I had arrived at work just in time to be asked about a situation the day before involving a cross-eyed German guy and a t-shirt. After being told to never ask someone to explain a sensor laying in a fitting room again, I let my boss take a break and begin to start my day. The phone rings.

“Overpriced clothes for Douchebags, This is Matt”

“Yes Hi is this Matt Shanknasty?”

My back stiffened. You see I’m the only Matt working there. Well there’s another but he works less than Andy in the last two minutes. No reason to use last names. This can’t be good.

“Yes what can I do for you?” “Well my name is Christy and I’m calling from (some credit collection agency whose name I missed) in regards to your federal student loans”

Calling at work will get anybody’s attention. She continued.

“You’re aware you are in Federal default currently on the amount of ten thousand dollars?”

“Federal default? Is that like double secret probation?” “What?” “Nevermind, go ahead.”

Well she goes on to say that they don’t have up to date information for me and were only able to contact me ON A NUMBER THAT I’VE NEVER PUT ON ANY APPLICATION FOR A LOAN EVER. At this point I should have given my cell phone number and ended the conversation but it was just after 2pm on a tuesday at the mall. What else did I have to do?

She goes through the standard anal probe of my finances, starting with my monthly take home pay and subtracting out expenses to arrive at a residual income figure. Presumably to figure out how much she could take me for. But right around the time we’re starting to haggle on a monthly payment things started to take a turn for the bullshit.

“Now in order to get involved in the program, you have to put down a down payment and make the agreed upon payments for 9 months. After that we’ll stop compounding interest per day, which is about $1.30 per day, and refund collections costs, which are around $2,000.”

$3,650. That was the down payment she chucked out. So heavy I’m surprised it fit into the phone line. Who the hell would have that and not be able to make payments I wondered. (sidenote: $3,600 is a years worth of $300 payments, my guess is the extra $50 were for lapdances)

The conversation doesn’t get much farther after that and I make her assure me she will not contact me at work again. She asks me not to talk down to her. I hang up.

A few hours later I leave for my hour lunch and check my phone. Voicemail from Chrissy. She’s left a number to call and a “reference number” with a letter and numbers attached. This scam is involved.

I call the number, say that I received a call and give my reference number.

“Please verify your social security number” “I just gave you a reference number, verify that”

“Verify your date of birth then” I did it. I figure the worst they can do is send me a card.

I tell her I spoke with Chrissy and we were trying to figure out a payment plan to get my loans out of default.

“You mean you spoke with Christy, I’m Chrissy” “Sure if you say so.” “Ok sir well the total balance of this loan is due and the U.S. Department of Education would like to offer you terms to pay off this loan. This is only being done as a courtesy. If you decide to let these loans lapse further, you’re looking at a 15% wage garnishment and a deliquency mark on your credit report. Now I have some terms I’d like to discuss with you if you’d like” “Yeah sure go ahead” “Ok so with a down payment of $1,800 you’re looking at payments of $249 or with a zero down payment you’d have payments of $300.” “Ok so you’ve got me bent over with a gun to my head here” “Sir you agreed to take these loans out and you have a responsibility to pay them…” I cut her off. “Don’t lecture me on responsibility, I have parents for that. And those terms aren’t going to work for me. What else ya got?” “Hold on”

She puts me on hold and I put the phone to the side and start going through my accounts in my head. Then as I’m taking another bite my mind wanders. I look at the radio as I’m sitting in my car but realize its off. No way. There was a ton of static and the audio was really low quality but it seemed to fit the music being played…

I’m trying to place the song as she clicks back on. “I just spoke with my supervisor and our client will accept a down payment of $518 with a monthly payment of $109.” “Well now you’re in the ballpark. Is this the kind of offer that expires when I hang up the phone or can I think about it” “The end of this phone call without an agreement to pay constitutes non-compliance and all deals would be void” “So now I’m bent over, theres a gun to my head AND a ticking clock. I was worried this was going to be high pressure. Sure, what the hell. Let’s do it. Game on”

With that she puts me on hold again. No music this time and I’m disappointed. When the line comes alive again I’m told its Christy on the other end and she’s ready to fax me a contract, help find me a fax machine (“Staples, Kinkos many places have fax machines”) and take my bank account and routing number over the phone. “Well I don’t have that information on me right now.” “Well do you know your bank account number, I can look up the routing number for you” “No I don’t know it off the top of my head”

