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A Magnet For Trouble
Topic Started: May 12 2016, 06:14 AM (466 Views)
ToxieTheToxicAvenger
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((Michael Crowe continued from Screamer, Screamer, He's a Dreamer ))

Michael hated cellphones with a passion. For an invention that has improved technology greatly, it's bastard son is fucking worthless. Like comparing a hard working buisness ceo to his worthless 30+ year old stay at home kid. You call someone, someone else is already talking to them, or their phone's off. Nobody wants to call, that's inconvenient, but typing full fledged messages out filled to the brim with three or four letter acronyms? Apparently that is convenient. On the rare occasion that someone calls you, your phone's either dead, or it's a fucking telemarketer. Duhh helow wuld yu like to sampool sum naturaw maw enlurgemint pillz! Michael didn't need some jagoff on the phone telling him his Johnson was little, let alone someone who can't even speak American well enough to say it in a way that's not more broken than Steven Seagal's acting career. Not like his little Richard was that little or anything... He wasn't well endowed to be quite honest, but fuck at least he didn't suffer from micropenis. He wasn't ashamed of being an inch or so under the average.

Still point at hand, cellphones are garbage. He wanted to see if Jonathan was open to do anything after work, but Michael's phone died shortly after leaving school. Guess he should have charged it. Fuck it, Michael liked talking to people in person anyways. Talking in person was nice. He figured he'd cut through the skate park. Maybe he'd find someone else to talk to on the way there. He had all day to get there to be honest. He was sure Jonathan didn't get off of work for at least three more hours. Still, he should have charged his phone once he got home. He couldn't blame the cellphone on this one. Still, that's basically a 1-100, the cellphone was still winning in terms of fail counts.

Well, there's two people he knew a little ways down. There's good buddy Darius, and... oh, Brendan. Speaking of problems involving cellphones. With people so used to talking to words on a screen, they forget how to act normal in normal civilization. Case in point, Darius waving to him like a good samaritain. How does Brendan reply to this act of kindness? Not even replying back with a hello, or good day, Brendan was just barely flopping his limp noodlefuck arm up as if to say I acknowledge you, but you're not worth my time. That wasn't very nice. Well, if anything Michael could do something about it. He was great at turning the socially awkward into people you, uhhh fuck what's the word? Non-socially awkward people...? Michael didn't know what fucking word it is to use when describing non-socially stunted individuals. Fuck it, the point he was trying to make is he should be a Drill Sergeant or something. Like the guy in Full Metal Jacket. Wait no, not that guy he died. Fuck, well maybe a little bit like him, he was pretty cool.

Michael had managed to catch up to Brendan, placing a hand on his shoulder. Brendan turned to face him. Michael simply gave his rehearsed shit-eating grin and asked, nay, told him "Hey buddy, you're gonna say hi back right? Kinda' fuckin' rude to jus' brush him off like that..." His gaze shifted to Darius, whom he gave a quick nod. I got your back homeboy!
Edited by ToxieTheToxicAvenger, May 19 2016, 12:55 AM.
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"Wha... Why da' hell are you apologizing to me?!" Really? Fucking Really?! Michael's smile fell, as he felt himself pinching his brow. Okay, so this is new. Michael had simply tried to help some poor soul into saying the customary greeting of normal human beings, simply because he did it wrong towards another individual. Yet Brendan has to apologize to him. What the fuck? This hasn't even started yet, and already it's a disaster. Ah well, at least he wasn't too difficult to work with. No fuck yous or who do you think you're talking to bullshit, like some of the other punks around here. At least he could work with this. Wouldn't be too difficult.

Michael simply faced Brendan in Darius' direction, pointing at him. His grin came back. "See him? If you're gonna apologize to anyone, apologize to him." At least that'd be a step in the right direction.

Ah well, at least he did know he was in the wrong on that one. We're almost half-way there to making a better adjusted person for society! Now all we gotta do is help him learn how to say 'hi' and 'bye' properly...
Edited by ToxieTheToxicAvenger, May 19 2016, 01:21 PM.
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Brendan apologized and Darius didn't accept. Well... Ain't that a damn shame. Michael almost felt bad for this. Almost. "Well shit..." Michael's smile grew. This was the fun part, the waiting. The tension was the always the best part, and like a fine wine, you had to savor that shit. Much like the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, Michael switched his stare between Brendan and Darius, sporting a pretty good Eastwood squint whilst doing so. And like many westerns, the first shot was quick and merciless.




"Guess we're gonna have to kick your ass then."


....




Michael's grin came back. "Just kidding."

Michael placed his hand on Brendan's shoulder, laughing. He'd take a moment to lower the tension, to let Brendan get his guard down. Just a few moments before cranking it back up into eleven. That's when he became stone-faced. "But in all fucking seriousness though, when people greet you, fucking wave back. Shit's rude as shit."

Michael turned towards Darius and began walking his direction, his lips curled underneath each other in an attempt to not break out laughing. He wasn't going to hit Brendan over little shit like not waving. What's the point in that? It's not fun, there's no challenge to it. Besides scaring him worked out great, you got your jollies, he learned a life lesson. Benefit for everyone! It's kid's shit man, a little fucking around couldn't kill anyone. Besides, some people around here need to man up anyways. If harmless fuckery scared someone into becoming a recluse, then how the fuck would they function at anything else?

Everyone needed a bit of challenge to get the blood boiling, you know? Get that adrenaline up. Get hyped. Get alive man! Otherwise life's just boring man. If they couldn't handle some 5'8 jagoff with a bad haircut and terrible fashion sense, how in the hell were they gonna handle a job. Michael'd guarantee their boss would be even shorter with an even worse haircut. Michael awaited Darius' response to his showmanship. Hopefully he didn't disappoint.
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"Haha-Hey! We got you to speak up didn't we?!" It was a victory for Michael and Darius, that much was sure. They did get him to say hi and bye, after all. Brendan could get as pissy as he wants about it, Michael's tactic worked. All it takes is a little leverage, and boom, job is done.

