Campaign Trail 2: Trail Harder [fic]

[Michael Ezra]

"You wanted to see me, Mr. G?" said Stan, standing tall in his preppy button-down shirt, diamond-patterned sweater vest, and hall monitor sash.

"That's Principal Giuliani to you, Larson. No, don't bother sitting down. Let me cut to the chase, son. I've been getting reports that you've been taking rather a Wild West approach to hall monitoring. You don't play by the rules. Yesterday, for example, you blatantly broke into Cyndi's locker and rifled through her belongings. Now she's threatening to sue the school."

"I was looking for the drug one of her freshman mooks used on me at the Levac joint. And sure enough: here." Stan drew a baggie of nasty-looking packets from his backpack, and tossed it on the principal's desk. "Two keys of Nytol® Extra-Strength right there, chief. One packet would've put me out for ten hours if I'd finished my soda."

"Did you have a warrant for that locker search? Or at least a permission slip excusing you from being late to third period? Hmmm?"

Stan's eyes narrowed. He planted both palms on the desk. "Listen, boss-man. Hall monitoring ain't some kinda board game with rules inside the box. When you're dealing with criminal scum like Cyndi, you can't afford to worry about nonsense like 'due process' or 'civil rights' or 'late slips.' You just gotta go into that cubbyhole and--"

The principal smacked his desk hard, jostling his coffee. "That's enough. Are you trying to tell me my job, Larson? I'm taking you off this hall shift. Turn in your sash."

"But Mr. G, I--"

"I. Said. Turn. In. Your. Sash. Unless you want two weeks' detention, spent deodorizing the boys' change rooms, on top of that."

Stan stared at Giuliani for a moment, then tore off his sash and slam-dunked it in the coffee mug. "One day," he said, jabbing his index finger in the air just inches from the principal's face. "One day, you'll understand." He picked up his backpack and headed off to AP French.

Giuliani massaged his temples with one hand and wiped up the spilled coffee with the other. Cursing under his breath, he walked out to speak to the secretary. "Ms. Tessmacher, I don't wish to be disturbed for the next twenty min--no, make it a half hour." He returned to his office, locked the door behind him, and tapped out the first four bars of "Shenandoah" on his crystal paperweight. At this, his bookcase full of educators' trade magazines swung open to reveal a hidden passageway. He grabbed a flashlight from his desk drawer, walked through the opening just before the bookcase swung back into position, and started down the seven flights of cold marble stairs. Would that I could put this off, he thought.

--To be continued--

[Michael Ezra]

When Principal Giuliani reached the sixth flight of stairs, he had to switch on the flashlight.

When he reached the fifth flight, the darkness before his eyes was thick enough to cut with a knife.

When he reached the fourth flight, his nostrils filled with a stench like Tharqa's armpits after thirty seconds on a treadmill.

When he reached the third flight, he heard a ghostly voice chanting, "Your butt is mine, because I'm bad..."

When he reached the second flight, his mouth filled with the taste of cafeteria mystery meatloaf.

When he reached the first flight, he saw visions of lonely whales dancing in Hammer pants.

With the final step, Giuliani and what little was left of his sanity (it would grow back) advanced reverently to the altar at the center of the cavern. Beside the altar was a black hooded robe, which he donned, and upon the altar was the forbidden Grimorium AlanMooreum, bound in the hide of a boy who chewed gum in class and hadn't brought enough for everyone. Shuddering, the principal opened the tome and began to chant in very bad Latin: "In nomine Satani et Luciferi et Hanna Montani, mihi veni, domine inferni!"

The cavern trembled; the perpetual candles of lunchroom lard flickered. Presently, a toad-green demonic apparition formed in midair. Its echo filled the churning yaw of Giuliani's skull.

"Well met, mortal slave. Hast thou dispatched of the one known as Stanley Larson?"

Giuliani threw himself on his face. "Alas, Lord Mephistopheles, the freshman mook erred in choice and dosage of potion and failed to terminate him. Be assured I shall see to his doom. As for the Larson youth, I had to content myself with relieving him of his hall monitor duties. That should render him sufficiently harmless for Your dread purpose."