That’s what saved me. Having direct deposit prevents me from writing a deposit slip for my check every other Friday and so its not a number I have memorized.  She tells me that I have to call back with the info by 10am tomorrow or they’ll take my first born or something. I hang up, finish eating, and remember that the address they kept asking me to verify was my dads. I call and ask if there had been any mail sent there he had forgotten to give me. I explain why I’m asking. “Its a scam son, don’t call them again” I curse the fact that I almost fell for it and go back to work. I had to hand it to them though. Calling me at work, using an official tone and all, very professional. There was just one problem: No collections agency has “Houses of the Holy” as hold music.

Alright, I’m not going to go into some diatribe about the socio-economic importance of black comic commentary in America, although I could, but that wouldn’t be in line with the Ranty McRanterson policy on seriousness (none is allowed).  So, Mr. Chappelle, if you’re listening…PLEASE COME BACK.  Here is a list of possible sketches I thought of for you.  You don’t have to pay me for them, just come back.  If you don’t, the possibility exists that Demetri Martin or Carlos Mencia would get a show again.  Do you really want that on your conscience Dave?  Do you?

Okay…so with a black President who white Americans are scared of, I would imagine sketch ideas are pretty easy to come by.  Here are a few that I came up with:

1. White Obama…kind of like “Black Bush” but, ya know, different.  Obama proposes healthcare and people are like, “Hey that’s not such a bad idea.”  or FoxNews says, “Our President helped inner city Chicagoans, how noble.” or most Americans believe that White Obama is actually an American, actually a Baptist and actually a capitalist.

2.  Michelle Obama becomes the next Billy Blanks.  People were totally cool with a jacked black man wearing tights telling them to get off their asses and sweat.  Michelle Obama, dressed in her evening gowns telling American parents their kids are obese and are at high risk for diabetes, high blood pressure and death, doesn’t go over so well.  She puts on tights and starts her own DVD series called, “First Lady Fitness”.  Most copies bought by white males who want to see Michelle Obama in tights.  America remains fat.

3.  Something about Michael Steele.  He’s black and he was head of the Republican National Committee.  You’re the comic Dave, but the words “Uncle Tom” would need to be in there.  I know that’s harsh, but the man actually believes that tax cuts for billionaires helps poor and middle class black males get jobs.

4.  A sketch where they discover huge oil fields in Cameroon, Zambia, Gabon, Angola, Botswana and Namibia.  For the first time, the United States acknowledges that “Africa” is not a country, but a continent and that there are, indeed, 61 distinct territories within its borders. (that’s for you Tunde)

5.  Tiger Woods as the Ryan Leaf of the Racial Draft.  Sorry Black delegation, but  you might be able to get Blake Griffin or Derek Jeter next time.  Wu-Tang, on the other hand, has taken Asians to new heights with the influx of C.R.E.A.M.  Colin Powell and Condoleeza Rice continue to be heroes to the whites.

6.  Turns out that Obama knew all along that Osama bin Laden was in Pakistan.  He has continued the war in Afghanistan to find out who really killed Biggie and Tupac.  Finding that this is the real reason for being in Afghanistan, for the first time in history, 100% of eligible black voters actually vote in the 2012 election.

So Dave, here are six of my ideas.  Sure, they need some work, but I’m sure you could take them and make them hilarious.  Either way, we need you back man.  People keep saying we have entered a “post-racial society” and we all know that’s just not true.  Help us Dave Chappelle, you’re our only hope.

P.S.  If I wasn’t clear above.  Tyler Perry is NOT funny.

I arrived in College Park for a job interview in Arlington.  Meeting up with my bros we drank some Buds (heavy, not light), got hungry and went to that old standby:  the Greenbelt Chipotle.  A straight shot up MD-193 with the omnipresent danger of hitting a day laborer crossing Greenbelt Road makes the sizzling scent of Chipotle all the more enticing.  The fact that you may very well murder a Mexican en route to eat Mexican food somehow makes the burrito that much tastier.  But I digress…  We got our Chipotle, somehow managed not to eat it in the car and made our way back to 8802, a house so filled with empty beer bottles and cans that a homeless man buy his way off the street if he discovered that Shangri-la of recyclables.  I forgot, this post is about the dangers of Chipotle…I’ll stay on topic.  Chipotle finished, some more Bud time followed by bed time.  Up early for the long Metro (Green + Orange) to Arlington, VA.

