mountains out of m o l e h i l l s ;kerli&soren

[HECTOR LÉON]

- - - - - - - he got the money; man, he got the fold lines
- - - - - - - but he got the problems banging on his door

[/font][/center]

Despite it being a core class, there weren’t many students at Barrie that seemed to be taking History. Maybe it was because it was more often than not completely dull, or maybe it was because despite every history teacher ever’s favorite mantra, “Those who forget history are doomed to repeat it,” plenty of people found it pretty pointless for their future careers, but whatever the reason, it was a relatively small class, as far as average college classes go, made up of only thirty students on the roster, and that was before one counted out the ditchers, the sleepers, and the ones that were so jacked up on drugs and alcohol that they were never really entirely ‘there’ at any given time of the lesson. On any normal day, under any normal circumstances, Hector would be among the ditchers—in truth, he’d nearly completely forgotten that this class had existed considering that after being in school for months and after having supposedly been scheduled to attend this class at least ten times already, he had shown up a total of zero times altogether—but this was no normal day, and these were no normal circumstances. By some form of luck, or by some form of hooking up with enough of the ‘honors kids’ to be in the know about all the other ‘honors kids’’ business, Hector had learned that the beautiful and magnificent Kerli Stewart—his beautiful and magnificent Kerli Stewart—was, in fact, in this very class that Hector had so willingly not attended. And so this was no normal day in the least, because Hector would always remember this day as the day fate finally spoke to him and said, ‘Here ya’ go, buddy. She’s all yours.’

Walking into that room was like walking into that first date she had been refusing or ignoring Hector’s requests for ever since that fateful day he met her between Men’s Shirts and Women’s Dresses. He patted down his shirt anxiously and adjusted his small backpack further up his shoulder, trying to convince himself all the while, It’s no big deal, you’re just going to class. He tried to remain calm, cool, and collected as he searched furtively for Kerli from behind his dark sunglasses, but then, suddenly, his heart collapsed into a thousand pieces and scattered across the entire floor because Oh my god, there she is, an absolute vision. Reminding himself that she was just a girl, Hector adjusted the backpack strap one last time before striding purposefully to the other side of the small auditorium-style room and setting his stuff down into a seat about halfway up from the front.

Sliding easily into the rather uncomfortably cushioned chair, Hector reached down and began unloading the contents of his bag onto the small fold-out tray. Pencils, a pen, and a notebook; he stared down at supplies uncertainly, because what did a person even need for class? After glancing curiously at whatever else his ‘classmates’ had brought, Hector simply shrugged and dropped the sack on the ground. He was used to being a college kid, not a ‘student’; this mess of school supplies scattered across his desk would have to be a valiant first try at being scholarly.

As he settled into his seat, the professor hit his desk with some sort of gavel, calling the quietly busy classroom to attention. “Now then,” he started, drumming at his palm lightly with the gavel, “As I explained last time, today we’re going to be doing debates. If you may recall I had you write topics of debate you’d find interesting on a slip of paper last class—well, those of you who actually bothered to come last time—and I said we’d draw them out of a hat.” Retrieving a top hat from under his desk, the teacher shook it and placed it on the desk. “I know a lot of your teachers say they’ll draw ideas out of a hat and it never really is a hat, but don’t worry, I’ve got the real thing for once, because I think you can tell the difference between a silk-lined legitimate top hat and a Tupperware box,” he said almost bitterly, showing off the hat with a grand flourish. Then, gazing the crowd of students, his eyes narrowed at a few of the sleepers and the stoners. “Well, most of you can probably tell the difference.”

Shaking the hat lightly, the teacher looked at the ceiling so as not to ‘cheat’, and reached in, drawing a random slip of paper. “Alright, your first topic of debate will be… Oh god, I can’t even read this.” Squinting at the letters, he was silent as he skimmed them over before pulling back with some semblance of understanding. “Ah, yes, ‘Professor Beaumont’s mother is so old, she’s practically ancient history.’ Very clever. I am floored by the amount of effort you put into crafting this exceedingly witty remark. I especially liked the way you spelled ‘ancient’ with an ‘s-h’—very ‘dumbass chic’ of you. But, while I have no doubt that would inspire some absolutely riveting discussion, I’m entirely sure you kids would have just a bit more fun with it than any self-respecting history class could handle. That said, I’m just going to draw another one,” he said sardonically, crumpling up and tossing the half-sheet of paper to the side as a few students in the back chuckled quietly to themselves as though it were the grandest prank in the world.