With Brendan gone, Michael could now focus at the task at hand. Wait, what was the task at hand in the first place? Jonathan still wouldn't be out for another half-hour more than likely. He had time to kill though, so he might as well see what Darius was up to. Well, y'know, outside of dicking with people.

" 'Ey Dee." Might as well start a conversation, relax a bit. He sat down beside Darius, sliding his hand into his pocket. "That was some funny shit man, fuck, you see the look on his face right?" Michael laughed as he pulled his comb out from his pocket. "Brendan looked like he was gonna shit his pants, heha!" Michael continued to maintain his Val Kilmer mane as he watched Brendan speed-walk away. "Poor bastard..." Michael chuckled as he slid his comb back into his pocket, shaking his head.

He turned to Darius. "So uhhh, anythin' goin' on right now?"
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"Ben?" Ooooh shit, the plot just thickened. " Ben 'Electra Complex' Fields?" Darius was definitely bullshitting, but it'd be fun to humor him a bit, just to see what he has to say. "What the fuck is this? Some sort of cheap 90's nickelodeon sitcom?" Of all things, a wedgie? Who the fuck does that anymore?

Darius must've been huffing paint or jenkem again or some shit. Michael actually took a quick sniff to see if he smelled acrylic paint or recreational drugs floating around the two. All he could smell was nicotine and cancer, as of right now. Though nothing covers up any scent more than cigarette smoke, so he'd probably have to wait a bit just to see if it changes. He made a mental note of if he smelled bullshit or not, it was either Darius' story or the jenkem he theoretically inhaled. I mean, if he wanted it to be believable, he'd have probably picked anything other than a wedgie.

"You're telling me that Ben reeled your ass like that Spongebob hook episode shit?" Michael took a quick laugh before putting on a cheap Mr. Krabs impersonation. "Yo ho yo ho, near the hooks we'll never go!" Okay, it was harder to humor Darius than he thought, but damn, he was asking for it worse than wearing a fur coat down a dark alley.

I mean really? It was almost an insult to Michael's intelligence. Darius' story implied Michael had an IQ in the double, nay, single digits. It's on the borderline of warranting a dick-punch. Not like a massive ball breaker, just a quick shot strong enough to make him gasp or squeak or some shit. I mean, Ben Give me a faggot and I'll lynch the maggot Fields? The idea of him getting close enough to touch a guy's rear end is already preposterous, let alone actually grabbing their underwear.

"Could I give you some advice, Darius?" Michael reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out his Rayban Wayfarers and placing them over his face. He'd only pull out the old Blue's Brother's sunglasses on special occasions, and he'd figure this would be one. "If you ever want to be a conman, just remember..." Michael stretched his legs out on the bench, crossing his ankles, as he rested his hands behind his head, in the what could be the most campy 1980's Tony Montana cartel boss fashion possible. "You. Can't. Con. A conman." His grin widened. He couldn't take this seriously, so he might as well not act it either.
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Michael knew Darius'd give up, a quick giggle for shits never last too long. Michael had watched Darius change his point of view to the piss poor skaters rolling around the place.

Darius pointed towards a particular hambeast who had as much trouble climbing up the ramp as he did riding down, just across the park.

"Jeezuz, is that the new character for Tony Hawk's hoveround racer?"

How did that fat fuck's board not break? Christ, no wonder everyone over there sucks at skating! They're stuck in this large lard-asses' fucking gravitational pull. Michael was inches away from exploding into laughter.

"Li-l-li-like, you can hear the fucking ramp creak every time he rolls down, holy shit!"

They were literally watching an adult Bobby Hill ride down a fucking ramp like he didn't weigh 300 pounds.

"Christ, more chins than a Chinese phone book, y'know, if he didn't weigh so fucking much, he could use his bing- his fucking-!" Michael was dying of laughter right now, he could barely finish his own joke. "He could- he- he could fuh-fucking use his bin-bingo wings as a fucking wing suit and go cliff jumping!" He had to say the second part as fast as possible, otherwise he'd never finish it.

This was quite common, once one target of ridicule leaves, another comes in it's place. There was never a dull moment when it came to shit like this. It didn't matter if there even was a dull moment, as the rest of it was so fucking funny it was worth it.
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"Fat fuck Bart?" Michael made some exaggerated pantomimed gagging. "That kid has a fuckin' problem man. Nobody, and I mean, no-fuckin'-body, should smell like the inside of a friggen' colostomy bag."

Michael took his sunglasses off, waving them in his hand as he spoke. "That motherfucker really needs a shower, y'know?" Michael paused his rant for a moment. The fat kid on the ramp took another fall.

"HEY FATSO!' Michael called out to the hapless skater, hooting like a hyena. "DO A FLIP!"

"Ha he hah- Fuck where was I, man?" Something about fat boy Bart. "Oh yeah, that motherfucker Bart, he needs to take a shower with soap and water, instead of fermented ham and raw sewage." Michael paused to see if Darius would laugh or not...


After spending a good hour or two heckling skaters, gossiping about other students, and generally making an ass out of each other, Michael figured it was time to call it quits.

"So anyway ehhh, you see Jon at all?" Michael waited for Darius to answer. "Been meanin' to talk with him about some shit and- ah damn, I think he's off of work right about now anyways." Michael got up out of his seat, carrying his jacket over his shoulder. "Talk to you later, Dee." Michael waved goodbye, like a good fucking civilized being should and strode off into the sunset; well there wasn't really a fucking sunset, it was still mid-day, but, y'know.

((Michael Crowe continued elsewhere))
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