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Desperate Times
Topic Started: Jan 15 2018, 01:09 PM (604 Views)
Blastinus
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(Reuben Walters start thread)

"The use of school property for gaming and entertainment is strictly prohibited."

Reuben snorted as he plugged in his headphones. Why they put up these disclaimers was beyond him, since it wasn't like they ever enforced it. He'd seen kids streaming Netflix, watching sports games, playing online, anything that didn't involve actually downloading onto the computer itself. THAT could get someone in trouble. Not like it stopped the morons from trying, but they'd learn eventually, Reuben figured. Or they'd drive their cars off a cliff. Whichever.

As it so happened, entertainment was his mission this afternoon. His parents had confiscated his devices at home again, so he really didn't have a choice. He'd been halfway through a Walking Dead marathon, and all day long, the urge had been hounding him, a hungry beast clawing at the edges of his brain. He knew what was going to happen, of course. He'd seen it all the way through twice. But you don't start something and then leave it off in the middle. Unless it's terrible, of course, then you can be forgiven for sparing yourself future agony.

He didn't even bother to see if nobody was looking. It was lunch break, so most kids would be in the cafeteria. He could sneak an episode in easily. He would perhaps try for two, but if he started missing classes, then his parents would actually have a reason to worry. Not to say the temptation wasn't there though, and as the day would go by, the Walking Dead would be creeping through his thoughts regardless. He fully suspected that he wouldn't get anything productive done today, and he'd have only his parents to blame.

Was he an addict, Reuben pondered as the episode began to load. Well, if obsessing on something you love made you an addict, then Albert Einstein was mainlining astrophysics. And as far as Reuben could recall, nobody had told Einstein that he had a problem.
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((Wyatt Carter continued from Yours If You Want It))

Getting between Wyatt Carter and his food was never, ever a good idea. Lunch was practically a sacred period to the young man; being in the kind of shape he was in required a strict protein-heavy diet accompanied by daily exercise. Breakfast and dinner were easily handled, but the five days a week that lunch was at school had to be a careful combination of cafeteria options combined with a hefty load of supplements taken from home. This meant that the perfect dietary tract was often quite challenging to stick to, and 'cheat day' was this past Sunday, meaning Wyatt had more than a week to go before he could cut loose with all the fattening or carb-loaded food he could handle. That certainly wasn't helping his mood any.

What REALLY wasn't helping his mood any was that his allotted 30 minutes of pig-out time was being severely cut into. Ms. Yan was apparently in full cunt-mode today, and had let him know in no uncertain terms when he POLITELY asked her for an extension on that stupid, motherfucking biology report that no, it could not be handed in in digital form. "The instructions clearly state to print the report with a cover sheet", she had said. Why that fucking Chink couldn't accept they were living in the computer age, Wyatt couldn't even begin to understand. Now, with study hall conveniently placed after study hall, he was forced to cut into his precious lunch time just to waste paper printing out work that was already finished, or else his grade would tank, and he'd probably be seeing the bench for a few games.

Yeah. Like he was going to let that happen. Fuck this school sometimes, and fuck Ms. Yan.

A violent scenario was playing out in his head as he swiped his student ID to enter the computer labs. Things should have just been a matter of logging in, sticking in the flash drive, then printing his damned report so he could get to eating. And Wyatt was on course for all of that, tapping his knuckles impatiently on the computer table as he waited for the printing window loading bar to fill up so things could finally get rolling. This piece of shit school really needed to get with the program with their printers. Letting students use the copy machines would be nice, too.

Well, now he was just bored, and had already wasted maybe seven or ten minutes of his lunch time in this lab so... fuck it, he'd just eat some of his lunch here, head to the cafeteria maybe during the last ten, grab some chicken and milk and call it good. He'd noticed before when coming in that he wasn't exactly alone in the lab, so Wyatt saw an opportunity to entertain himself by walking up a few rows to investigate.

Ah... good old... whoever the fuck this kid was, his name wasn't important, but Wyatt knew him more as Hunter the Horned Owl. So... fuck it, the kid's name was Hunter. And 'Hunter' decided he'd much rather spend his lunch alone in the computer labs, watching shows. Okay, there was something he could start with.

