Flounder
Predator Press
[LOBO]
The problem with being such an attractive and desirable catch to the opposite sex is that chicks can, upon occasion, be overly aggressive. And the stocky ones wearing combat boots and flannel can be deceptively fast runners too!
Worse, the ingenious six-foot tall disguise that President Bush’s gardener provided me proved highly impractical when fleeing in terror of losing my obviously-endangered chastity; while running as hard and fast as I could, every time I turn, I see nothing but bared teeth framed by a spiky bamboo-addled mullet, pressed tight against scalp by virtue of sheer aerodynamic force.
She’s gaining on me.
Panting, sweating and trailing broken bamboo shoots and leaves, I slam the door to Ethan’s office, and press my back against it.
Sitting in front of Ethan’s desk were both Mr Insanity and Sapphire. And while fresh and rested-looking from their long Winter Break, they looked a little pissed about something.
“Hi guys!” I says excitedly, still out of breath.
Everybody just stares at me.
“Is there a problem?” I ask innocently.
Someone starts banging on the door behind me.
“I was just about to ask you the same thing,” says Mr Insanity.
Even as I press backward, I can feel the door starting to give. “No,” I says. “There’s no problem. What makes you think there’s a problem?”
“Well,” says Ethan smiling. “I was just telling Seth and Sapphire how you were filling in for them over the past few months.”
Desperately holding the door back, I manage a grin over a muffled cursing and a thunderous crash, followed by the sound of cracking oak. “Really, there’s no need to thank me right now.”
“Thank you?” says Mr. Insanity. “You told everyone I was dead!”
“Maybe,” I says. My planted feet are starting to slide over the carpet as the splintering door inches forward.
“Oh that’s nothing,” laughs Ethan. “Wait’ll you here about what he wrote about Sapphire.”
[LOBO]
The problem with being such an attractive and desirable catch to the opposite sex is that chicks can, upon occasion, be overly aggressive. And the stocky ones wearing combat boots and flannel can be deceptively fast runners too!
Worse, the ingenious six-foot tall disguise that President Bush’s gardener provided me proved highly impractical when fleeing in terror of losing my obviously-endangered chastity; while running as hard and fast as I could, every time I turn, I see nothing but bared teeth framed by a spiky bamboo-addled mullet, pressed tight against scalp by virtue of sheer aerodynamic force.
She’s gaining on me.
Panting, sweating and trailing broken bamboo shoots and leaves, I slam the door to Ethan’s office, and press my back against it.
Sitting in front of Ethan’s desk were both Mr Insanity and Sapphire. And while fresh and rested-looking from their long Winter Break, they looked a little pissed about something.
“Hi guys!” I says excitedly, still out of breath.
Everybody just stares at me.
“Is there a problem?” I ask innocently.
Someone starts banging on the door behind me.
“I was just about to ask you the same thing,” says Mr Insanity.
Even as I press backward, I can feel the door starting to give. “No,” I says. “There’s no problem. What makes you think there’s a problem?”
“Well,” says Ethan smiling. “I was just telling Seth and Sapphire how you were filling in for them over the past few months.”
Desperately holding the door back, I manage a grin over a muffled cursing and a thunderous crash, followed by the sound of cracking oak. “Really, there’s no need to thank me right now.”
“Thank you?” says Mr. Insanity. “You told everyone I was dead!”
“Maybe,” I says. My planted feet are starting to slide over the carpet as the splintering door inches forward.
“Oh that’s nothing,” laughs Ethan. “Wait’ll you here about what he wrote about Sapphire.”
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