“Right, well, let’s try this again. Maybe one of you thought of something better than that. I hope to god one of you thought of something better than that,” he said as he reached once again into the hat, and it was clear that at that point Professor Beaumont had lost all hope for humanity’s future. Drawing another topic, he sighed, seeming relieved. “Ah, alright. Looks like someone in here actually does have more than just air and marijuana in their heads. Your first topic for the day will be ‘Should states have the right to secede?’ Everyone who thinks, ‘Yes, states should have that right,’ shimmy on over to my right side of the room. Everyone who thinks the opposite, do the opposite. Ready? Go.”

WORDS;;[/b][/color]1042
TAGGED;;[/b][/color]kerli&soren
OUTFIT;;[/b][/color]let's go with this
NOTES;;[/b][/color]i apologize for this. it's very long and not very good. and i could not for the life of me think of a historical debate topic. we can change it if you have something better, no problem.
on the other hand, i gave the teacher a sardonic sense of humor and misanthropist personality. so hurrah for npc personalities.
DE;;[/b][/color]lake. pls do not take anything.

[SOREN SOMERSETT]

Live to win, take it all

[/size][/color][/b]

Just keep fighting’till you fall [/b][/size][/font]

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“Alright babe. Yeah, no problem. Hit up the cell sometime. I’ll catcha later.”

[/b] He was pretty sure he’d given her the Sports Illustrated hotline or something, but fuck it, he needed some actual sleep tonight tonight. Soren nodded to the girl in the hallway, augmenting his grin with a princessy wave. Damnit, Soren. Princessy wave. Really. A wink. A nudge. Anything but a damn wave. He watched the chick’s back as she disappeared into the swarm streaming through the hallways. Nice girl, really. Dumb as a rock. But nice.

Soren strolled into his next class with about 17.83 times more vigor than he felt. “Yo, Handley bro! McBride, my man!”[/color] He exchanged high-fives, fist-pumps and shit with the dudes in the back row, slouching into his usual seat. “You guys catch any of the game last night? Barca and Real? Yeah? Casillas’ top corner save? Swear to God the dude’s got a third testicle or some shit.”[/b] He nodded to a cute redhead in the front corner he’d been making eyes at for the past few weeks, flashing her a secret wink when the dudes weren’t looking.

Soren’s mind wandered to his current circumstance as he “bro”ed and “man”ed and “dude”ed himself out. What fucking class was this, anyways? Not that he really could have cared less. He felt like he’d definitely had a class in this room before, but then again, all classrooms pretty much looked the fucking same to him when he was this goddamn tired. His game had gone until freaking, like, 1 in the morning last night, and he just needed to like, fucking sleep...

Goddamnit, the fucking teacher lady was talking.

“As I explained last time, today we’re going to be doing debates. If you may recall I had you write topics of debate you’d find interesting on a slip of paper last class—well, those of you who actually bothered to come last time—and I said we’d draw them out of a hat.” Retrieving a top hat from under his desk, the teacher shook it and placed it on the desk. “I know a lot of your teachers say they’ll draw ideas out of a hat and it never really is a hat, but don’t worry, I’ve got the real thing for once, because I think you can tell the difference between a silk-lined legitimate top hat and a Tupperware box,” he said almost bitterly, showing off the hat with a grand flourish. Then, gazing the crowd of students, his eyes narrowed at a few of the sleepers and the stoners. “Well, most of you can probably tell the difference.”

“You know what da fuck she talkin’ bout?” whispered some kid...Chad? Dan? Something. They all ran together in his mind. Soren shook his head, though he did remember. Okay. So he’d been to this class a total of three times this marking period, not counting the one where he’d gotten kicked out for kicking a soccer ball around under his desk. But he had an A, at least. He hoped. Because little as he paid attention, he did try on the tests. Because fuck you, that’s why.

