Frolicking with Sponges

Chapter Three- Where has all the sanity gone?

Author's Notes: Hallo there! I wrote this because I was bored one day, and it grew from there. Almost all of the characters here are real people who I like to make fun of. If you find something offensive (which I think you won't) please don't flame me, just grill a chicken or something, okay?

Background Info / Inside Jokes:

Evelyn- Wants to be an optometrist when she grows, and is very sarcastic.

Breah- She's usually very intelligent, but we like to make fun of the fact that she can be rather...obsessive about her looks.

Sam- When you get her going, she can be very clueless. I play upon it heavily here. Also, she's in love with Buddha (yes, as in the religion). That comes in later chapters, however.

Me (Main Character, it's in first person): There's nothing more akward that putting yourself in a story. I cannot imagine how fanfiction writers do it. Anyway, it's just a warning.

Now, let us begin...

(I promise no more lengthy notes in other chapters!)

~*~

"Parody...Parody. Parody. Parody...."

"Shut up."

"Parody!!"

"A humorous imitation of a serious piece of work."

"Parody?"

"Yes, now shut up!"

It was a normal day, in a normal school. Actually, the school was full of adulterers and smokers and people whose only destiny was to the work at Burger King, but that's a story for rainy days. Four young women were walking down a hall with sick florescent lighting, two who were frantically cramming for a vocabulary quiz.

"Parody...a humorous imitation of...of...," muttered Samantha, the one with the peanut for a brain. It's not a bad thing. I personally like peanuts. She had short blonde hair and was very pale, with bright blue eyes that seemed rather vacant at times.

"A serious piece of work. You're an idiot," I said. Unlike my peanut-head friend, I study for my vocabulary quizzes. At lunch. And also unlike Samantha, I am too beautiful to describe.

"Mrs. Johnson gave us a test yesterday," moaned Evelyn, one of my greatest friends, who speaks sarcasm fluently and loves to make fun of my hair and sandals. She had very long dirty blonde hair, and blue eyes darker than Sam's. She could also make her nose twitch at will. "I failed it," she added.

"I have to finish it after school," reported Breah, who writes novels to short answer question, and always hands in a book for her essays. She has medium-length brown hair, and brown eyes. Though plain I make her sound to be, she never dresses down, and loves clothes and makeup. Evelyn and I have decided she's a lower life form.

"Of course you are," muttered Sam, her eyebrows knitted, "Now...what's a parody again?"

It was just another day, in just another school.

~*~

It was the end of the day, right after English class. I was happily telling Sam about how I aced that vocabulary quiz, when we were joined by Breah, who had the English class across the hall. We headed towards Evelyn's locker, because she needed to make sure it hadn't eaten anything. As we arrived, I leaned against a locker casually, eavesdropping on the teachers next door.

"We'll get them all...stupid teenagers, stupid humans!' They deserve to die."

Ah, it was Mr. Coombes, our friendly Chemistry teacher.

"Whining, pathetic things. So what if I made them write the definition of amphiprotic verbatim? Even if it isn't a word?"

Oh, and Breah and Evelyn's kindly English teacher, Mrs. Johnson.

"They don't have goals. How can they not have goals?"

And of course, Mr. Boyle. How he ended up a History teacher (or engaged for that matter), I have yet to figure out.

"Listen," I whispered to Evelyn, "It's the Axis Powers."

Being a complete dork, she understood what I was saying. It was just like Germany, Italy and Japan. The cruelest, most moronic teachers were assembled in one room. I wondered how the room could bear it. Coombes, Boyle and Johnson were hated by every student in the school.

"What are they saying?" she asked, grinning slightly. She fed her locker a biscuit, then slammed it shut.

"Um," I said, listening hard, "Something about blowing up the school."

"It would be warmer," shivered Breah, who was wearing a pink halter top with sparkles, a pink shirt and some hideous pink platform shoes with pink flowers on them.

"Let's offer to help!" suggested Sam. I nodded, and we shuffled towards the door.

We paused for another second to listen...

"Is it ready?"

"I don't know, why don't you ask again in five more seconds?"

"...Is it ready?"

"NOW!" I yelled, for some reason the urge overpowering me. We dashed into the room, and suddenly a bright, neon-flamingo-pink light engulfed our bodies. There was screaming, there was laughter. Mostly, there was screaming. Lights danced danced, stars sang. Flashing lights did the tango in polka dotted tights. Then suddenly, there was nothing at all.