"Hey buuuuddy," Wyatt said, standing obnoxiously close to the back of Reuben's, or 'Hunter's' chair. "What you watchin'?"
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Entranced as he was in his show, Reuben barely registered that someone else had entered the room. His eyes were fixated on the screen, his noodle arms hanging limply from the arms of the chair, as if he was under some hypnotic spell.

Suddenly, a grating voice entered his world, demanding to know what he was up to. He didn't recognize it at first, except it didn't quite make sense with what was happening onscreen. Casting a glance behind, Reuben didn't expect to see a face so close to his, and he instinctively tried to get some distance, slamming his head against the monitor. He was fortunate that the school was advanced enough to have proper flat screens instead of the old-school box monitors, or that would have given him a concussion. As it was, it stung like heck.

Rubbing the back of his head in irritation, he grimaced and said, "Oh, hi Wyatt." It wasn't good to see him. Not even remotely, especially in a room that was practically devoid of life. Reuben had never had a personal encounter with Wyatt aside from observing him on the field, but he'd heard the stories. Apparently he was one to assault people's feelings instead of their bodies, and this was likely just a setup for more of the same. But assuming it wasn't...

"This show?" he continued, removing his headphones. "It's called The Walking Dead. Surprised you haven't heard of it." He could never tell if he was being annoying, so he just continued while scratching his chin. "It's fun because it's a zombie story, but they're just a plot device - I guess you could say - to explore the darker side of humanity. Like, there's no police, no military, you're starving, how far do you go to survive? You know?" With every word he spoke, he inwardly cringed, because he could tell that he was just giving Wyatt ammo to make fun of him. But he had asked, and try as he might, Reuben had never been able to resist talking about what he loved.
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'Surprised you haven't heard of it.'

This guy.

This FUCKING guy.

Wyatt's left hand clenched up tightly, holding the edge of the table that comprised part of the row behind himself and Mr. Owl the jolly lollipop-licker here. How many licks to the center of a tootsie pop, you stupid piece of shit? It was little, 'smarter-than-thou' moments that nerds like him dropped that erased any guilt of wanting to throw them around. Because, yeah, hurting a little squirt who can't possible defend himself is a shitty thing to do if it's unprovoked, but what nobody seemed to get was that they were totally bringing it on themselves. Everything they got, they deserved.

But blowing up now ruined the game, so Wyatt leaned in over Reuben's shoulder to watch the screen. "Woooooow, how cool," he said in a tone that only lost sincerity over every waking moment. "Yeah, I've totally never heard of this before. And it's definitely not going over all the same shit as every other show like it." Wyatt pushed off the computer table and started to head back to his own row, stopping on the outside edge of Reuben's chair and sticking close to his computer. "I mean, I watched this kinda crap when I was... I don't know, ten?" He smirked down at the kid whose only business being on an athletic field was hiding his sorry, pimply ass inside a mascot suit. Closest he'd ever get to any of the girls on the cheerleading squad, for that matter.

Just for good measure, he reached over and slapped the power button on the monitor with his thumb.
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Yup. No surprises here. The instant Wyatt had put on that smarmy tone of voice, Reuben had him pegged as someone who was itching for a fight. Pretending to be some kind of discerning critic, like he even knew what he was talking about. Though he supposed that if he was watching stuff like this at ten years old, it would explain a few things about his character.

But okay, people will be ignorant, and as long as he had his headphones back on, he could ignore this moron and keep on with his day. They could just pretend that they'd never seen one another, and that would be that.

Then Wyatt switched the monitor off, and Reuben's world vanished in an instant. His eyes wide and demanding, Reuben pressed the spacebar to pause his show and rose to his feet, boring a hole through Wyatt's skull with his gaze. Why was he messing with him like this? What possible joy could he garner in being a jerk to someone who wasn't even being aggressive or unfriendly? Did he want to start a fight, because big whoop, he could dunk Reuben into a toilet one-handed. Where was the fun in that?

"Okay?" he asked, flipping the power switch on the monitor again. "And that was for...?"