“Your mom drew a shit ton of things out of my hat last night,”[/b] he muttered under his breath, sending the dudes sitting nearest him into spasms of laughter.

“Alright, your first topic of debate will be… Oh god, I can’t even read this.” Squinting at the letters, he was silent as he skimmed them over before pulling back with some semblance of understanding. “Ah, yes, ‘Professor Beaumont’s mother is so old, she’s practically ancient history.’ Very clever. I am floored by the amount of effort you put into crafting this exceedingly witty remark. I especially liked the way you spelled ‘ancient’ with an ‘s-h’—very ‘dumbass chic’ of you. But, while I have no doubt that would inspire some absolutely riveting discussion, I’m entirely sure you kids would have just a bit more fun with it than any self-respecting history class could handle. That said, I’m just going to draw another one,” he said sardonically, crumpling up and tossing the half-sheet of paper to the side as a few students in the back chuckled quietly to themselves as though it were the grandest prank in the world.

The dudes nudged Soren, grinning and winking. “Nice move, Somms,” whispered one. Soren chuckled quietly, groaning inwardly. Right. Like I wrote that. He’d actually stuck in something about the comparative luxury and necessity of space travel, but those pussies could believe whatever the fuck they wanted to believe. He wasn’t stopping them.

Whoops. They were getting up again. Damnit. Soren was too fucking sore to move right now, and he needed to save his damn energy for the game this afternoon in any case. He leaned back in his chair and raised a lazy arm. “Pro side over here,” he called, ushering with a lethargic index finger. “Hey there,”[/b] he nodded at a quiet-looking, brown-haired chick who seemed to be making her way over. “Freedom and all, right?”[/b] He cocked his head towards the empty seat to his left.
[/size][/blockquote]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -[/center]

this thread is finished.
and it’s for Kerli, Hector
as for words, we have 851
the lyrics are from live to win-paul stanley
muse is thanks to MICHAEL SWAIM’S WONDROUS RAPPING
and we’re wearing Hereee
any last thoughts? blip bleep bloop
thanks for the hard work template (c) - bethasaur ftw . of caution 2.0

[HECTOR LÉON]

- - - - - - - he got the money; man, he got the fold lines
- - - - - - - but he got the problems banging on his door

[/font][/center]

When Professor Beaumont signaled for the parting of the Red Sea class, Hector lazily rose from his seat and took the appropriate position at the front and center of the opposition. On any normal day Hector would have sat in the back row and maybe made a word or two of input (though, most likely he would have simply nodded off halfway through the discussion), but at the sight of Kerli, his heart flopped in his chest and his brain rewired into Impress-Beyond-All-Reason mode. Removing his sunglasses coolly (he almost waited for the “YEEEEEAAAAHHHH!” and bass line to kick in, because he was sure he had to look at least as bad-ass taking off sunglasses as David Caruso did in every CSI), he nodded in the typical frat boy greeting and smiled charmingly at Kerli, though it came off less ‘Aren’t-you-just-so-pleased-to-see-me?’ and more ‘Ha!-Not-even-your-pathetic-places-of-learning-can-keep-me-from-you.’ He was then significantly less pleased when he noticed some soccer punk motioning for Kerli to sit beside him, but Hector figured what he lacked in general proximity to the love of his life, he would make up for in indomitable debating skills.

When all of the students had settled onto either side, the professor clapped his hands together and stepped up evenly between the two teams. Drumming his fingers on two of the desks, he eyed each student critically. “Now is when I’d usually start warning you not to take anything personally, and leave the arguments in the classroom and personal grudges out, and so on and so forth, but I have only the sincerest of doubts that you rapscallions will come up with anything more inciting than ‘Secession is wrong. Don’t do it.’ so I’m not particularly worried about anyone’s feelings or brains getting charged by anything besides drugs and sex. That said, my disclaimer is this: just remember this is a debate, not Congress, and certainly not a fight club. In the long run--well, in the short run, too--nobody really gives a damn about your opinion on state secession, because I have no hope that any of you will grow up to be the next President of the United States. So don’t start any fisticuffs over nothing.” Placing his hands on his hips, the teacher looked down at them and sighed. “Alright. Aaaaaand, debate!” he exclaimed before pivoting on his heel to sit at his computer and google ‘fulfilling jobs for people with a degree in history.’

