A TALE OF SIX CRAZIES (I wrote this for my friends last year and I fully intend to write a new and improved one this year and include my fabulous new friends in it NATURALLY!)
Once upon a time in a land far, far, far, far away called Schwitzer Hall there lived six clinically insane young women. Gaga Clareth Cakes, a vociferous, intractable, frizzy-haired hot mess of a cunt was one of the six. Her five friends were: Brewski Eeyore, an abnormally pocket-sized runt who was addicted to Facebook quizzes and had an online shopping addiction and stayed up with her roommate Sab to ungodly hours of the night planning their weddings and shopping for non-hookerish, non-tacky wedding dresses. Then there was La Pop, who pretended she never farmed and is a ballet dancer on the outside, yet a bonkers maniac on the inside. Then there was Ave-Dawg who adored giving motivational speeches and purchasing arbitrary items with her 96.7835 credit cards in her spare time. Then there was Sabby Rina, who enjoyed chuckling at arbitrary times about things that were unbeknownst to others as well as devouring carbs faster than Clareth devoured Gaga’s “Fame Monster” tracks. And then there was Grapes the Emilio Lover who enjoyed throwing around phrases such as “What the heck?” and Skyped and texted like there was no tomorrow.
Now on this particular day, these six young gals decided to wreak havoc in 3NW as usual. Clareth and Grapes noisily waddled up the stairs. Clareth was shouting something about being underneath Christmas trees while simultaneously belting out Pig Latin-esque sounding babble. It was something along the lines of “rah rah ah ah ah ah ga ga ooh la la la.”
“CLARE!” La Pop screeched like a weasel with throat cancer. “Is that you?” “WHAAAAAAT?! How did you KNOW?!” Clareth boomed.
“Lucky guess,” Pop burbled, melodramatically shrugging her shoulders.
Then, Pop, Grapes, and Clareth toddled into Brew and Sab’s room in search of mountains of food and groovy, eye-popping entertainment. Brew was bouncing around like a spastic Furby to “He’s Could Be the One” with her hair in a mammoth-sized crumpled fuzzy furball. Naturally, and per usual, her feet were just barely dangling off the bed and she was frantically shoving caramel rice cakes in her mouth, her bloodshot eyes bulging out of her eye sockets like a rabid raccoon. And Sab, naturally and per usual was cackling wildly like a hyena to “The Mentalist” and “Bones” fan fiction stories.
“Sabby what are laughing at?” La squeaked.
“Oh my God you guys I learned the best move in karate today! It’s called the chainsaw hatchet bloodsucking rabid animal blender yippee skippee rabbit hop kick swipe punch shank!” Ave rumbled, skipping around the room like an ancient fossil of a grandmother on LSD mixed with meth. “First thing you gotta do in order to execute this move is to acquire a stick of dynamite and some razorblades and a police baton...and other hazerdous materials...”
“Dude, test that out on Brewski right this instant before I cut you up into a billion pieces and put you in my smoothie and suck you down for breakfast,” Grapes warned menacingly, cracking her knuckles.
“Hey guys guess what?” Clareth queried, her eyes widening excitedly.
“What?!” everyone shot back, on the edge of their seats.
“Wait hold on. Hold that thought,” Clareth slurred. “I gotsta get me some comida.” Then she proceeded to take the liberty of slithering under Brew’s bed like a serpent to drain Brew dry of food. After sixteen boxes of black pepperjack Doritos and various other munchies, she was ready to tell her invigorating tale.
“I don’t remember what I was gonna say. But I had another dream about Gaga last night. She felt me up in the hot tub at the sauna of the HRC then I was dying of heat so she drove me to the hospital after snorting a row and then in the waiting room sprayed whipped cream on me and poured Kool Aid in my mouth, put a straw in there and drank it all up. Then we rented a Jeep and drove through the ocean to Fiji and partied with some baboons and then we went to a nude beach and then went out to eat at a real classy place sporting only firebras and hot pink skirts.”
Sab began to cackle like a madwoman.
“I know I’m hysterical,” Clareth cooed, fluffing her tangly mess of a bird’s nest that posed as locks of hair.
“No it’s not you you dolt, Sab’s reading a fan fiction story,” Pop snapped, deadpan.
“Yeah bitch,” Grapes snorted.
“Who wants to fight me?” Ave burbled euphorically. “I wanna test out my new moves and kick one of your asses from here to China!”
“Fight Christy!” Pop said, nuzzling Grapes yet again and simultaneously punching her repeatedly in the mouth until she was gushing blood...again.
“Wait you apeshit lionesses I’m sickeningly busy at the moment listening to some old crappy Dixie Chicks song for the umpteenth time. Don’t you dare rush me!” Brew snarled, waving a finger menacingly at them all.
“Are you high?” Sab queried.
“WHAT?! YOU HAVE AN STD?!” Clareth wondered aloud.
“Clareth, Jesus don’t strain your voice. You’re on your period now, you know,” Pop snapped.
“Yeah bitch, you gotsta take it easy, you catch what I’m throwing?” Grapes asked, with her finger up her nose.
“Careful, you can get an STD if you keep that up,” Brew and Sab observed.
“What is going on? All I want in life is to kick people’s asses around and to take over Germany with a shitload of hot men with superbly chisled abs!” Ave purred and whined.