Now my friend, Tunde (a former Northern Virginia resident) said with absolute certainty that it would take me a solid 2 hours to get from CP to Arlington.  My interview being at 9:30am, I figured I had better have my ass on the metro by 7:30 or I would be SOL.  I woke up around 6:45 to shower with the shampoo mentioned here.  I got my suit on, tied my tie, and more importantly, tied my shoes, hopped in the Sentra and got my white ass to the CP Metro station by 7:20.  Now, my friend Tunde has been known to be wrong before, so I shouldn’t have been surprised when I got to Arlington at 8:40.  So I had a solid 45 minutes to burn before I would even be considered early.

That’s when the tummy rumbles started.

You all know the feeling.  The day after eating Chipotle, your stomach rumbles as if saying, “Get to a toilet”.  However, I was in a foreign land and knew not where the bathroom was.  I thought, “Tim, you’re a big boy, you can hold your shit until after the interview, you need this job dammit!”  So I bought a Washington Post and set about distracting my bowels with news of world disorder.  The rumbles subsided for a time, until I stood up and walked towards the office.  By that time, the rumbles had turned into bubbles that were traveling rapidly from my stomach to my lower intestine and manifesting themselves as internal farts.  (Aside:  an internal fart is a fart that feels like a regular fart except that you can only feel it in your lower abdomen, no gas actually leaves the body, but anyone nearby can hear the vibration of your lower intestines) .  With every step I took, the gas made of steak, beans and cheese remnants were destroying any chance of my cologne masking the smell.  But, I took it like a man.  I sucked in my gut and tried to hold it all in as the interview started.

I was at the head of a conference table with three people peppering questions at me.  All was going well, I was making some jokes, keeping the people happy and generally talking about how great an employee I would be.  Then someone asked, “How do you organize yourself”

An internal fart answered, “GRRRRRRRRRRRUP”

I answered, “I like to make lists”.

Then I was asked, “Intramural officiating, huh, what’d you learn from that?”

“BRRRRRRRRR”.  Tthe chair shakes.

“Oh man, well you really need to have thick skin to do that job, people say some nasty things”.  My face turning bright red as I am certain that everyone else in the room has heard my in-farts.

So finally the interview ends and I’m asked to complete a travel request form.  Luckily, I’m left alone in a room for 30 minutes while I complete this task.  To my chagrin, the gas has passed and I don’t even get the satisfaction of farting my brains out and giggling to myself while I complete this inane task.  And I still didn’t know where the bathroom was.

I finish my assignment and I am so happy that the interview is finally over.  But no!  I am given “the grand tour” of the building (really helpful if I don’t end up getting this job) while I’m squeezing my butt cheeks together to avoid letting out a high-pitched toot.  I’m hoping they’ll show me the bathrooms but at the same it’s pretty awkward to take 25 minutes out of an interview to go drop the kids off as your future boss waits while you serenade the Men’s Room with a symphony of echoing toilet farts and shart noises.  At the end of the tour, I’m shown the door, so I’m expected to leave.  I can’t just run back in and dominate the bathroom.  Back on the Metro for another 45 minutes and, as all DC area college students have learned the hard way, there are no bathrooms in the magnificent Metro system.  That’s alright though because I’ve held a piss from Stadium-Armory to College Park so holding in my Chipotle shits for another hour ain’t no thing.  My bodily functions simply shut down when those red lights start blinking on the platform.

Once I get off in CP, the rumbles start again, but I’m finally fortunate to fart freely.  I rush to the Sentra, and peel out of the parking garage.  Cross the Maryland campus, past the Comcast Center, across Greenbelt Road and back to 8802.  My friend Anthony, an Italian, is on the front lawn tanning, says, “Lookin’ spiffy dude, how’d it go?”

“Dude, I gotta take a shit, I’ll tell you later.”

“Fair enough dude, have fun”

I rush downstairs past the Natty boxes and, AT LAST, I get to take the long-awaited Chipotle dump that I had been waiting for all morning.  It was awesome.  Nothing like pooping your brains out and then seeing the undigested corn brightening the bowl like stars in the night sky.  I felt like Harry  in Dumb and Dumber after that massive Hershey squirt sesh.