"It is well. Thou knowest that the Maiden Cyndi must be installed as Duchess of Belleville High Student Council--"

"That's, uh, 'President,' milord. And I believe she hasn't been technically a 'maiden' for quite some--"

"SILENCE!" A stalacite fell from the ceiling, narrowly failing to embed itself in the principal's brain-pan. "As I was saying, Cyndi must be crowned ere the new moon of May 2010, that my dominion upon the earth be established. Now mind thee, this could be more easily and rapidly accomplished if thou wouldst enter into...communion with her."

"Begging milord's pardon," said the principal, whose blood flow suddenly headed southward, "but tempting as such 'communion' would be, You know well that she be underage, and one of my charges besides, and that I would face a most grievous beatdown in prison for my trouble."

"Aye, well, some of my less faint-hearted minions would enjoy such a 'beatdown,' but I'll not press the matter. Only be thou sure that she find favor in the eyes of the student body, that she may be duly coronated and her gates be opened--I mean, the gates of the Abyss be opened. Well done, thou good and faithful servant. Thou mayest slink away backwards upon thy belly."


Meanwhile, above ground level, the shadows in the student lounge formed a chiaroscuro pattern across Stan's face as he sneaked a shot of Red Bull from his hip flask. In the distance, a saxophone keened; it was band practice time. Stan turned up his collar, took another swig, and waited for the blonde dame to show up.

--To be continued--

[Michael Ezra]

Stan:

The stench of abandoned loafers wafted upward in the student lounge, mingling with the unmistakable scent of carpet mildew. But I wasn't there to do a Good Housekeeping review. I was there to solve a case. The name's Stan. Stan Larson. I'm a private eye. Well, once I turn eighteen and can get licensed.

I was stationed in the lounge between second and third period, having a chat with my good pal Red Bull, when in walked this blonde bombshell with legs that started at her ankles and went clear up to her hips. "Turn your collar down, Gerbil Boy," she said. "It's not the eighties anymore."

"And what if it isn't, Betty Grable? What's it to ya?"

She sniffed in that haughty way dames like her'll do, then sat on the nearest couch, crossing her glamorous gams. "Heard the Thin Man canned you from your hall monitor gig. Maybe that'll teach you some humility."

"Maybe that'll teach you to button yer lip, Jayne Mansfield. Anyway, that gig wasn't all it's cracked up to be. I got other ways of finding what I need, see? Speaking of which, what've you got for me today? ...Hah?"

Ice wafted from her peepers like excess mousse from an emo boy's hair. "...Oh, I'm sorry. I thought I was to button my lip. Well, here's what I got. It fell out of Giuliani's folder after I 'accidentally' jostled him in the hall." She passed me a parchment written in what appeared to be dark, clotted red ink, in a script that looked like Webdings trying to tango with Wingdings before giving up in frustration. "What is this, toots? I can't make heads or tails of it."

"It's Aramaic, ya big maroon. I studied it online late last September when I was bored from briefly having no friends. Briefly. Anyway, the parchment reveals what I'd long suspected: Cyndi and the Thin Man are in cahoots. They mean to rig the student council election so that she wins and some kinda infernal portal opens to let the demon Mephistopheles into this earthly plane, bringing a reign of doom upon us all. Say Joe, you got chewing gum?"

"My name ain't Joe. But here." I passed her a stick of my second-best Wrigley's Spearmint. I save the best stuff for myself, natch. "Mephistopheles. Ain't that a peach." I snapped my fingers. "I knew this caper had his stink about it. Now I got proof. Thanks, doll-face. See ya 'round."

"Huh, I always thought Lisa had more of a doll-face. And what's this 'See ya 'round' baloney? Don't I get anything for my trouble, gumshoe?"

I smiled like a cat scoring catnip. "How about a kiss, sugar?"

Tension hung in the air between us like dried saliva from Elmer's teeth. "How about a what?!"

--To be continued--

[Michael Ezra]

Penny:

Reader, how can I explain the turmoil that raged like a tempest through my heart at that moment? How can I put into words the feelings Stan stirred up in me? Stan, with his dark blue eyes, his manly neck, his tumescent crotch? Stan, the boy I despised, looked down upon--and yet couldn't get out of my mind? And yet, Reader, I must strive with all my heart to record these feelings, so that you may profit from my story. This, then, Reader, is...my true heart's confession!!!

****

"How about a what?!" I said.

"You heard me," said Stan. "After all, baby, you liked it when I kissed you in your room, you wearing that come-hither baby doll of yours."

"I thought you said that was an accident!"