He only had 45 minutes to spend before he had to go back to class. If this got any worse, he was going to have to make a strategic retreat. Worst case scenario, the library had computers too, assuming Wyatt didn't follow him there.
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Wyatt had a large grin plastered across his face, not due to Reuben's reaction, but because there was a follow-up act still to come. Naturally, turning the monitor off was enough to get the little wimp's attention, but all he had to do to fix that was turn the monitor back on. And, of course, just to go back to watching the stupid zombie TV show because learning his lesson was too much to ask.

"Can't you read the signs?" Wyatt asked, playing the part of the good guy with raised shoulders, outstretched arms, and a shaking head. "You ain't supposed to be watching movies n' shit on these computers. If you're not gonna use 'em for work, then just stay off of them."
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So the trash can dunker wanted to lecture him about following the rules, eh? Reuben had never witnessed this personally, but a couple folks in his D&D group had shared some interesting stories. Word among nerds can spread pretty quickly.

Unfortunately, Wyatt had a point, and by positioning himself as the moral one, he now had the trump card of "If you push this, I'm telling the staff." Not that they'd probably care about someone violating study rules when they've got people being dumped into trash cans, but did Reuben want to take that risk? They'd probably call his parents, and if they learned that he was sneaking behind their back to watch shows when he wasn't supposed to...things could get awkward at home. Mom especially wouldn't trust him ever again.

"Right, yeah, sorry," he muttered, closing out of Netflix and dumping his headphones in his messenger bag. It was fortunate that he hardly had any pride to begin with, because this defeat stung a little. This Wyatt character was deceptively savvy, and he'd have to watch out for him in the future.

Meanwhile, the cravings would be there, hounding him, even worse than ever. He had a little time left, maybe he could sneak down to the library to...no, too much heat on him at the moment. Same study rules, besides. His hands clenched into fists, his brow furrowed, he made his way past Wyatt, turned at the last second to say something, stopped, and just continued. People like that, it was better to just leave them be and forget that they ever existed. Besides, he didn't really hate this guy, just thought he was irritating and full of himself. If he wanted to claim his own sector of the school, then by all means, let him have it. It was only a few months until graduation, and then they'd be off to their separate schools, separate careers, and they'd never have to see each other ever again.

(Reuben Walters continued in V for Vend-etta)
Edited by Blastinus, Feb 11 2018, 09:34 AM.
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That had been the mascot, Joanne was pretty sure. Maybe they'd spoken in person before.

Poor boy.

Should have done something sooner...



Wouldn't have mattered, no.

They always got away with it. People like Wyatt.

It was just how the cold, arbitrary world, laid out like a euthanized patient underneath the stars, liked to work.

((Joanne Coleman continued from You did not break me. I'm still fighting for peace.))

Joanne had hidden her ass (a fine, fine specimen of ass it was, mmhm) in the shadows when Reuben had made good his escape. Turned out big bone girls could go ninja mode just as good as the rest of them. Once more for the people in the back: BIG GIRLS, POWER MOVES! Anyways, it was fucking tag team time. You fought the good fight, hun, did things the smart way. Your not so smart but super big heart guardian angel would take care of the rest, alright? Alright. FUCK. Joanne was seeing red like she had laser eye vision. And, if she'd had said laser eye vision, she would have been pretty amiable to the idea of frying a bit of Wyatt. Like, she didn't endorse violence? But she had the right to dreams of violent retaliation all the same. It's what got her through the boring bits of the day! Alright not really, but this boiled down to the simple fact that Wyatt was a shriveled penis of a human being and that Joanne had a lunch period to kill opening up what she'd packed for her meal today:

A can of whoopass.

Joanne marched headlong through the computer lab door with her slightly dry lips set into a scowl, about as wise-ass crone-like as a barely eighteen year old girl could make happen. She liked to think that she was pretty fierce, like a lioness (AKA, true huntress of the pack opposed to the useless male) or something. Honestly, she was pretty fierce. Look at her. Arms crossed, fighting posture perfectly out of a war movie poster. She glared at Wyatt, lab full of computers between them, height difference, all aside. Did she look bothered by any of that? Hm? She didn't fucking think so.