If you’ve learned anything from this rant, don’t eat Chipotle the night before a job interview.  While the dump I took was awesome, it was not worth the morning of tummy rumbles, internal farts, butt cheek squeezing and rectal nervousness.

Howdy there folks. Been some time I know and I apologize to the 3 people who actually check this blog. My bad, but I’ve been busy. I’ve talked a lot about politics and some of the generally horrible stuff going on in the world, but for this post, I’m going back to the one thing I know really well: sports. This year, the sports world has been shocked by the allegations and confessions that both Alex Rodriguez and Manny Ramirez are (and most likely were) steroid users. Talking heads talk of their “disappointment” and “dismay” that players of their stature would even consider using steroids. When it comes down to it, however, it doesn’t really matter. Steroids or no, , the MLB, NFL, NBA, NHL and even the MLS are as exciting as they’ve been as least in my 23+ years on this planet. Professional sports are, have always been and always will be a diversion; an organized form of entertainment. Regardless of the health and moral issues associated with steroids, have you not been entertained during the so-called “Steroid Era”?

To start, anybody who hates on steroids and steroids users has a short memory. How many among us were not enthralled during the summer of 1998 when Mark McGuire and Sammy Sosa were pumping out homeruns at incredible paces? For all the sanctimonious baseball writers who say they will never vote either of these men into the Hall of Fame, without them, most of you would not have a job right now. Those two men, not Cal Ripken, saved baseball after the strike of ’94. Sure, it was awesome and impressive to see Cal break Lou Gehrig’s consecutive game streak, but let’s be honest, stadiums don’t sell out to see a guy show up to work a lot. Chicks dig the long ball. Admit it, even for those of us who appreciate a seeing eye single between short and third, a home run is still the coolest thing in baseball. As Roger Angell succintly put it, “Home runs tend to stop a game–the men on base, the defensive deployments, the pitcher’s struggles, the count, the score–has been snipped, and all our attention falls on the hero.”

Second, and I’ve said this before on this very blog, sports is a business. As much as we like to thing that there is something pure about sports (and there is to some extent), sports are a BIG business nowadays. Just like everything else, capitalism has turned sports into a commodity; something bought and sold at ever-increasing prices. As competition increases, participants in the commodity chain have to take ever more drastic steps to gain an advantages over others. This in turn makes them big bucks. I do not judge or hate on any ahtlete for using steroids. If owners are going to pay me to hit balls 500ft 50 times a year, then I’m going to take their money. Show me a person who wouldn’t want to get paid to play any sport for a living and I’ll show you a psycho. ARod, Manny, Sosa, McGuire, etc. get or got paid to play ball everyday. Sure beats sitting at a cubicle, teaching bratty middle schoolers or picking up garbage (nothing wrong with any other things, but playing ball everyday is definitely better). Judge ARod and Manny all you want, but you’ll have to judge them all the way to the bank. Sure, you may be disappointed in them, but their checks still clear every two weeks. And if you really want to judge somebody, judge the people in the financial sector who have shaken our economy to the ground. ARod may be an asshole, but it’s not his fault that your 401(k) has no money in it anymore.

Finally, let’s take baseball, and all sports, for what it’s worth. They are entertainment. They give us something to look forward to after a long day of work. They, perhaps more than any other institutions in the U.S. bring people together to focus on something positive. They keep thousands of children and adults in shape by offering a cheap form of exercise. They allow us to follow rules that, for better or worse, make sense to us. Sports are just plain fun. Steroids don’t ruin the fun. What steroids have done is pulled away the curtain that protects us from seeing the business of sports. And always remember, no matter the level, it is just a game. As the man Reggie Jackson said, “I am reminded that when we lose and I strike out, a billion people in China don’t care.” There are far greater problems in the world than anything that happens in the sports business. But business though it may be, it is the most entertaining business I know.

====

Quote:  “They don’t boo nobodies” – Reggie J.

Listen: “W.O.E. is Me” Jurassic 5

     For some reason, although it gets hit with an average of two moderate snowstorms a year, no one in the DC area seems to be able to grasp the fact that when there is snow on the road it’s wise to change one’s driving habits. This is evidenced by the number of car accidents that inevitably accompany any amount of snow falling in or around the area. I thought it might be a wise idea to put out a comprehensive guide on what it takes to handle this wacky and unheard of thing they call snow.

