The Eggs of Dementia

It was October and there was an assembly for homecoming. I hated this type of thing and wanted to stay home, but my fucking bitch mom and my bastard dad didn’t let that shit go down, so I just “bit the bullet”. I would rather have eaten a box of bullets than experience what happened that day…

The pep rally was held in the gymnasium; oh, how ironic, the same place the worst class ever, P.E., was held. Naturally, my fifth hour math teacher, Miss Shanks, was a fucking whore bitch and released us über-late so we were literally the last group of kids into the gymnasium. Even though we had designated sections, finding a seat was not the easiest task in the world. As I climbed the steps, annoying music continued to play and it pissed me off, so I began to get a little aggressive; I sung the My Little Pony theme song, among other rather dark and evil metal songs in my head as I imagined torturing and murdering people or even showing off my full d-helm in Runescape.

As I got to the top of the steps, I was (inadvertently?) tripped up and went tumbling down. Even if everyone wasn’t looking at me, I could feel the heat; more heat than Excelsior’s heat-seeking laser-beam in the champion chamber of tier-11 beta. I could feel myself falling in slow motion, with the laughs and microphone feedback echoing inside my head.

“Hey, it’s Wally the Freak,” Chance Franklin said.

“HE’S A CREEPY RAPIST,” Bolinda Deeks added.

“GO TO HELL PONYBOY!” Chet Peters continued.

There are so many more insults that were added to my injury. Much like Adolf Hitler wanted, or rather anticipated Valkyries to emerge from the heavens to the aid of German forces at the apex of the final Allied push into Berlin, I wanted Princess Luna or Rainbow Dash or even Gilda to come and save me from this inferno.