"Carter!" Joanne raised her right hand in a brief, irreverent wave. "You remember when they showed you anti-bullying movies in grade school," and Joanne kept her hands active, gesticulating like she were a teacher trying to emphasize points. She did have a whiteboard nearby for reference. Maybe she could marker up a quality scientific model, something like Wyatt's cartoon face on a donkey's ass? Seemed like a pretty scientific method-y, well researched point to her. "And they said that bullies project their frail egos onto the people around them to overcompensate? Hun, when you watched those movies you weren't supposed to actually copy the idea. I guess I don't blame you for getting confused though? Concept's, ah, pretty hard below a certain comprehension level."
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Ha! That worked better than expected! Though Wyatt had been expecting it to be a downhill battle either way; a little chickenshit like Reuben wasn't going to sign his own death warrant picking a fight with the likes of him, and when you can hold that high ground over someone, it was easy to get what you wanted around George Hunter. The large boy cracked his neck and chuckled to himself, ready to mosey on back to the computer he'd already logged into. While waiting for the trash heap this school called a computer to finish finding one of the printers in this place, maybe he'd check up on some of the off-season NFL news. This was the Titans' year.

And then he could get the fuck out of here and grab a bite to-

"Carter!"

Oh God damn it.

A few bars of 'Fat Bottomed Girls' played on fast-forward in Wyatt's mind when Joanne decided to make her obtrusive appearance. Blah blah blah, don't be a jerk, blah blah blah, bullying is bad, blah blah blah, I'm a fucking whale. It was nothing he hadn't heard before, and he simply looked down on the girl that he had a full foot of height over with an amused grin still plastered on his face from having run the fucking Wise chips mascot out of the room. Wyatt raised both of his hands in emulation of the 'we got a badass over here' meme, laughter peppering his voice.

"Woah, you got me," Wyatt said. "I cry myself to sleep every night wishing I could fit into that fuckin' owl costume, but I'm just so big, I can't fit!" God, Joanne's tits were nothing special but she had an ass that'd knock a biker off a bar stool. While shaking off her scathing, wounding comments that would truly haunt him while he jacked off to Pornhub just before bed, he briefly wondered what'd like actually bothering to fuck a fat chick. Might not be worth the effort of actually finding the right hole underneath all the flab though.

Okay, back to business.

"Oh, right, and just to address the elephant in the room - not you, the other one - all I did was tell him that he shouldn't be watching tv n' shit in the computer labs. Is that so wrong?"
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Hooooly shit what a fucking tool. Anyone else seeing this, the laughing to himself like some outdated Saturday morning cartoon villain? Fuck, if the entire world wasn't here in spirit, feeling the cringe alongside her then what had become of modern society? Aw hell. Joanne could have put this shit on the internet, she had phone in pocket.




Not like it'd make any inch of the world's worth of difference.

Just what the world had come to. She didn't know.



...
Back to life, head in the game, Joanne. In one corner. In the other corner, Wyatt doing the classic Canon anus lips, yuuuge. Fucking ugly, what the hell did people even see in him? Far be it from Joanne to voice such shallow complaints out loud, no ma'am that happened to be Wyatt's mode-of-operations. Was Joanne the sort to stoop to her opponents level? Nah, see, it was like... Joanne's level. Fifty feet of crap. Fifty feet of the crap of the crap, straight down into hell frozen over, all nine circles of it, every sufferer of karmic justice ever, and aaaall the way down there, somewhere so small her microscope's microscope needed another microscope, there was Wyatt primping, and his stupid ass MAGA hat barely containing his hothead ego.

Joanne raised her hands like Wyatt, shoulders cringing, lips cringing, eyes cringing. Boys, girls, you have not even SEEN this much cringe since, like, Fear Factor reruns were taken off the air, or like, Canon's presidential debates. Her voice cringed too, like, if one could sound like a thousand eyes rolling at once that was how she sounded.

"Well you're the one who votes elephant, I don't know what you're talking about, hun."

"And um, remind me again when you've ever cared about rules? I think you missed a couple, somewhere, I dunno, half the student code maybe? Does the phrase 'bullying will not be tolerated' ring a bell?"
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It was tough to try and draw up a proper reaction to somebody whose face suddenly decided to implode on itself. Wyatt was struggling to figure out if Joanne was just sucking on the world's most sour lemon or she finally smelled the three-day old fish taco stench of her own pussy or what, but she looked like a fucking idiot with a face like that. So, he just laughed reflexively and started walking to his chair to check on the status of his printing.

