"Class! Class! Class?"

The earth slipped. The moon fell. The alignment, ruined.

Life is still fine in Eastertown, for Bill doesn't care.

"Let's discuss Greek mythology."

He didn't really want to do that. He had much more erotic thoughts running through his mind. Luckily the censors were in full operation.

"Greek mythology? Com'on George," then slyly, "3:00."

"What happens at 3:00?" Bill really isn't as stupid as those sitcom stars. He was trying to make a bad joke. He's ALWAYS trying to make bad jokes. He usually succeeds. Occasionally, a good joke pops out.

Occasionally the earth slips and the moon falls.

"Quick. She's lookin' over here."

"Who?" Again another bad joke. Bill isn't nearly as stupid as he seems.

"Look. She's com'n this way." Then, half to himself, (and half to the rest of the world) "look studly."

"Opposites attract." That was his worst joke of the day. No one got it. Not even Bill. It's bad when you don't get your own joke. Bill's used to it.

"Drats. She's just goin' to her locker."

In case you haven't got the rather blatant innuendos, She just walked by. Who is she? Well, just the third best lookin' chick Bill had ever seen. (She was number four on George's list - bad taste complex) This was the second time Bill had seen her. Once before at the mall, his eyes saw Her. He hates the mall. But boy was he crazy about her.

Blonde. (or was it brown? It doesn't matter) The eyes, reveled a deeper shade of soul, their color unimportant. The figure was perfect, or was it? At least to him it was. And the fashion? Avant Garde Depeche Mode. No, more of a psychedelic panchromatic pastel odyssey. Ah, but it didn't matter. The face told it all. The strong aroma of intelligence, without an air of snobbery. The face told it all. And the ecstacy of her voice. The sweetest perfection of body and mind.

"Time's up. The answer?"


The romantic lead. Yeah! I could use a romantic lead. But I don't have the guts to talk to her. I had my tonsils out last Tuesday. Ha. That joke reeked. And I still have every organ. Someday. Someday.

Unfortunately for Bill, this story is not a romance. It is not a classic. It isn't even the Natural. It could be called a foray into the mind of an idiot, but that would have no connection with the story.

"Crack!" The baseball flew through the window.

Nobody lived there.

... Dreams, they complicate my life
Dreams they compliment my life...

"Yo Bill!"

"Dude! That was the weirdest dream I ever had. I dreamed about this babe. No wait. This chick.-"

"You're so adamant 'bout your proper us'a slang. An'Ibetcha still messin' it up."

"Who gives a blip? If I c'n understand what I'm saying it'sok."

"Get off it Bill! Even your dialogue's confusin'."

"Back to this chica. Well, here I was standin' in the spotlight. No the shade. There was an airplane flyin' overhead. Birds 'n snakes onthe groun'. Lenny Bruce was there. The world had it's own needs-"

"Stop rambling! Get to the point!"

"Ok. Well, the chick. Wow! Talk about awesome! Blonde. Perfect body, face-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I read your description."

"Huh? Then why m'I tellin' ya?"

"To further the plot, doofus! Haven't ya ever read fiction?"

"But this is my word. And I am the world leader pretend. I will raze the walls that I have constructed."


"Yasee, in this crazy world I live in, so many clik'walls exist that I have no control of the world. I feel like'm in the corner loosin my religion."

"Huh? Wait-"

"Well, that chick. She was everything. I even think I thought I saw her cry when she looked at me. I decided to stop standing in the place where I was, and go out to the one I loved."

George notices the jambox and pops out the tape while Bill keeps on yakking. Suddenly he interrupts, "Bill! How many times have I told you! Never. never. NEVER take a nap with R.E.M. playing. Michael Stipe will blow anybody's clear-thinking mind into spontaneous oblivion."

"Hey! What makesya think these thoughts camefr'm R.E.M.? Every time I get a main idea to call my own."

"There you go again. Standing on the Shoulders of Giants."


"Yes, Mr. Smith."

"This story stinks!"

"But, Mister Smith!"

"It lacks any real plot. It constantly rambles. Look at that last page. Mindless babbling."