At Professor Beaumont’s go, Hector stood regally from his seat and eyed the guy who’d been gesturing to his woman earlier. There was no way he was going to let some slimy scum like Soccer Boy steal away his dream girl. Clapping his hands down on the table and leaning over his desk with all the determination of a marathon sprinter waiting for the starting gun, Hector proceeded with his argument, with which he was so certain to impress Kerli.

“Well, I think it’s kind of obvious that states shouldn’t be allowed to secede. I mean, like, if Americans thought that allowing secession was the right thing to do, we wouldn’t have beaten down the South way back when they tried it. If the North hadn’t fought secession in the Civil War, America would never be the great nation it is today. People should follow social norms for the good of the whole rather than act out and destroy the peace just because they didn’t get what they want,” he said, standing straight and crossing his arms over his chest. “‘Cause really, when has rebellion ever caused anything but war and chaos?” he concluded, and with that, he smirked and fell back into his chair, crossing his legs as he exuded all the confidence of a man already holding his MVP trophy. Hector winked once at Kerli, a pompous expression all across his face, before turning his eyes to scan the opposing side, just daring someone to try and thwart his argument.

WORDS;;[/b][/color]677
TAGGED;;[/b][/color]kerli&soren
OUTFIT;;[/b][/color]let's go with this
NOTES;;[/b][/color]sorry this took so long. i've been super busy.
DE;;[/b][/color]lake. pls do not take anything.

[SOREN SOMERSETT]

Live to win, take it all

[/size][/color][/b]

Just keep fighting’till you fall [/b][/size][/font]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Soren reclined in his chair, listening to Mr. SuperBro Teacher Dude rambling on about some shit or other. Bright dude, really. Soren kind of really wanted to know as much about history as this dude did. But man, what a prick. He reminded Soren of this coach he’d once had, who’d been the biggest doucheturd in the world. Like, Soren had played for five minutes. Five minutes. In one fucking game. Seriously. Who had even hired the guy.

Now is when I’d usually start warning you not to take anything personally, and leave the arguments in the classroom and personal grudges out, and so on and so forth, but I have only the sincerest of doubts that you rapscallions will come up with anything more inciting than ‘Secession is wrong. Don’t do it.’ so I’m not particularly worried about anyone’s feelings or brains getting charged by anything besides drugs and sex. That said, my disclaimer is this: just remember this is a debate, not Congress, and certainly not a fight club. In the long run--well, in the short run, too--nobody really gives a damn about your opinion on state secession, because I have no hope that any of you will grow up to be the next President of the United States. So don’t start any fisticuffs over nothing.” Placing his hands on his hips, the teacher looked down at them and sighed. “Alright. Aaaaaand, debate!” he exclaimed before pivoting on his heel to sit at his computer and google ‘fulfilling jobs for people with a degree in history.’

“Don’t’ do succession and I won’t do your mom, man,”

[/b] Soren muttered under his breath, inciting another round of giggles from the soccer bros around him who, of course, had all totally come to the “pro” side with him, growling and grunting at any outsiders who attempted to join them. That basically left the soccer dudes Soren, and Hot Bookie Chick over here against a Dumbfuck Boyfriend Dude who had totally been staring at Hot Bookie Chick this entire fucking class, the little creep, and a myriad of smart kids.

Looked like the “pro” side was plummeting towards a loss. Unfortunately, losing wasn’t how Soren Somersett rolled.