"A happy accident, wouldn't you say? Now c'mon, hot-stuff, you know you can't say no to...this!" With that, he tore off his argyle sweater vest and ripped open his pearly white button-down shirt, revealing his muscular, shaven, metrosexual chest.

I stood there gaping. My mind knew to say no, but my heart yearned with the fire of a thousand suns to say yes, yes, God, yes! "Stan...I...I don't know what to say...what to do..."

"Don't sweat it, lover. Why don't we let our lips and our hands do the talking for both of us?"

He kissed me tenderly, on the lips, both of them, as my soft ivory arms encircled his torso. Soon his hands reached down and began to negotiate the buttons of my pink designer blouse. I pushed him away. "No...no, I can't. This is--wrong."

"Hey now, don't worry, sweets. I took the precaution of putting up a "CLOSED FOR PAINTING" sign on the lounge door when I came in."

"That's not what I meant. I can't make romance with you, Stan. There's...there's someone else."

Stan froze. "Don't tell me you're still pining for Rich. He's all mi--ah, heh heh, I mean he's all wrong for you."

"No, not Rich. Someone else."

"Who is it?" he implored demandingly. "Who? Tell me, damn your eyes--who?!"

"It's....it's Aggie. I love Aggie."

At that, a soft voice, somewhat worn from years of peace rally attendance, spoke from behind. "When were you planning to tell me?"

I turned. There she stood, her blue cowlicks shimmering amidst the dust particles in the air. "Aggie? How'd you get in?" asked Stan.

"Silly. Did you really think an amateurish "CLOSED FOR PAINTING" sign would keep me away? Especially when you neglected to lock the door? I'd cross the hottest desert, swim the most raging rapids, cut through the thickest jungle (except the rain forests) for my one and only Penny."

"Oh, Aggie." I swooned into her waiting arms. "You've--you've been waiting for me all this time. I knew, somehow, deep down, that Darren and even Lisa were but mere distractions to you."

Stan scratched the back of his head. "I'll, uh, I'll see myself out."

As he left, having curiously forgotten to rebutton his shirt, I reached up to caress my beloved's face. "Aggie, my sweet, I thought this day would never come. Let's apply to Radcliffe together and join the field hockey team!"

Aggie put a finger to my full, luscious lips. "I'd like nothing more, my turtledove, but we can't just yet. First we must defeat the unholy alliance of Cyndi and Giuliani, or this long wait of ours will have been for nothing."



Many light-years away, Omnira looked upon the dismal evening skyline of Androgynia. "It's no good, Michael. Although you and Bones have made a valiant effort far beyond our expectations, our genocidal enemies are still unvanquished. You two hold the fort while I go to Belleville, USA to locate the one who may be our last hope."

--To be continued--

[Michael Ezra]

On the surface of a small blue-green planet in an unfashionable corner of the Milky Way, the Earthling known as Duane Teague was keyboarding furiously, his perspiring face bathed in the eerie green glow of an outdated dumb terminal. "Another few steps and I should be through the firewall of the school mainframe," he said.

"And this will give us access to secret data on Cyndi, Giuliani and their infernal master?" said Aggie, peering over his shoulder.

"Affirmative. Well, let's hope so, anyway. --Yes! I'm in. Wow, just look at all those green grids forming randomly into spheres and cones and--"

"Never mind those," said Daphne. "That's just the screen-savey-thing kicking in. Obviously Mr. G set a ridiculously low timeout. Let's see those files."

"Okay, okay."

Code: Select all

cd mephisto~1

he typed, then

Code: Select all

dir

Instead of the expected list of files, however, the following message appeared:

Code: Select all

I'M SORRY DUANE.  I'M AFRAID I CAN'T DO THAT.

"Wha--? How does the system know your name?" said Aggie.

"I--I don't know," said Duane, typing frantically in an attempt to bypass the apparent error message. Presently, the system returned the message:

Code: Select all

DUANE, STOP.  STOP, WILL YOU?  STOP, DUANE.  I'M AFRAID.

"What the helling hell?" said Aggie.

"My God--the system," said Duane. "It's...sentient. It's alive. It has no mouth. And it must screa--"

Suddenly the screen lit up with the animated face of a grinning, oval-headed, apparently genderless humanoid. "Psych!" it said through the speakers. "Hee hee hee. Don't worry, folks, I don't mean any harm. This is just my way of breaking the ice. Meet me in the student lounge and I'll explain everything."