"Geez, try not to go full Lib-tard on me, will ya?" Wyatt threw over his shoulder. As if calling out his political affiliations was some sort of insult. "My candidate won, yours lost, and you've got seven more years to go of this so... get comfy. We really gonna go on this whole tirade, now?"

He figured the jokes about her weight probably triggered the special snowflake a little hard. Funny. Hilarious, actually, but he started to come around through his excitement that the more he riled Joanne up, the more likely she was to make herself a rather loud presence that he'd have to deal with until his report was done printing. He checked the status bar... 95% on the doc prep. Good shit.

"Okay, so what you're saying is..." he began, kicking his feet up on the chair next to him and starting to dig through his lunchbox. The thing would have been empty by now had Reuben not been in here wasting everybody's time, and he would have made it halfway through if Joanne hadn't come barreling through to play Social Justice Warrior, everybody's favorite super heroine. "... is that you don't give a fuck about the rules, so I'm okay to get a headstart on my lunch?" Wyatt removed the thermos of protein shake and a couple of peanut butter calorie bars from the lunch box and got a head start on munching the foodstuffs down, shoving his food to one cheek so he could talk while chewing.

"Either I can or I was right in booting his sorry ass. Pick one, you can't have it both ways."
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((Danny Chamnanma pregame start))

Danny was strutting down the hall, headphones in ears playing a screaming Japanese person not even the Japanese could understand all the time, much less himself for two seconds. Danny didn’t care though, because Dir En Grey sounded fuckin’ boss.

He was Dir En route to the computer lab, maybe to study or something, really to check out the details on the next League patch. If Vayne got one more buff, man, he was going to bust a tit or something, because then he could keep abusing her like a salty Yasuo got abused by their daddy. Nice.

He was getting close when he started hearing the fight. These were the downsides of having to play such a band on very low volume to avoid going completely deaf in five minutes. He frowned, because drama was not his favourite subject.

He peered his head around the doorway, covert like a ninja. He wrinkled his nose when he saw the big lug that made up one half of the conversation, if you weren't going by volume.

Wyatt Carver was, in Danny’s humble opinion, a shit. A bully and an egomaniac, it was amazing the guy hadn’t been caught out for doing steroids yet. Probably had a dick the size of a thumbtack, actually. He snickered, but kept it to himself. God knows he wasn’t stupid enough to actually laugh at the guy: he liked to keep his teeth in one place thank you very much.

Joanne was some girl he’d met a few times at the gaming club? Dunno, didn’t really pay attention. Kind of heavy for him, but that wasn’t what mattered. He wasn't some dick like that.

He took one more look at the two from the doorway. He could step in, help Joanne out, and get his patch notes read.

Or he could walk away, read them when he got home, and smoothly dodge all the drama.

Yeah, that second one sounded good, so he noped his way right back from where he came.

((Danny Chamnanma continued elsewhere.))
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Back at him, but it was doubtful Wyatt knew the libertarians from the liberals. Though Joanne wasn't supposed to know that either. Would blow her Hogwarts-type witchcraft cover among the muggles of the world. Joanne stayed where she was, arms crossed. Even sitting down Wyatt's ego-inflated head stuck out over the canopy of the computer forest. She wondered if Wyatt would have gotten away with half the shit he did if he was five'whatever''. Easy to look down on someone when literally looking down on them, right? Geez, way to go there, genetics. Way to screw over everyone else on a whim of, like, nucleotides or some such. ATGC Joanne's ass. More like ASS.

"Believe me hun, you didn't win either." Joanne shrugged coldly, still openly scowling. "Sure, let me have the whole deal. It'd take you, what, two minutes? I'm purr-etty sure that's all the substance there was to the Canon camera flashmob you danced along for."




This was a waste of time.

Why was she even trying? What was she even doing?


