Oh Mr Kirk, I'm as upset as you to learn of Dexter's truancy,
But surely, expulsion is not the answer!
I'm afraid expulsion is the only answer,
It's the opinion of the entire staff that Dexter is criminally insane-sane-sane
That boy needs therapy (pyschosomatic)
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- I like pants
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But dexter is a genious that loves school. Why would he skip class?jasper-isis wrote:Oh Mr Kirk, I'm as upset as you to learn of Dexter's truancy,
But surely, expulsion is not the answer!
I'm afraid expulsion is the only answer,
It's the opinion of the entire staff that Dexter is criminally insane-sane-sane
That boy needs therapy (pyschosomatic)
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Brad
- Joined: Wed Dec 20, 2000 9:32 am
- Location: Chicago, IL
- Contact:
that- tha-th-th-that-that-th-that that BOY needs THERAPY!jasper-isis wrote:Oh Mr Kirk, I'm as upset as you to learn of Dexter's truancy,
But surely, expulsion is not the answer!
I'm afraid expulsion is the only answer,
It's the opinion of the entire staff that Dexter is criminally insane-sane-sane
That boy needs therapy (pyschosomatic)
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ZephyrStar
- Master of Science
- Joined: Fri Sep 17, 2004 3:04 am
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- Location: The Laboratory
- Contact:
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Megamom
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Ghet
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Tighten your buttocksAtomX wrote:that- tha-th-th-that-that-th-that that BOY needs THERAPY!jasper-isis wrote:Oh Mr Kirk, I'm as upset as you to learn of Dexter's truancy,
But surely, expulsion is not the answer!
I'm afraid expulsion is the only answer,
It's the opinion of the entire staff that Dexter is criminally insane-sane-sane
That boy needs therapy (pyschosomatic)
pour juice on your chin
i promised my girlfriend id... violin.. violin... violin
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BasharOfTheAges
- Just zis guy, you know?
- Joined: Tue Sep 14, 2004 11:32 pm
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blabbler
- Joined: Fri Nov 09, 2007 8:26 am
- Location: Copycat_Revolver's fetid imagination
The cinnamon and coffee scent of cigarette smoke and spent semen drifted aimlessly in the stale air. Peering through the murk at the hunched, almost motionless shape before me, I felt my fingers tremble involuntarily.
This was the right thing to do.
Barely audible above the hum of electronic equipment, I could hear the faint, rasping gurgle of its shallow breathing. Perhaps to preserve my sanity, my eyes flicked away from the hideous, lumpen form, seemingly of their own accord. Images of drawn, waxen skin and vacant eye sockets danced and flitted through my mind.
As my thoughts whirled, my gaze fixed on the video monitors lining the room before me. On one, a young girl of perhaps twelve years, clad clumsily in the garb of a catholic priest slowly gyrated. Displayed in grainy black and white on one of five stained, sweaty computer screens, the glimmer of her tear stained cheeks renewed my resolve.
A mucous substance dripped from the corner of one of the displays onto the desktop. Tak... tak... tak... the droplets shimmered fleetingly in the artificial half-light as they fell. A nervous giggle escaped my lips, though the shape never stirred.
The monitors flickered and strobed as the pubescent girl continued to inexpertly rotate her hips, now in a manner suggestive of the rending of a virginal Canadian choirboy. From another screen, the cast of Seinfield gazed vacantly, lust drawn bold on their grainy faces.
The shape lolled barely perceptibly in its chair. Suddenly, and with unnerving fluidity the chair turned to face the screens, as if drawn by some primal, ethereal force. My eyes, growing accustomed to the gloom could barely make out that twisted, wizened shape. I could no longer be confident that I was in the presence of a man. What was this creature of unfathomable, unspeakable impurity?
The bile rising in my throat, I braced myself for what had to be done.
'You...' I stopped nervously, unsure of whether to attempt to engage this creature in discourse. No, the time for such had long past, no other options remained.
My heart pounded in my chest. It was finally at an end. Clutching the pillow, I stepped forward.
‘Hello Koop.'
etc.
PS. True story.
This was the right thing to do.
Barely audible above the hum of electronic equipment, I could hear the faint, rasping gurgle of its shallow breathing. Perhaps to preserve my sanity, my eyes flicked away from the hideous, lumpen form, seemingly of their own accord. Images of drawn, waxen skin and vacant eye sockets danced and flitted through my mind.
As my thoughts whirled, my gaze fixed on the video monitors lining the room before me. On one, a young girl of perhaps twelve years, clad clumsily in the garb of a catholic priest slowly gyrated. Displayed in grainy black and white on one of five stained, sweaty computer screens, the glimmer of her tear stained cheeks renewed my resolve.
A mucous substance dripped from the corner of one of the displays onto the desktop. Tak... tak... tak... the droplets shimmered fleetingly in the artificial half-light as they fell. A nervous giggle escaped my lips, though the shape never stirred.
The monitors flickered and strobed as the pubescent girl continued to inexpertly rotate her hips, now in a manner suggestive of the rending of a virginal Canadian choirboy. From another screen, the cast of Seinfield gazed vacantly, lust drawn bold on their grainy faces.
The shape lolled barely perceptibly in its chair. Suddenly, and with unnerving fluidity the chair turned to face the screens, as if drawn by some primal, ethereal force. My eyes, growing accustomed to the gloom could barely make out that twisted, wizened shape. I could no longer be confident that I was in the presence of a man. What was this creature of unfathomable, unspeakable impurity?
The bile rising in my throat, I braced myself for what had to be done.
'You...' I stopped nervously, unsure of whether to attempt to engage this creature in discourse. No, the time for such had long past, no other options remained.
My heart pounded in my chest. It was finally at an end. Clutching the pillow, I stepped forward.
‘Hello Koop.'
etc.
PS. True story.