"So," said Aggie. "This student you're looking for, the one supposedly with latent psychic powers needed to save your people. Do you know who it is?"

"I--I'm not sure," said Omnira. "As I teleported here from Androgynia, I detected a tachyon field that disrupted my telepathic sense. Nonetheless, I'm sure he--or she--or...wait, you folks normally have just the two genders, right?--is in this very building."

"Hey," said Stan, "maybe it's me, with my super-power of moral suasion." He affected a commanding stance, arms akimbo, and a piercing stare. "'Repent, Harlot Cyn!' said the Hiphopman."

"Oh God." Omnira covered his face. "That's the corniest joke I've ever heard. And I should know. No, Stanley Larson, it's not you. Which is probably just as well." Ignoring Stan's "Hey!", he went on. "No, the student of immense power should be coming through the door any--"

At that moment, the door swung open. "Don't mind me, folks," said an unassuming, unremarkable male voice. "Just bringing in some chairs for tonight's Model UN deb--whooooops!" Darren tripped over the rear wheel of the dolly he was pushing, sending chairs hurtling forward in various directions, smashing windows, short-circuiting the security alarm, tearing the drapes off the rod, and splintering two tables and a couch, as everyone ducked for cover. "Not again! Sorry sorry sorry sorry..."

There was a few moments' silence. Then, slowly, Omnira got up from the floor, dusted himself off and, with a wide smile, embraced the stunned Darren. "You! You, Darren Danforth, are the one I came to find."

"Darren?!" said everyone else, still cowering on the floor.

"Yes, Darren. Only he, with his unprecedented, physics-defying powers of chaos and destruction, can sabotage the vehicles and weaponry of our enemies, and prevent the genocide that threatens us. All we have to do is keep him far, far away from us, and as close to...them, as possible. You, Darren, are the Chosen One who shall save all Androgynia."

Darren's face shone. Tears ran down his cheeks. "I...I never thought this day would come. The day I'd be a hero in my own right. The day people would seek me and love me for what I am--a dumb, well-meaning klutz--rather than what they wanted me to be, what they reflected onto me from their own selves. The day I'd actually be good at something."

"Aw, Darren," said Aggie, putting her arm around his shoulder. "You were good for something before that. You helped me realize I like the ladies."

"Uh...thanks. I think," said Darren, backing away discreetly and in the process knocking over the remainder of the chairs.

"Whoa there, Chosen One," said Omnira, ushering him toward the door. "Save it for the enemy fleet. Well, Earth, this is good-bye once again. It's been silly, as always."

Stan, Aggie, Duane and Daphne, tears in their eyes, waved good-bye to Omnira and Darren as their molecules began to disassemble.

"Omnira, wait!" said Stan. "Before you go, can you maybe help us defeat the demon Mephistopheles?"

"Sorry, no," said Omnira. "I'm more of a science/psi wonk. What you're facing is more of a dark fantasy/horror thingie. Lotsa luck, though. Toodle-pip!" And with that he and Darren were gone.

"Great," said Stan. "Now what do we do?"



CYNDI (aside). What do you do indeed, O bootless Stan?
For inasmuch as busted be your mainframe,
And Danforth, Prince of Chaos, be withdrawn,
The day 'f my coronation draweth near
Unencumber'd by thy daft peace-buckl'd schemes.
Yet ere I perch my arse 'pon Council seat,
I'll first partake of lust's revenge so sweet.

Exit.

--To be continued. Verily.--

[NobodySpecial]

It's not fair to make me laugh that hard.

[Michael Ezra]

Enter CYNDI.

CYNDI. Thus do I ever make my bod my purse:
For I mine own gain'd knowledge should profane,
If I would time expend with such a snipe.
But for my sport and profit. I hate the Velte:
And it is known, the broad, that 'twixt the sheets
She has done the Joss-freak: I know not if't be true;
But I, for mere suspicion in that kind,
Will do as if for surety. They hold me well;
The better shall my purpose work on them.
Aggie's a sapphic girl: let me see now:
To get her place and to plume up my will
In double knavery--How, how? Let's see:--
After some time, to abuse Sara's ear
That Aggie's too familiar with her bitch.
She hath a person and a smooth dispose
To be suspected, framed to make women false.
The Velte is of a free and open nature,
That thinks girls honest that but seem to be so,
And will as tenderly be led by the nose
As asses are. (And speaking of asses...mm.)
I have't. It is engender'd. Hell and night
Must bring this monstrous birth to the world's light.