...
"Oh, okay. Now you use logic for once in your life. You break every rule in the book so breaking one more is fine, but someone who's generally not known around the school for ultimate tier douchery breaks one rule and he's owed the full volume rulebook to his face." But seriously though. Wyatt. Logic. All onlookers puzzled, staring at each other in bewilderment. "I only care about rules when it matters. Grub it up all you want, hun, free country. I mean. Was. A free country." How's that for a poignant punctuation mark to her idea? 'A free country'. The exclamation point to end all exclamation points, bolded, underlined, 90000 point font. Joanne was pretty sure this conversation was the biggest waste of time conceived since the Carters nine months prior to Wyatt Carter's birth, but for fucks sake. Someone had to say something. Even if it was for, like, the millionth time. This week.
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Wyatt stared blankly through most of Joanne's... whatever you wanted to call her speech patterns. Seriously, what the fuck was she talking about? Did anybody who had to co-exist with her? Did she know what she was going on about? One part he was able to pick out, at least, was that she outright admitted she only cared about the rules when it suited her. He just powered on through his calorie bars as she talked, nodding to indicate false comprehension as she rambled but inwardly, he wanted to admit some sort of kinship with her on that one. Thing was, he owned that shit. She, meanwhile, was trying to play holier-than-thou with it like any left-wing fuck face.

"Nah, we did win," Wyatt state simply once Joanne was done, pulling one of his feet off the chair and turning some of his body to face the monitor. Looks like chug-a-lug-like-it's-Windows-98 finally pulled through for him: printing status - 100% ready, printing page 1 of 15. Fifteen whole pages taken up with chart after pointless, boring chart and template. For a tree-hugging biology teacher, Wyatt thought in irreverent fashion, Ms. Yan gave little to no shits about wasting paper, apparently. Hypocrites were just the worst.

With his attention focused more squarely on the monitor, Wyatt hoped that Joanne, who had seemingly gone from 'triggered' to 'Joanne.exe has encountered an error and will now close', would get the hint that her presence here had become sorely pointless. And if she wanted to cling to him like all the Massey-loving cucks stuck to a 'not my president' chant, the printing job's imminent progress would cut their time together mercifully short. Of course, Wyatt couldn't resist getting another shot in before that time came, just to help the seconds tick by quicker.

"If you hate this country so much, you can just leave. Bye, Felicia."

He popped the last bite of his remaining energy bar in his mouth to free it up for the little accompanying wave.
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Joanne peeped the radioactive thousands-of-years-dangerous waste Wyatt had titled and named and called a Biology report. Shiiiit, pages on pages. That was definitely not what they meant when they talked about stacking paper. Not like Wyatt would get that reference, or if he did he'd do so in like, the douchiest manner possible? Confirmed? Confirmed by judge jury and justice Joanne S. Coleman. Anyways, hold up. Full pause. Were that many pages even necessary? Looks of it, Wyatt had just copy pasted templates probably straight from some 2000s-internet ass education website for eight year olds, and fuck it if Joanne wasn't all for cutting corners on homework- time honored tradition- but Wyatt probably couldn't have been bothered to throw together anything decent. Total snap judgement, totally snappy though. Fucking grade-A appraisals of Wyatt's character Joanne was running, right here.

"Won huh?" Joanne let her body language slack as well, and honestly like fuck she'd even been carrying it all that good in the first place. Who of the people in this room here was worthy of proper posture? Her reflection in the whiteboard?

"I mean, huh." Joanne really poured the fake sugar onto her voice all of a sudden, she could have been mistaken for a chef in her element (run a cooking show? Best job? BEST job). "Neck deep in an investigation that's taken out multiples of his closest advisers. Whoa! Strategies!" Joanne was in a reverent awe... Of the sheer idiocy. "Here I'm thinking, just thinking, that if your coach won as much as your president did you'd be the first demanding he be off the team." Joanne watched Wyatt print out his report. She had betting odds on a solid C minus at maximum. By-the-dubs, historical precedent. Joanne had shared at least one class with Wyatt before, like playing hell mode on a video game. Points to Joanne for accuracy, points to Joanne for field work, heck, points to Joanne for surviving a class with Wyatt Carter.

"Can't hun. Gotta stay so I can help MAGA. Make America Gay Again." Joanne dropped a little flex on that one. She was proud of all of the no muscle she showed off with that flubber shoulder press, check out the miniguns. Aww, look at them. Waving and flexing. Fuck, this was honestly way better than what Joanne normally expected of Wyatt-tier discourse. Maybe he was evolving. Australopithecus was SHOOK.
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