"But don't you see! It's all exemplifies the redundancy of life, and the waste of all the good-"

"Fred! I know you can do better than that. Sentence fragments. You use of dialogue is incredibly inconsistent. You go off on tangents. I'm afraid a D+ is the best I can give you."

"A D+! You said to just 'let your mind run free."

"For the ideas. Not the presentation of them."

"But, Mr. Smith! Don't you see. That is the way to get the ideas across. A bland Essay would ruin it."

"You also didn't identify your speakers in the quotes. Your story also continually changed tense and narration. I could not tell what was happening. Furthermore, your abuse of slang is uncalled for."

"Mr. Smith-"

"I'll tell you what. Since I'm SUCH a nice guy, I'll let you rewrite your story. This time, TRY to have a plot. Keep the structure consistent. And leave your ethereal plane! See you tomorrow."

"Bye." That guy is a real dork. I hate him. I hate school. I hate the world. Why can't I live in my own world. World leader pretend! That's the way to go. No one appreciates a good author. All they want is those Shakespeare-Dickens clones. What about originality. No wonder we're loosing to the Japanese. The one last hope he have is getting eat up by schools. A guy can't even write a story without having it torn to shreds by his teacher. And why do I have to say, "Fred is walking away from the class and then going to the bathroom." Nobody ever says that in real life. Isn't a story supposed to be a reflection of real life? Thoughts and dialogue. That's all. Stories should be outlawed. Maybe plays, scripts. Those forms are actually useful. Besides, nobody reads description anyway. In fact, people probably wont even read my thoughts here. And long paragraphs are the biggest satire. Maybe someday it will be good. It's amazing how quickly a teacher can transform a great writer into another Steinbeck or Barker. No, Barker seems to have some talent. Steinbeck. Pure trash. An occasional good work - yet only when we ventures towards the theatrical realm. And why does it matter how things are spelled? Colour. Theatre. What's the matter with those spellings? Sitting on the soapbox of my mind...


"Sorry, I'll keep outa the way next time. You know, I am getting so sick of the-"

"Hey! Stop yo' preachin' or I'll band yous face in!"

"uhm." Man. This world really reaketh. Why can't everyone just be like me. A soccer team fulla Wheatlys.

How can I explain-
When it takes so long.
How can I explain-
When words get broken.

"Hey Fred! Look at this."

"Kool mo dee! What is it?"

"The new plans for my Hydrogen bomb."

"You want to use it now. I wanna defecate the world."

"Just as long as I don't have to masticate your defecation. HA HA HA HA HA."

Nerd jokes. Eyech. Dirty nerd jokes. Eyew. Remind me to watch my choice of adjectives. Herb is such a nerd. But, he is one of the few smart dudes at this place.

"Well Herb. How does it work."

"Well, I start with this special Hydrolysis device. By using this-"

Herb will keep on babbling forever. He never seems to realize that nobody is paying any attention to him. Oh well. At least he's happy. More than I can say for myself now. I feel like that dude in Catcher in the Rye. Or do I? I've never read it. Fiction is too boring. I wouldn't even read a story about my life.

"... And then when the plutonium chain reaction begins-"

"Uh Herb, how are you gonna get the plutonium? Lebanese terrorists are a lot harder to come by in this here town than they were in Back to the Future."

"Oh man! I guess I'll have to try something else. Thanks. See you later."

At least he isn't a draklamind like Mr. Smith. Man, I hate Mr. Smith!

"Hi Fred"


"Headin' to science?"


"See ya later."

Wow. Unbelievable. A little ditzy, but still... Maybe some day. Nah. I think she drinks. I hate those types, but...

"Man, Mr. Smith sure jipped you! I wouldn't feel down about it. He is such a ---"


Jack. Everyone knows her drinks. Aside from that pretty cool. Class favorite for eons. Friends with everyone. I don't see how he can manage it. Must be the alcohol that disrupts his brain. "Mr. Fred, I presume."

"Mr. Prescot."

Prescot John. The guy with an inverted name. First dude I met at this school. Real friendly. If only he'd shower.



Herman. Sat next to him in Algebra. Pretty smart. Never did his work, though. Sure he could be valedictorian if he ever did.