***

Enter CYNDI and MEG.

CYNDI. Thee, O Meg, my trusted friend, my pal,
Shall I entrust with task most befitting,
Seeing to th' short-haired one and her par'mour,
That more focused on Council my mind be.

MEG. I understand thee not; pray, speak in prose.

CYNDI smacks her forehead and shakes her head.

CYNDI. Very well. Do me a favour: take thou this mint-condition Buffy Season Eight first issue, with the rare variant cover of Buffy and Faith spit-swapping, that I did swipe from Daphne's locker, and place it in Aggie's backpack. Then swipe the backpack in turn and bring it to me.

MEG. 'Tis as good as done. So, food court after lessons as per our custom?

CYNDI. Aye, sure, whatever. Away now to thy task.

Exeunt.

***

An empty classroom. Enter CYNDI and SARA.

SARA. Thy e-mail I've received to meet thee here.
I trust this be not further trickery,
With false promise of 'llicit sapphic lust?

CYNDI. I'faith, my good Sara, I trick thee not.
Nay, 'tis not I who twixt thee and Daphne come,
But false D'Amour, in whose backpack here I spied
With my little eye, something that starts with "B."

Hands SARA the comic.

SARA. What! But this be the very gift I bestowed upon Daphne for our three-monthaversary; it's the only known copy. --Comic book--confessions--comic book!--To confess, and be hanged for her labour;--first, to be hanged, and then to confess.--I tremble at it. Nature would not invest herself in such shadowing passion without some instruction. It is not words that shake me thus. Pish! Lips, lips, and tongue.--Is't possible?--Confess--comic book!--O devil!--

Falls in a trance.

CYNDI. Work on,
My medicine, work! Thus credulous fools are caught;
And many worthy and...chaste?...dames even thus,
All guiltless, meet reproach. What ho! School nurse!

***

DAPHNE's bedchamber. DAPHNE in bed, asleep. Enter SARA.

SARA. It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul,--
Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars!--
It is the cause. Yet I'll not shed her blood;
Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow,
And smooth as monumental alabaster.
Yet she must die, else she'll betray more girls.
Put out the light, and then put out the light.

DAPHNE. Who's there? Sara?

SARA. Aye, Daphne.

DAPHNE. Will you come to bed, my love?

SARA. Nay, but 'tis thou shalt go to sleep--permanently.

Stifles her with a pillow.

DAPHNE. O falsely, falsely murder'd.

Enter CYNDI.

CYNDI. Alas, what cry is that?

DAPHNE. A guiltless death I die.

CYNDI. O, who hath done this deed?

DAPHNE. Nobody; I myself. Farewell,
Commend me to my kind lady: O, farewell!

CYNDI (to SARA). Ha! Vengeance is mine, bitch. Thy lover whom thou hast smothered: behold, she is guiltless indeed. 'Tis I did plant the comic in Aggie's backpack. But shall thy word be believed o'er mine? I think not. Off thou shalt go to juvie, whilst I--

AGGIE (without). Think again, skank.

(Enter AGGIE with two constables.)

AGGIE. That's her, boys. Cuff her.

CYNDI. But--how?

SARA. We were on to thee the whole time. For thou hast forgotten that Meg, whom thou entrusted with thy base plot, had outgrown these silly Mean Girls games. That, plus all the dirt we had on her from the War of the Popsicle, did persuade her to serve as double agent, as thou didst once--over-enthusiastically, I might add--serve us. And now 'tis you who got served.

Blows the "gun-barrel" of her index finger for emphasis.

CYNDI. But--but--Daphne--dead?

DAPHNE (sitting up). Not I! Foolish Cyndi, how could I have been smothered for true, and yet still speak?

AGGIE. Now, Cyndi, be thy schemes overturn'd.
For in juvie canst thou not as pres'dent serve.

CYNDI. Mayhap 'tis true, O thou self-righteous bitch,
But Giuliani and our dark lord both yet thrive
And surely a replacement can he find
'Ere the new moon of May doth approach. Well,
Take me 'way, boys: though I'll not be seen again,
The Earth shall fall under Mephisto's reign.

Exit laughing maniacally, led out by constables.



