Does it like like I care? Dammit. It does.
Tiffany and the Clones (Introduction)
If I have to listen to one more second of Tiffany Viktors high-pitched gossip I might jump out of this three story window.
She sat behind me, her blonde hair pulled back into a perfect ponytail that swayed wildly back and forth with every mention of Beck Wylsh. She had nice jugs, not going to lie, but when your ears are bleeding it's kind of hard to appreciate that one good trait about her.
"He so totally checked me out yesterday. I mean I saw him looking at me and I know he got lost in my eyes the minute he looked at me." The girls around her swooned in jealousy; at the same time which was kind of creepy.
I scoffed. I highly doubt it was her eyes he was appreciating.
Suddenly the swoons stopped, and I felt that feeling you get in horrors movies when the killers about to hack you. "Do you," Tiffany (the killer) said, "have something to say?"
I shrugged. "Not at all, your Royal Highness." I didn't turn around, because I couldn't stand the sound of her voice in general, so I definitely don't want it directed at me. Worse than Chinese water torture, people.
She kissed her teeth. "That's what I thought, Fuck-up." Her entourage giggled wildly, a satisfying smirk on her lips as she returned to lead them once again.
Alright, Princess. Let's dance. "Fuck-up? Oh, now that's original. Haven't heard that one before! You should really submit your material to a comedian or SOMETHING. It's absolutely brilliant. Almost as brilliant as you thinking for a second that Beck Wylsh would ever be interested in you. Guess what Ms. lost in my eyes, he's gay. He tried to blow me last summer. Now the sad thing is, you're swooning over a guy who was probably checking out that whorish mascara. Next time you call someone a fuck-up, make sure you're actually looked at as a success first." The bell rang then, and I thank whoever is out there watching for great timing. I stood up, pushing past the Queen and her lackeys with their jaws to the floor.
"Asshole," she breathed, venom in her words.
I smirked. "You know it, Princess." Michal: 1, World: 0.
She sat behind me, her blonde hair pulled back into a perfect ponytail that swayed wildly back and forth with every mention of Beck Wylsh. She had nice jugs, not going to lie, but when your ears are bleeding it's kind of hard to appreciate that one good trait about her.
"He so totally checked me out yesterday. I mean I saw him looking at me and I know he got lost in my eyes the minute he looked at me." The girls around her swooned in jealousy; at the same time which was kind of creepy.
I scoffed. I highly doubt it was her eyes he was appreciating.
Suddenly the swoons stopped, and I felt that feeling you get in horrors movies when the killers about to hack you. "Do you," Tiffany (the killer) said, "have something to say?"
I shrugged. "Not at all, your Royal Highness." I didn't turn around, because I couldn't stand the sound of her voice in general, so I definitely don't want it directed at me. Worse than Chinese water torture, people.
She kissed her teeth. "That's what I thought, Fuck-up." Her entourage giggled wildly, a satisfying smirk on her lips as she returned to lead them once again.
Alright, Princess. Let's dance. "Fuck-up? Oh, now that's original. Haven't heard that one before! You should really submit your material to a comedian or SOMETHING. It's absolutely brilliant. Almost as brilliant as you thinking for a second that Beck Wylsh would ever be interested in you. Guess what Ms. lost in my eyes, he's gay. He tried to blow me last summer. Now the sad thing is, you're swooning over a guy who was probably checking out that whorish mascara. Next time you call someone a fuck-up, make sure you're actually looked at as a success first." The bell rang then, and I thank whoever is out there watching for great timing. I stood up, pushing past the Queen and her lackeys with their jaws to the floor.
"Asshole," she breathed, venom in her words.
I smirked. "You know it, Princess." Michal: 1, World: 0.