"It's completely normal, dude," Logan said for the zillionth time. "Like, shit, dude. You have my permission to be a total fucking nerd and go to a community college." The tanned skinned senior stopped walking, spreading his scrawny arm to hit my chest. "Sorry, genius. How the heck did I mess those two words up?"
Captain whacked Logan, as a signal to remind him there was a bunch of angry sophomores behind us. He told them to get over themselves --most likely because class wasn't a good fifteen minutes away.
It was Senior Ditch Day, but people like the trio (as we call ourselves) stayed behind to plan the Senior Prank. Captain for her kickass level, me for my smarts, and Logan for...actually, we forced him to come. Of course, we spared ourselves from waking up at 6 a.m., and arrived around 10. We shit-headed seniors (as the fish and "softies" called us) were supposed to stay out or remain in the library.
But we shit-headed seniors kept our fucks for the bed.
We all obnoxiously said hello to the old teachers -- then the principal -- all finishing by flashing our hand dicks to the youth.
Ah, hand dicks.
For all those who have stuck to your sober self, you are completely missing out on the beautiful, inevitable truth that, yes, drunk people say the stupidest fucking things. But, of course, they are the best fucking things.
Post-prom, we shit heads went to a huge party at Bea's house (no, I have no idea who this chick is) and, obviously, Captain couldn't get drunk. Literally. She had like a thousand drinks, but her body couldn't do it. Obviously, drunken Logan laughed at her.
Captain, who's real name shouldn't be said as I am not suicidal, flipped him off, and flipped off her sober side, which is to say her head.
"Nice hand dick!" Logan screamed at her, his voice drowning into laughter. Me, being the D.D., could only face palm. Of course, we laugh about it now, especially on hangover days.
"My hand dick is, like, double the size of your actual dick," Captain informed Logan.
So, yes, hand dicks.
Presently, I sit down in the library, my arm hanging over the chair, legs crossed. Captain's feet are on the table as she glares down the rest of us. That only relaxes me.
"Alright, fellow shitheads," she says, her green eyes settling on each of us. "Anyone know a professional stripper?"
____________________________________
A/N:
I wanted to write a story so here it is! Many of the jokes that arrive on here happened to me, personally. Enjoy and share it with a friend.
- Katie & Tyler
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