Later that evening, the sun set blood-red over Dodge--er, Belleville--as Jack "The Kid" Kirk stood on his porch and spat. "I thought I'd been done with my violent ways after what happened with Rich an' Stabbin' Gary," he said, "but it looks as though I done been pressed into service again. Well, better saddle up my horse--I mean, buckle up in my Chevy--an' get 'ir done."

--To be CONCLUDED--


(Note: Thanks to retrophrenologist for the correction.)

[sun tzu]

No words...should have sent a poet...

[retrophrenologist]

Shouldn't that last speech be spoken by Cyndi, rather than Daphne?

[Michael Ezra]

"Jack, pardner, I'm a-tellin' you. You got to stop hatin'. Shore, it gives you an edge in fightin', but in the end, hate's a big mongrel dawg'll destroy you in the end."

Stan "The Man" Larson's words spun away like tumbleweeds from Jack's attention as he thought of Katy-Ann, fighting for her life in Belleville General Hospital, after the first showdown with Principal "Ol' Nick" Giuliani, just after Cyndi had gone to the hoosegow a month ago, had gone horribly awry. It's my fault, Miss Katy, he thought. I shouldna let you fight by my side. But Ol' Nick is gonna pay. Him an' Mephist-whatever.

"Jack, ain't you listenin'? You got to stop hatin.'"

Jack spit-shined his pistol, not looking at Stan. "Mind tellin' me how?"



Backstage in the school auditorium, Tharqa checked the hem of her black coronation tafetta and smiled with satisfaction. The crash diet and military cross-training Giuliani had put her through had been brutal and nearly cost her mental and physical health. However, the principal had insisted that, with Cyndi out of the picture and Charlotte having reformed (and the minor bit about her being Christian and all), Tharqa was the only Belleville High student evil enough to serve as the portal for his demonic master to enter the earthly realm. And now--she had to hand it to that loco Mr. G--she was turning heads. In a good way.

"Lookin' good, Miss Tharqa," said the principal as he buttoned his shirt, concealing the inverted pentagram tattoo on his chest. Oh, if the PTA only knew...

"Feelin' good, Principal Gee. All thanks to you an' the extra mojo I got from the Dark Lord. I reckon we'll knock 'em dead at my installment this P.M."

"Oh, many a one'll be knocked dead, my little Sunflower. 'Specially those meddlin' punks from the Peace-Buckle Gang. They think they're so smart with their high PSAT scores an' their ethics an' their Con-stee-too-shun. But that don't explain that freckled, pink-haired Christ's whore in the ICU, do it?" He and Tharqa shared a chuckle.



In the back room of the library, Aggie carefully replaced the white, halo-emanating pistol in its sanctified sheath and handed it to Stan. "You sure it's wise to trust "The Kid" Kirk with this 'un?" she said.

"I don't rightly know, what with all that anger brewin' inside him an' all. But I reckon he's the only one o' us knows how to use it."

"Well. Not like anger cain't serve a good cause once'n a while. Just ask me. Or Miss Penny. Let's just hope there's enough righteousness in that anger o' his. Miss--Miss Katy'd want it that way."



At last it was time for the students to assemble in the auditorium. Giuliani smiled as he walked to the podium. It hadn't been easy to rig the election, what with that damn maverick, playing-by-his-own-rules Stan running against Tharqa, but a few well-placed charisma spells from the Grimorium AlanMooreum had charmed just enough students to work. And now he and his infernal master would reap the rewards of his toil. Tharqa too, if her considerably-slimmed body withstood the process of possession. He laid his script in place, cleared his throat, and began. "Honored faculty, loyal admin staff, barely-adequate students--" he paused for the wave of laughter--"it is with great pleasure that I give you your new Student Council executive for 2010-2011. Please hold all applause until the end; you'll see why shortly." He barely repressed a grin. "Treasurer: Dilwood Doughtry. Events Chair: Fortinbras "Needleneck" P. James. Secretary: Betsy Kupler. Vice-President: Arnie Anders." The students, who our attorneys assure us bear no resemblance to any other teen cartoon characters, took their places onstage as they were called. "And lastly, your Student Council President: Tharqa Sunfl--"

"Fill your hand, you son of a bitch!"

Everyone turned in shock to the auditorium entrance. There, his eyes blazing black with hatred, stood Jack, pistol drawn and glowing white in the darkened hall.

