake this shit-biscuit without getting crap all over us.

And by the sweet awkward mustache of Teenage Jesus, Sun Tzu comes to the rescue once again.

One of his principal tenets - aside from the one that tells you that lying fucking rules - is that "the supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.
Supreme excellence consists of breaking the enemy's resistance without fighting."

In Christian terms: give a monkey a baseball bat, and it will eventually bonk itself in the face. It will also be hilarious. Yes, some people might die, but that's a sacrifice I'm willing to take. Just introduce an element to Aiden's life and it will just sort itself out. We just have to be there with a camera and record everything. It's the perfect plan. Nothing can go wrong. I'll bet on it.

"yo, have you been here all weekend?" asks the looming specter of Brayden, nursing a Gatorade, shiny black sweatpants, and an oversized sweater reading "Snacc Sized."

"Duh," I say. As if the 18 cans of Redbull half-filled with pee and discarded boxes of Wendy's nuggets weren't an obvious indication of that. I know that I said that you shouldn't eat Wendy's nuggets, and you shouldn't! I can only carry this burden of knowledge and dip my toes into the well of sin.

Honestly, camping behind the bush in front of the R.V park isn't so bad. I have new raccoon friends, Otto and Olivia, that only mildly bite my ankles when I fall asleep. If anything, I'm grateful for them. Can you imagine if something bad boy happens while I'm asleep and I miss it? Good thing I have a camera all pointed towards his trailer and enough memory to film until the end of times.

"don't sass me so early in the morning," says Brayden, massaging his temples. "just tell me why you didn't move all weekend so we can just roll past this exposition. daddy needs his beauty sleep."

"You're already beautiful, boss!" says Jungkook, standing behind him as fresh as lettuce with his perfect sour skin. "I mean, bro."

"You're a god-damned Adonis, chief!" adds Harry, taking a bean bag out of his SUV and plopping it down next to my makeshift throne of empty Redbull boxes. A throne fit for a king.

Brayden melts over it, all the while groaning like a dad with two mortgages. "not so loud, dammit. i had too much... icecream at last night's rave. because i'm underage and can't drink, right, wattpad? wink wink."

I ignored him, but then I remember that he asked me an exposition question, one I don't wanna answer, because that would be plot.

"You brought the masks?" I ask.