Look at all these people I don't know. Actually, I like it that way. That way I could keep to myself, and not break to conversation. This world is just not fit for such an omniomnient person as me.

Here she comes. Look away. No. That'd look lame. Look towards her. Just quickly. I was just looking around the hallway. Hold head up and walk forward. Great, now she probably thinks I'm conceited. Why don't I just say hi. No, then she'll think I like her. But I do. No, but then rumors will start spreading around the school. She might start treating me like dirt. I know I've treated others like dirt when they like me. But, wait, she wouldn't treat anyone like dirt. I've seen her before. Why don't I just act nice towards her. No, I've already blown my chance. How can you blow the perfect opportunity like that. You had it all planned out. You just don't have the guts to go through with any of the plans. What's the use of dreaming them up. Get off it. Better late than never. Just get up and say high. You know, like your friend. He ran up to her and talked -he didn't even have a reason. you had a reason, but you didn't. You just weren't psyched up for it. And when you got psyched, she wasn't there. You're afraid of her friends. The rumor mill. But wait, my sister's friend. She seems so nice in public. But somewhere, my sister is learning to be a total brat. She might be like my sister. No, impossible. She's my everything. No, I don't think so. She's probably Irish. What does that have to do with anything. She's not Irish. But I do know all these other things about her. What her schedule's like. She has great talent. She can do all these things, and actually be good at them. Why am I such a lazy bumb?

It's the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine. Just keep humming a song as you go. Look cool. It all started with an earthquake, birds and snakes, an airplane, Lenny Bruce is not afraid. Cool. Maybe if I tell some other dude about it. No, I've heard my friend. Totally annihilate the hopes of this chick 'cause she fessed up to her friends. She's so fine. Blows my mind. And the world seems to disappear. disappear. disappear. do do-do do do-do doon...

Arrghh! I'm late for class. Oh well. It doesn't matter. The teacher doesn't care. And the tardy freak-out has finally passed. Look. The teacher is still out in the hall chatting.

"Ooh. Look who's tardy."

"Lay off."

"Yo dude. I'll chill. You're in some kinda mood."

"Mr. Smith."

I think I failed miserably with my 'mad-book-slam' show. Why do I put on so many shows like that? All they do is mess me up. I think I just ruined my day here, too. I'm never one to be serious or mad. Alright, internally mad, but rarely externally. I never hold grudges against people, just the dumb things they do. I hated my band director for the royal chewing out he gave us, but then I went right back after school, and just had a whale of a time in his office, as if the event never occurred. Then there's Mr. Smith. He must have something against me. But he's so nice outside of class. Yeah, but I've heard what his kids' say about him. I just don't belong in this galaxy. This solar system. This planet. This school! ...

Ding. I'm glad that wasted brain strain ended. Lunch. I hate Mr. Smith! If I hurry I can avoid talking to people. Why? I think I'll leave. Walk the other way.

The railroad tracks! Suicide! Then they'll feel sorry for me. Think of Mr. Smith after he learns that he caused the death of a student. Revenge is sweat.

Yeah, that's right. I don't think all the sweat is worth it. But my parents stand to make a fortune, so at least everyone else could live a better life.

"Where you going?"

"Swim center."


It's like prison. They guard your every step. Looks like lots of other people have tried this before me. Probably because of Mr. Smith, too. I don't care.

Choooo choooo.

It's the end of the world as I know it
....and I feel fine.

"Very good, Jim."


"I love your innovative style. It's not just a story. It's the entire evolution of a story."

"Thanks again. How did you like the ending?"

"Well, it kind of came by surprise. But then again, your foreshadowing. Your devices are quite effective. And the sound effects - leave almost no doubt about what happened."

"He didn't commit suicide."

"He didn't? Well, it sure appears he did?"

"Just a test for English teachers. He just went on singing R.E.M. lyrics. You can tell he wouldn't go through with it."

"What? You just ruined the story with this pesky epilogue."

"Maybe. But suicide is not the answer, no matter what."

"A preachy epilogue. What next."

"How about a gun! I've always wanted to shoot an English teacher."

"Help! Help! Security! Police. Armed student! Help!"


Unscrew the world before it screams.