SuperGuy Battles the Block Button (short story)

It’s me again, Guy Young.  As the top reporter for a high school newspaper, nights can be completely sleepless.  Yet, at times, when the Irvine High Inquisitor chomped away at my YouTube hours and my homework ball & chain was too heavy for me to reach my white bed, I thanked the Lord that I was born an average human and not an animal.  From birth, an animal is screwed.  It has no progress to make, especially if it s a mule, because then that illegitimate offspring won’t produce a ¾ horse daughter to continue the sluggish process of evolution.

Yet, actually, animals don’t have to do homework.  They just have to eat, drink, urinate, defecate, sleep, reproduce, and find shelter which will eventually be demolished by an immigrant construction worker who is about as screwed as the animal.  I digress.

Today, Irvine High School was a zoo at the least.  This one pompous AP kid spat at my feet because he found out I called him the “maledictorian” to some of his lackeys.  I seriously haven’t had a real fight since late freshman year, when both Kim Nadir and the Mushpot were defeated by me.

It was a bright and sunny school day.  Instead of getting started on my Honors English literary analysis paper, I was chatting with my acquaintances on Instant Messaging.  I decided to flirt with one of my thirty-seven crushes, Kimberly Nadir.  As the joyously self-serving pecker I was, I pretended Kim shared my mediocre social status.  I typed, “hi how are you” into the box of text being exported to kimmybeast333.

“good, who is this?” the steaming hot sophomore flashed back at me.

“guy young; from school”  I put both fragmented pairs of words into two messages.  Then she inexplicably signed off.  “Kimmybeast333 is not available.  Message not delivered.”  That attractive girl blocked me!  But I wasn’t going to give up.  I wasn’t even going to register a whole new account and be blocked again.  I simply morphed into the SuperGuy and used my psychic abilities to hack into this arrogant debutante’s house.

I entered the driveway of 333 Legend Lane, thanks to my newfound ability to fly.  I rolled up my sweaty orange sleeves and tucked that pesky AC/DC t-shirt underneath my black boxers.  Though the house was four stories high, I instantly knew which window led to Kim’s trophy-filled room.

“Hi, how are you?” I repeated as I flew from the driveway containing a Scion to a bedroom containing the block button.

“Good.”  Kimberly was wearing baby blue pajamas, and was clearly not disturbed by my unorthodox entrance or my clashing outfit.  “This is my weekly boyfriend, Sid Phillips.”  A leather clad man with shades and a chinstrap stared in my direction.

“Pleasure,” I told the guy, who did not attend Irvine High School.  “I’m SuperGuy!”

The man growled at me, like an animal whose territory was being raided.  Then he spoke.  “I’m the Mushpot!  Stop fucking my girl!”

“Oh, we just met.  And I’m a virgin.”

“No, you’re not!  I keep having to nail her fingers to the tiles because she won’t stop wailing ‘Oh!  SuperGuy!  I’m hungry for more!’  My name’s not ‘SuperGuy,’ and yours is!”

“It could be another ‘SuperGuy,’” I assured the upset Mushpot, whose nails were grimier than any baboon’s.  “Besides, I think you’re a little too old for Kim.”

“Hwhat?  She’s almost sixteen!”

“And how old are you, uncle?”  I laughed as he started counting on his filth-tipped fingers, and later ran out of fingers to count on.

“Nineteen,” he stammered.  “You’d better not call the cops!”

“I will.  Officer Huggins, Officer Neal, all of them.  I’ll tell them about everything, from your hourly cocaine abuse to your adulterous relationships with pregnant teenage prostitutes!”

“Kim’s not pregnant!”  He bitterly sputtered, slobber being misplaced all over Kimberly’s room.

“I wasn’t talking about her, idiot!  I was talking about your slutty little buddies.  Jenny, Alison, Louisa…”

“You bastard!” he angrily screamed, and jumped through the window, while holding onto his still-calm girlfriend.

*                                              *                                              *

The next day, at school, Mr. Hardy took roll of the entire English class.  After reading “Guy Young,” the last entry on the roll sheet, he informed us why he didn’t list his teacher’s assistant, Kim Nadir.  “Oh, she’s lucky enough to be attending Missino Prep now.”  Only I knew where she really was: directly below her parents’ third-story window, in the shitty clutches of her gullible, paranoid primate of a lover: the Mushpot.

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