This Is Not About Vampires
I Hate Pedophiles Who Don't Know It's Saturday, Farting Secretaries, and Gullible Breakfast Eaters
It was Saturday, time to operate operation ‘save Ballah operationally’. I squatted outside of the school behind a cluster of bushes. There was a pedophile there before me, but I informed him it was Saturday and that there was no school. What a shitty pedophile. He looked so upset I informed him that the freshman baseball team practices on the field down the street. He was overjoyed and ran down the road with his camera (complete with extreme zoom lens) at the ready. I failed to inform him that they only practice on that field on Mondays and Thursdays. Oh well.
As I sat behind the bush, I scoped out the building I was about to infiltrate. After about three seconds, I decided I had enough information about the school I had been attending for 78 years. Every couple of years I take a break and just hang around at home, then I go back to school and all the teachers just assume I’m a younger sibling of myself. Well, now they think I’m my own grandchild, but whatever, their stupidity allows me to continue going to school like a normal kid.
I then focused my attention on where the optimum entrance point might be. I decided it would be the front door. It would have been more exciting to go through the window on the roof, but normal people tend to not use grappling hooks.
I walked into the school anticlimactically.
“Excuse me?” A secretary asked, poking her head out of the door of the main office.
“You’re excused,” I said kindly, “but next time do that in the bathroom.”
“No…” she tried to explain, blushing, “I was trying to politely get your attention.”
“Well farting isn’t polite, but you certainly have got my attention.”
“No- never mind,” the defeated woman grumbled, “What are you doing here?”
The gears in my head quickly turned.
“I’m the pizza delivery boy.”
“Then where is your pizza?”
Damn her sharp cognitive abilities.
I put on my mysterious face and whispered, “A good pizza boy never reveals the location of the pizza to anyone but the customer!” I then ran down the hallway leaving the persistent farting woman to wallow in her own confusion and cloud of funk.
I traveled the empty halls searching for any sign of Ballah. It would have been helpful if she told me the room number, but she thought it would be more fun if it was a challenge. She also wanted me to dress up like James Bond, but I didn’t own a tie.
It was then when I got my first clue of Ballah’s whereabouts. A paperweight in the shape of a buttery slice of toast came crashing through the window of one of the classroom doors. I then heard Ballah’s distinct voice.
“I don’t eat fucking breakfast and I don’t need to! I have five nicely proportioned snacks throughout the day!
After this clue I felt fairly certain I was sure of her whereabouts.
I threw open the door to see Ballah face to face with Mrs. Graminsky, who was wearing a smiley face shirt. There were two things wrong with the shirt. One, it was smiling, and two, all of its features were made out of breakfast foods.
“Quickly!” I screamed, acting out Ballah’s plan, “We have to get out of here!”
“Why?” Mrs Graminsky asked, her real face of worry contrasting with her joyful shirt-face.
“The curse!” I overacted, flailing my limbs above my head to display the severity of this ‘curse.’
“No! Not the curse!” Ballah said mysteriously.
“What curse?!” Mrs. Graminsky said, now almost hysterical.
“The curse of non breakfast eaters!” Ballah and I said together.
“I knew it!” Mrs. Graminsky shrieked.
The rest of the kids in detention were sitting and watching the scene play out with glazed-over expressions on their faces.
“Because so many kids don’t eat breakfast, the school has been cursed!” I explained frantically.
“It’s so horribly TENACIOUS!” Ballah screamed, clearly uttering the codeword.
Wolf Boy dropped from the ceiling wearing a white sheet. Even though we told him to act like a ghost, he swung around in the air growling.
“The breakfast banshee!” Mrs. Graminsky screeched, tearing chunks of her hair out of her skull, “It is upon us!”
“It’s not too late!” I reassured her, “Quickly, you must go to Dunkin Donuts, purchase a poppy seed bagel, tie it around your neck and then go to the church and rock back and forth in a fetal position!”
“Yes! Of course!” Mrs. Graminsky sprinted out of the room.