“Okay, let’s do this shizznat,” Brew boomed, her face growing increasingly crimson, resembling more and more like a tomato submerged in a sea of blood.
“You all suck. I want some purple drank, some sizzurp, and Gaga to assist me in digging up MJ’s grave,” Clareth petulantly whined, while running her hand through her hair.
“Did you just say that out loud?” Pop boomed.
“You did not just go there,” Grapes snorted, her finger still up her nose.
“Hey guess what you guys?” Clareth howled, waving her arms around frantically like a monkey on crack cocaine.
“What now you obnoxious bane of my existence?” Sab muttered under her breath, scrolling down through yet another fan fiction story.
“Well so yesterday I was searching high and low for my eyeliner right? And my room is a hotass mess quite like myself so it was a bit of a challenge to say the least so I was in way over my head. So I didn’t want to go to teaching class looking like a corpse. I mean, I was already in sweats and I had to make a presentation so I didn’t want to look subhuman or whatever but pretty soon since I was late as hell, I had to just stick with mascara...”
“Shut up. I detest you,” Pop said, deleting all of Clareth’s texts from her phone.
“Yeah cuntface I’m trying to squeeze Ave to a bloody pulp you asswipe,” Brew snarled, her ghost-colored face turning beet red again.
“Chill, Scarlet Casper. So then I go about my day right? I go to class, babble a lot, sit with my feet up on the table in teaching class, then cry in the computer lab and cry harder when my phone dies wishing I had some white wine and a Sun Chip and a marshmellow or two and then I get back to my room at like 9ish right and I need to change my tampon so I fiddle around down there like I’m fingering myself and then OMFG there’s my eyeliner just chillin’ in my panties! I was elated I found it so I just tossed it in my makeup bag and go about my merry way.”
“Okay, Ave let’s fight, bitchy woman. I needa get back to Social Interviewing,” Brew snarls, hopping up and down like a boozing bunny on a pogo stick.
“If Pop would stop spreading her legs at me then I could fight you, you piece of crud,” Ave bellowed.
Pop just cackled insanely and started humping Grapes’s leg again until Grapes ran out of the room to Skype Emilio until 4:30 in the morning.
“Stop thrusting, Lorenzo,” Sab said matter of factly, tossing a hairy M&M at La-Dee-Da. “Or at the very least, stop itching our coochie. If it’s so prickly so use some of Clareth’s Vagisil.”
“No, it gets my juices flowing, ya hear?”
CRASH. BOOM. SPLAT.
Suddenly, out of the blue, Brew and Ave were sprawled out on the ground in spread eagle positions snorting and chuckling like two intoxicated cows with itchy, tingling udders.
“WHAT THE HECK?” Grapes wonders aloud, darting back into the room like a power-walking 80s jogging suit wearing batty old coot.
“Oh they just cracked their heads open, everything’s fine and dandy!” Pop said dismissively, while rummaging through Brew’s bag of laffy taffies.
“Grapes I found my eyeliner in my vag yesterday,” Clareth said shortly, taking off her shirt, given that she was having a menopausal hot flash.
“Looks like La Ga is turning into Janelle,” Sab observed.
Pop just cackles wickedly yet again like a hyena with her hands on her vag...again, and 50.6293842398 laffy taffies in her mouth.
“But this feels soooooo warm,” La-Dee-Da cooed.
“My vag didn’t feel so warm yesterday when an eyeliner was shoved up it all day,” Clareth said, parking herself at Brew’s desk and searching through her files and papers and such like the notorious busy body she is. “I didn’t even notice it was down there! Silly me! I guess I’m just used to having something crammed up there!”
“Hey Bleeding Betty get outta my desk bitch,” Brew snarls, grabbing Ga by her neck and holding her up into the air like Simba was held up in “The Lion King.”
Then Janelle storms in like a bat out of hell...in her birthday suit.
“Guys, I found a silverfish. Sab I know you like to gobble those bad boys up. Wanna ingest mine pretty please with a cherry on top?” Janelle queries, cracking her knuckles.
“Sure thing, fave RA!” Sab said, ruddy-cheeked, with a grin stretching across her face.
“Anyone else want a taste of a silverfish?” Janelle ardently asks, her eyes maniacally darting around the room.
“Sorry, got to go. I have to help my friend’s cousin’s godmother change her fax cartridge because she’s going on an African safari tomorrow. So I better scram right now guys! Ga ga ooh la la ah rah rah rah rah rah ah ah ah ah ah...” and soon enough, luckily for everyone, Clareth voice faded into oblivion as she pitter pattered down the hall back to her jail cell-esque room to bask in stone cold silence with her sadistic, achingly stoic roommate.
“I got to...scrub a toilet with my uh...vanilla milkshake,” Pop said and briskly bounced out of the room.
“I have to go sell Easy Mac through the halls of Schwitz,” Brew blathers and makes a mad dash for the door, yelping like a bound and gagged puppy who happens to be chained to a fence.
“I need to go munch on some Ghetto Tarts, betches,” Grapes says nonchalantly and scurries out of the room like a mouse on heroin.
“Yeah...I have to go jet to Germany and go bar hopping...and drink mojitos,” Ave roars and stomps out of the room to review her award-winning speech.
THE DAMN END.
No comments:
Post a Comment