Nobody tells me what to do. I'm a superhero, damn it. But right now a teacher is giving me the rules of conduct while talking to a bunch of junior high kids. I hate junior high kids. They're the worse. Junior high is where you learn how to be an asshole. I've never met someone that was one way between the ages of 12 and 15 that turned out different than what I expected.
But what do I know about junior high anyway? I was home-schooled. Sorta. I've had these powers since I was little so keeping me in class would've been stutarded. How could they force me to do homework when I had the ability to physically toss the school across the city? They couldn't! That's how! So I picked up stuff along the way from reading books like Dragonball Z and watching Beakman's World reruns.
“Remember to not curse.”
“These are children.”
“You will be speaking for one hour.”
“Are you listening?”
“That's not an answer, Mr. Panic.”
“Walter” my lady, Ronica, says to me. She gives me a look. I told her to start working on her looks because I tend to confuse the “Get on top of my body right now” look with her “I never want to speak to you again” stare. “These are children.”
“They won't be when I'm done with 'em” I say.
“What does that even mean?” this teacher asks me. She isn't even hot. That pisses me off. When they asked me to do this they had this hot young thang plead to come say something inspirational to the kids at her school. I get here and Morgan Freeman with a wig is nagging me. She honeypot me. “What is he doing?”
“He's thinking things he shouldn't say out loud” Ronica tells her. That's my lady. “I'll be monitoring him to ensure that everything runs smoothly” she says.
“Nothing he does is smooth” my best friend and human pillow Zazz chimes in while texting friends he doesn't really have.
“You know what's smooth?” I ask and in a moment remove his shirt. “Look at that chest. Not a single hair!”
“Give him back his shirt” Ronica says. I fly away and come back a few moments later and hand it back to Zazz. He eyes it suspiciously.
“What did you do to my shirt?”
“Nothing” I say.
“Why is it wet?”
“I may or may not have dipped it in the ocean” I say. Zazz sighs and I hate when he sighs like that. Not because its sad but because I know his diet and it makes his breath stink. “Fine” I say and heat his shirt with my hot hands. “You're lucky I'm so nice” I tell him. “Otherwise these kids would be seeing a wet t-shirt contest. You know what I'm talking about.”
“I do not” the school principal...official...whatever she is says. “And what is that smell?”
“I told you your breath was...” I begin.
“My shirt!” Zazz screams. Its smoking but okay. Until he opens it and its covered in burned hand prints. It looks kinda cool.
“That looks kinda cool” I tell him. Judging by everyone's faces they do not agree.
“This may have been a mistake” teacher librarian says.
“You know, Super Nintendo Chalmers” I say. “Some of the greatest people in history said the exact same thing. Jesus. Gandhi. Amelia Earhart. Optimus Prime...”
“Oh, god...” Ronica, Zazz, and Dean Wormer moan.
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