“That went perfectly!” Ballah chimed as I untied Wolf Boy from the ceiling.
“It’s easy to fool the foolish,” I pointed out.
“I’m getting a bagel,” Wolf Boy exclaimed before running out the door, still dressed as a giggly, snarling, breakfast banshee.
As I sat behind the bush, I scoped out the building I was about to infiltrate. After about three seconds, I decided I had enough information about the school I had been attending for 78 years. Every couple of years I take a break and just hang around at home, then I go back to school and all the teachers just assume I’m a younger sibling of myself. Well, now they think I’m my own grandchild, but whatever, their stupidity allows me to continue going to school like a normal kid.
I then focused my attention on where the optimum entrance point might be. I decided it would be the front door. It would have been more exciting to go through the window on the roof, but normal people tend to not use grappling hooks.
I walked into the school anticlimactically.
“Excuse me?” A secretary asked, poking her head out of the door of the main office.
“You’re excused,” I said kindly, “but next time do that in the bathroom.”
“No…” she tried to explain, blushing, “I was trying to politely get your attention.”
“Well farting isn’t polite, but you certainly have got my attention.”
“No- never mind,” the defeated woman grumbled, “What are you doing here?”
The gears in my head quickly turned.
“I’m the pizza delivery boy.”
“Then where is your pizza?”
Damn her sharp cognitive abilities.
I put on my mysterious face and whispered, “A good pizza boy never reveals the location of the pizza to anyone but the customer!” I then ran down the hallway leaving the persistent farting woman to wallow in her own confusion and cloud of funk.
I traveled the empty halls searching for any sign of Ballah. It would have been helpful if she told me the room number, but she thought it would be more fun if it was a challenge. She also wanted me to dress up like James Bond, but I didn’t own a tie.
It was then when I got my first clue of Ballah’s whereabouts. A paperweight in the shape of a buttery slice of toast came crashing through the window of one of the classroom doors. I then heard Ballah’s distinct voice.
“I don’t eat fucking breakfast and I don’t need to! I have five nicely proportioned snacks throughout the day!
After this clue I felt fairly certain I was sure of her whereabouts.
I threw open the door to see Ballah face to face with Mrs. Graminsky, who was wearing a smiley face shirt. There were two things wrong with the shirt. One, it was smiling, and two, all of its features were made out of breakfast foods.
“Quickly!” I screamed, acting out Ballah’s plan, “We have to get out of here!”
“Why?” Mrs Graminsky asked, her real face of worry contrasting with her joyful shirt-face.
“The curse!” I overacted, flailing my limbs above my head to display the severity of this ‘curse.’
“No! Not the curse!” Ballah said mysteriously.
“What curse?!” Mrs. Graminsky said, now almost hysterical.
“The curse of non breakfast eaters!” Ballah and I said together.
“I knew it!” Mrs. Graminsky shrieked.
The rest of the kids in detention were sitting and watching the scene play out with glazed-over expressions on their faces.
“Because so many kids don’t eat breakfast, the school has been cursed!” I explained frantically.
“It’s so horribly TENACIOUS!” Ballah screamed, clearly uttering the codeword.
Wolf Boy dropped from the ceiling wearing a white sheet. Even though we told him to act like a ghost, he swung around in the air growling.
“The breakfast banshee!” Mrs. Graminsky screeched, tearing chunks of her hair out of her skull, “It is upon us!”
“It’s not too late!” I reassured her, “Quickly, you must go to Dunkin Donuts, purchase a poppy seed bagel, tie it around your neck and then go to the church and rock back and forth in a fetal position!”
“Yes! Of course!” Mrs. Graminsky sprinted out of the room.
“That went perfectly!” Ballah chimed as I untied Wolf Boy from the ceiling.
“It’s easy to fool the foolish,” I pointed out.
“I’m getting a bagel,” Wolf Boy exclaimed before running out the door, still dressed as a giggly, snarling, breakfast banshee.