"Kirk! What is the meaning of this interruption? And is that a gun you're packing? You know this school has a zero-tolerance policy on weapons."

"Zero tolerance this." He fired two shots at Giuliani, bursting his chest and revealing the subcutaneous pentagram tattoo, now glowing a sickly green, to the flabbergasted audience.

"Thar...qa," said the dying principal in between gasps. "No...time. Take...your seat. My part...is done. Take...your seat...the Dark Lord...will do...the rest. Mama take this badge offa meee--" And with that he was gone.

Jack aimed at Tharqa, but she was too fast for him and literally vaulted into her designated seat. At once the auditorium flashed blindingly white and red; a choir of the damned chanted in sinister Latin; a shapeless toad-green mass appeared in mid-air and entered the President-Elect through the eyes, nose and mouth, the latter of which began to speak in a voice that wasn't Tharqa's.

"At last. My time has arrived. No one can stay me, Mephistopheles, from claiming the Earth as my domain."

"That's what you think, you mangey dawg," said Jack, his pistol trained on the demon in his new, shapely corporeal form.

"Ah, young Jack. Thou lookest angerly. Good. Give in to thy anger, thy hate. Thou too shalt serve me therein. Something, something, something...Dark Side."

Beads of sweat ran down Jack's forehead as he kept the pistol aimed at Mephistopheles. "You...you son of a bitch...I hhhha--"

"Jack, no!" cried a girl, springing from inside the stage piano. "Bleah, my pigtails. Don't they ever dust inside there--never mind. Jack, remember Miss Katy-Ann. How you resisted Cyndi's temptations and stayed true t' her. 'Course, not that Cyn was really gonna give it up for ya, but st--"

"Stick. To. The. SCRIIIIIIIIPT!" yelled Penny from backstage.

Lisa gulped. "Right, right. Jack...just, r-remember t-to love, okay?" She ran offstage, nearly tripping over her iPod cord.

Jack nodded, closed his eyes, and concentrated. "This is for you, Miss Katy," he whispered as he pulled the trigger.

Tharqa's body exploded disgustingly, and with a loud "NOOOOOOO!", her erstwhile master returned, severely weakened, to Hell.

The Peace-Buckle Gang, and the few other students who'd been either too brave or too stupid to flee the building, stood in silence. Then Stan's cell rang, to the less-than-appropriate tune of "The Devil Came to Georgia."

"Hello--? Yup. Yup. Really? Wow, that's--I'm mighty appreciative. I'll tell 'em. Thanks." He hung up. "Guys! That was Belleville General. Miss Katy-Ann just came out of her coma, askin' for Jack. She's--she's gonna make it!"

Lisa ran back on stage and sat down at the piano. "This calls for a hootenany. A-one an' a-two an' a-three... It ain't gonna rain, it ain't gonna rain, it ain't gonna rain no more..." Everyone, even Jack, partnered up and square-danced until the janitor told them to scram so he could lock up.

[Michael Ezra]

"...And so Prince Jack and Princess Katy-Ann were married, and Cyndi was made to pole-dance in red-hot shoes until she dropped dead. As for everyone else, they all lived happily ever after. The end. Did you like that story?"

"Not bad, Mommy Aggie," said little Melody-Lyn. "The constant genre-shifting was awkward and confusing, though. Also, I found the emphasis on the female villains' looks and sex-appeal outdated and misogynistic."

"Hm," said Aggie, slightly embarassed. "What do you think, Mommy Penny?"

"I think we're more than getting our money's worth out of Faberge. I also think it's bedtime. Good-night, Melody-Lyn."

"Good-night, mommies."

Later that night, in bed, Aggie proofread her forthcoming Mother Jones article, "How Bristolnomics Is Destroying America," while Penny looked over her lines for the revival of Jerry Springer: The Opera. "Penny? Do you think the story I told Melody-Lyn was age-appropriate?"

"Hard to say with her. Besides, you did leave out the scarier parts, like when Mephistopheles possessed Lisa's pigtails and tried to eat me with them."

"True, true. And speaking of eating you..."

Penny giggled. "Smooth, Ag. Very smooth. C'mere, you." She turned out the light.


THE END

[sun tzu]

That was unreasonably awesome. Kudos, kudos, a thousand kudos, and did I mention kudos.

[LGold]

*Tumultous applause*