“Well, I think it’s kind of obvious that states shouldn’t be allowed to secede. I mean, like, if Americans thought that allowing secession was the right thing to do, we wouldn’t have beaten down the South way back when they tried it. If the North hadn’t fought secession in the Civil War, America would never be the great nation it is today. People should follow social norms for the good of the whole rather than act out and destroy the peace just because they didn’t get what they want,” he said, standing straight and crossing his arms over his chest. “‘Cause really, when has rebellion ever caused anything but war and chaos?” he concluded, and with that, he smirked and fell back into his chair, crossing his legs as he exuded all the confidence of a man already holding his MVP trophy.

“Damn bro, that guy sounds like a freakin’ smarty,” whispered one of his soccer bros, leaning over with the barest hint of concern penetrating his usual easy demeanor. “You got any idea what the fuck he’s talkin’ bout?”

Soren almost rolled his eyes. Almost. What the fuck did the goddamn Civil War have to do with anything? Rebellion? Fucking hell, Soren was in awe of this dude’s idiocy. “Naw, bro,”[/b] he muttered to his soccer dude, shrugging. “Too many big words.”[/b] So basically, Outlawing Secession=war=good. Except that war also=bad. And rebellion=war and chaos, which may= bad or good depending on which of his dumbass sentences you’re going by. Alright. He had this. He had this down.

”Dude, shit, we’re fucked,” whispered his soccer bro, with wide eyes. Soren resisted the urge to spit out a sarcastic retort.

And then he winked at Hot Bookie Chick. He winked at Hot Bookie Chick. The very same Hot Bookie Chick that was currently sitting next to Soren. On his team.

A hot chick. A very hot chick. Reading Dostoevsky. Dostoevsky. Dostoevsky was the man. There was no way in hell that Mr. Dumbass Dicktard here was winking at Soren Somersett’s hot chick. Who read Dostoevsky. No way. This was going to require some quick thinking on Soren’s part, but damn, a hot chick who read Dostoevsky was totally worth it. Soren stood the fuck up.

“Well well well,”[/b] he began, clearing his throat and adjusting his jacket, throwing his head back dramatically. More giggles from the soccer bros, who were probably going to think that Soren’s next speech was full narration of a porno flick for all of it that they were going to understand. His eyes flicked towards Hot Bookie Chick, and he nodded, raising an eyebrow before continuing. “Mr. Turdstein McSmartyBalls makes an excellent point, whatever it was supposed to be.”[/b] He allowed himself an eyeroll for the first time that day, before plunging into his argument. “Williams vs. Bruffy, 1877. ‘The validity of its acts, both against the parent state and the citizens or subjects thereof, depends entirely upon its ultimate success; if it fail to establish itself permanently, all such acts perish with it; if it succeed and become recognized, its acts from the commencement of its existence are upheld as those of an independent nation.’ In other words, for those of us at a slight disadvantage in terms of cognitive ability,”[/b] he paused to wink cheerily at Dumbfuck Boyfriend Dude, “if the union fucks up, then the states have every fucking right to GTFO.”[/b] He was really glad he’d been scanning Wikipedia yesterday. The quotes on that place were totally the most memorizeable shit out there.

He glanced poignantly at Dumbfuck Boyfriend Dude again, before swiveling his gaze to Hot Bookie Chick. Damn, she was hot. And she’d better have been fucking listening to this. “ Furthermore,”[/b] he continued, drumming his fingers on his desktop, “our crap-tee-jay here has oh-so-eloquently remarked that the Civil War, fought over secession, made our country a great nation. You know what else made our country a great nation? The fact that we are a goddamned nation. Any of you shitheads ever heard of a bro named George The Third?” [/b] As a visual aid, Soren brandished three fingers at Dumbfuck Boyfriend Dude, then yanked down his first and third for effect. “We goddamned seceded from England. Declaration of Independence? Fourth of July? Fireworks and vigorous fucking? Ringing a bell?”[/b] Another nod and raised eyebrow at Hot Bookie Chick.

