The Adventures of Scary Rosie at Artichoke High School


A/N: Yeah… so… I get really, really bored at school. So what do I do? I ignore my fellow classmates and boring teachers and write really bizarre fiction! Yay! I'm a loser. This is pointless, weird, and probably doesn't make any sense, but it's not supposed to really. I just need something else besides Economics class to satisfy my demented little mind.

Enjoy my random demented-ness.


The First Installment: Iggy

I had a dream I was walking through a field of cotton candy with a giant turtle named Iggy. Iggy was not only large, but also very, very fat. He waddled very much when he walked. But regardless of his ridiculous size—and the problems we often had trying to fit his massive form into my door when he came over—Iggy was my best friend.

But I woke up, and Iggy was gone. I should have expected as much; my dream faded, as dreams often do. I was still left feeling hollow and alone. To take out the anguish I felt, I grabbed a marker and some paper and furiously scrawled out a poem to expend the aggression.

Roses are red,

So is blood

I like cookies

And then came the flood

Violets are blue

So is my heart

My tears fell

And I have to fart

But I am in public

That would be gross

Girls aren't supposed to fart

I will now become comatose

I miss Iggy

My best turtle friend

I think I will get a piggy

And name him Jerend

I had to go to school then. So I got my lazy ass out of bed and got dressed in my favorite zebra striped dress and put on some sparkly pink cat ears. Wonderful. I got in the car and drove to school. Oh, wait, I don't have a car. I forgot. I got onto the back of my majestic pet unicorn and we galloped toward my high school.

Moonshine the unicorn and I arrived at Artichoke High School just in time, and I dismounted, sending him home, and headed inside. I hoped I wouldn't have any run-ins with any werewolves on my way to my locker. That happens sometimes.

Anyway, I walked through the doors and through the cafeteria, which led to the hallway. It smelled of burnt cheese in there. I guess the cafeteria trolls were burning the grilled cheese sandwiches again. That, or there was something else in there that they weren't telling us about. The charred skin of their victims,freshly peeled and over-fried. They probably had innocent people in cages back there. It wouldn't surprise me, considering the things I've been served on my Styrofoam tray.

I happily made my stroll down the dimly lit hallway and to my locker. I tapped it three times and said, "Sparklemuffin," and the metal lock clicked and the door swung open. I grabbed my purple binder and my jar of eyeballs and headed to class.

As I walked up the staircase, I passed by Drake Hansen, and he hissed at me, backing up against the handrail as much as he could. I flipped him off and then ran for it, ducking into my classroom before he could bite me. My teacher greeted me by shoving a broom into my hands and growling, "You're late. Now you get to sweep out the crack fox cage.

Damn it all. I hated that job. That's what I got for being late to Mrs. Hickleberri's class, the infamous teacher with blue hair, who I heard apparently used to make her students lick the dust off the bookshelves if they misbehaved until they told her that health codes existed. Who knows what's true around here, though?