“More pertinent to this particular demographic, anyone ever wanted to cut the shit with a boyfriend or girlfriend, but couldn’t because they threatened to kill you?”[/b] Another glance at Dumbfuck Boyfriend Dude. Really, it wouldn’t have surprised him. “Me neither. And you know why? Because we have fucking freedom. To secede. What kind of relationship would you have with a husband you were only married to because you knew he would slit your throat if you even thought the word divorce? Our great nation, Mr. Oh-So-Great-Nation, cannot be, as you say, a great nation, if it is held together by death threats.” [/b]

“In summary, Mr. Dingleshit here can suck my goddamned dick.The right to secession is, in the words of historian Kenneth Stamp, who wrote our piece-of-shit textbook, incidentally, ‘one of its purposes in the formation of a more perfect union.’”[/b] And now for the final kicker. He’d seen this in an Agents of Cracked episode. Dumbfuck Boyfriend Dude was going down. “To quote Andrew Hamilton, colonial lawyer and resident badass, ‘Nature and the laws of our country have granted us a right to both expose and oppose arbitrary power.’”[/b] Soren subsided back into his chair, jabbing two beautiful middle fingers to the ceiling. “And to quote the even greater and certainly sexier Black-Eyed Peas, ‘I’m so two-thousand and eight, you so two thousand and late.’” He grinned at Dumbfuck Boyfriend Dude. “Any questions?” [/b]

”Dude...” whispered one of the soccer bros, jaw sagging to the floor. ”Nice.
[/size][/blockquote]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -[/center]

this thread is finished.
and it’s for Kerli, Hector
as for words, we have 1360
the lyrics are from live to win-paul stanley
muse is thanks to MICHAEL SWAIM’S WONDROUS RAPPING
and we’re wearing Hereee
any last thoughts? SOURCE, SOURCE, SOURCE, SOURCE
thanks for the hard work template (c) - bethasaur ftw . of caution 2.0

[HECTOR LÉON]

- - - - - - - he got the money; man, he got the fold lines
- - - - - - - but he got the problems banging on his door

[/font][/center]

Kerli was reading. Just reading. Completely ignoring whatever genius argument Hector had drummed up. Reading. Hector squinted at the binding, trying to figure out what could possibly be more interesting than hearing him talk. Some Russian guy. Hector swung his arm over the back of his chair and rolled his eyes. Well, he was sure he would at least sound better than this other--

Oh.

Hector lifted his head and scoffed, lips pinching as he held back a raging torrent of insults. Running his hand through his hair anxiously, he leaned back in the seat and rapped his fingers on his desk. As Kid (and Hector would refuse to acknowledge him as anything more than simply ‘Kid’) continued on with his preaching, Hector turned to the side, looking off in the corner of the room as if Kid’s argument weren’t even pertinent enough to deserve the attention he would give to a spider web amassing in the recesses of the room. Of course, reality was that Hector had tried his hardest to listen to Soren’s reasoning, but somewhere between Williams v. Bruffy and George III and Andrew Hamilton, Hector’s brain had put up a mental block to protect his spinning mind from certain implosion incited by all of this logic and fact and legal speak. When Hector tried to sum up and make sense of whatever had just thoroughly raped his brain and left it in a dark lonely alley, all he seemed able to come up with was “Wat,” and instead resorted to something he could understand.

“You know, I’m sure somewhere between all of your attempts to insult me there was a well-thought-out argument there,” he began, folding his hands on his desk and smiling across in the most patronizing manner he could muster. He brushed invisible dust from the desktop as though he were unfazed before cocking an eyebrow at his opponent. “But, considering you sounded more like a twelve-year-old child than the grown man--” he eyed him up and down, “--well, boy that you are, I have a hard time taking anything you say into consideration.” Hector turned up his nose and sneered down at Kid again. His jaw clenched along with his fist, and his voice got notably more serious. “So, how about you cut the shit, quit being a little prig, and try that again, hm?”

WORDS;;[/b][/color]400
TAGGED;;[/b][/color]kerli&soren
OUTFIT;;[/b][/color]let's go with this
NOTES;;[/b][/color]o-o
DE;;[/b][/color]lake. pls do not take anything.

[SOREN SOMERSETT]

Live to win, take it all

[/size][/color][/b]

Just keep fighting’till you fall [/b][/size][/font]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Soren leaned back in his chair, nodding to the soccer bros, who were staring dumbfoundedly at him. Fucking loser pricks. They’d all been accepted into this college shindig by soccer recruiters before admissions had even opened, and Soren was pretty damn sure that the majority of them couldn’t read. Still, they were cool dudes, and Soren didn’t have to worry about them being all poserish and shithead-y like Dumbfuck Boyfriend Dude was still doing.

“You know, I’m sure somewhere between all of your attempts to insult me there was a well-thought-out argument there.”

Could someone just like, smack this kid with a goalpost, please? Or kick him in the face with Kelme Copa Euro FG Cleats? He wasn’t even kidding right now. “Yeah. Yeah, there was.” He tried to keep his voice under control, but was totally failing. Damnit, he was going to go into full-on soccer rage now if he couldn’t fucking control himself. “Glad you noticed.”

“But, considering you sounded more like a twelve-year-old child than the grown man--” he eyed him up and down, “--well, boy that you are, I have a hard time taking anything you say into consideration.”

Again with the poserishness! The way he was looking at Hot Bookie Chick was making Soren’s biceps twitch. It’s just a girl, man, said some tiny voice in the back of his head, but Soren didn’t listen to voices, oh no. He felt as angry as he would have if this kid had stood up and said that he was an FC Barcelona fan.

Maybe not quite as angry. If he’d stood up and said he was an FC Barcelona fan, Soren probably would have socked him in the balls and dropped this God damn shit history class forever. Pity too, he’d kind of liked this class. Superbro Teacher Dude could actually be kind of a bro, when you got to know him. Plus, Hot Bookie Chick was in it. Being all hot and smart and shit. God, she reminded him so much of…

No. Of course she doesn’t remind you of her. What the fuck are you thinking, you idiot?

“Sorry you feel that way.”

[/b] He had about a bajikazillion retorts lining up for him to spit out, but he had to restrain himself. He’d probably get reported to the fucking Dean of Academics or whoever if he kept shooting his mouth off at this dude, and getting reported to the Dean of Academics meant not being able to play in the soccer game that night, and that meant that they were totally going to lose to Penn State because coach would have to play fucking MacFarland at Center Mid instead of him, and that was just not fucking happening. Nope. Soren was going to behave himself. “I mean, you kinda sound like an angsty ten-year-old girl yelling at her parents, given that I’ve heard no legitimate arguments from you. But you know, I ain’t complainin’.” He winked cheerily.

“So, how about you cut the shit, quit being a little prig, and try that again, hm?”

“You’re right. Maybe I should put it in some simpler terms for you.”[/b] He leaned forward onto his elbows. “The…United…States…with me so far? Needs…to…fucking…alright, now follow me closely here, this is where it gets a little complicated…let…states…do…whatever…the…fuck…”[/b]

“I’m Kerli,”

Hot Bookie Chick interrupted him. Soren turned away from Dumbfuck Boyfriend dude to address her. “Uh, hey. Soren.” He raised a hand in a casual wave, nodding and smiling colloquially. Dostoevsky. She was reading Dosto-fucking-evsky. Soren was not ever supposed to have read Dostoevsky. Or even know how Dostoevsky was. Or have ever even touched any book ever. To admit it would be to destroy his reputation with the soccer bros forever more. But still. Dosto-fucking-evsky.

“I’ve uh, seen that movie.”[/b] He grinned. Anything to distract him from Dipshit Boyfriend Dude, whom he was assuming did not read Dostoevsky. “No clue that there was a book of it. But the movie was good. Really good.” He scooted his chair a tad closer to hers, pretending to glance at the cover, although he’d seen this particular one so many times he had the image engrained in his mind.
[/size][/blockquote]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -[/center]

this thread is finished.
and it’s for Kerli, Hector
as for words, we have 712
the lyrics are from live to win-paul stanley
muse is thanks to MICHAEL SWAIM’S WONDROUS RAPPING
and we’re wearing Hereee
any last thoughts? SOURCE, SOURCE, SOURCE, SOURCE
thanks for the hard work template (c) - bethasaur ftw . of caution 2.0