#1. Do not properly clean the snow off your car. This one is almost a no brainer. In low visibility conditions like falling snow, you want to make your already hard to see vehicle is invisible to other cars. This will allow you to elude the other drivers. As an added bonus, huge chunks of snow flying off of your car can cause other people to crash, clearing more of the road for you.

#2. Stay on your cell phone. Driving in the snow takes no more concentration than listening to that pop song you’ve heard a million times. As you can sing the words to that song without thinking, so you can drive in snow without thinking. Nothing’s any different, continue changing lanes without signaling, driving twenty miles an hour below the speed limit in the fast lane, and generally being a horrible driver.

#3. Step hard on those brakes. It’s tougher to stop in the snow. Everyone knows this. The only logical option is to slam on the brakes as hard as you can, ensuring that they lock up. Don’t worry, you probably won’t spin out of control or anything. If you have anti-lock brakes, you should probably just use the emergency brake. Someone slowing down a quarter of a mile ahead of you qualifies as an emergency right?

#4. Tailgate closely. Since we’ve established that it’s harder to stop in snow, it’s probably wise to tailgate the person in front of you as closely as humanly possible. Since you won’t be able to stop, it’s probably best to have a vehicle in front of you that can stop you instead.

#5. Turn the wheel hard. It’s logical to think that your ability to turn quickly might be impaired by snowy conditions. Be sure to jerk the wheel hard and fast so your car will respond as quickly as you want it to. Don’t worry, I’ve done the math. There is only a 99.9% chance that you’ll lose control of the vehicle.

#6. Panic wildly at every situation. See that car slowly inching into your lane? It’s time to overreact. Being calm behind the wheel isn’t going to get you there any faster.

#7. Turn into the skid. Let’s be honest, the chances of you being able to turn out of the skid are slim to none. Your only shot is to hero your way through and pull a full 360 degree turn.

#8. Aim for ditches/trees. After you’ve lost control of your vehicle, your main concern should be to stop as quickly as possible. To this end, aim for the nearest immovable object to slow you down. Bonus points if you manage to end with the car overturned.

#9. Gawk at accidents as you pass them. Regardless of what you’ve heard, the best way to avoid an accident is not to pay attention to the road. Observe the accident carefully and try to ascertain exactly what happened, making sure to keep your eyes firmly off the road. It’s cool to drift into another lane while doing this.

#10. Use those high beams. Snow blindness is a myth. No expert worth his salt will ever tell you that it’s possible for your high beams to reflect light right back into your face. In fact, it’s scientifically impossible.

     I hope this guide proves helpful to all you potential fatalities out there. I’ll leave you with the most important point: Have fun. Nothing bad ever happens when you’re enjoying yourself.

—

Listen: The Offspring, “Bad Habit”
Read: “Dumbass.”- Red Foreman

     I came to a conclusion the other day. There are two types of people in this world. Normal people, and people who back their cars into parking spots. I have no idea why this makes me so angry, but it does. To be clear, I’m not talking about a parallel spot where backing in is the right and socially acceptable move. I’m talking about normal parking lots where the car is perpendicular to the driving lane. (On a side note; if you’re nosing into parallel parking spots, you have no earthly right to be driving.) At our rental house we have four cars. Three of us park like human beings, the other one throws caution to the wind and backs his car into our driveway. I don’t think he knows I have a blog and if he’s reading this he might not know I’m talking about him. If he is and does, sorry. I like my driveway to look a certain way, and your car facing the other direction than everyone else’s really screws up my qi.

I need this sign.

[Author's Note: For those of you that know me, this is not the roommate that I've been having serious issues with for the last couple months. I am in the process of preparing a rant on that topic, but I'm waiting for him to move out just in case there is additional craziness between now and then. I'm almost certain there will be. As a preview, here is a direct quote from him, "Mom, I can't bring women's underwear to you."]

     I was trying to figure out why a person would back into a spot. Are they planning on committing a crime and need to make a quick getaway? Maybe these people just feel the need to be different than everyone else. Maybe they’re attention starved and need people to look at their cars and say, “Wow, just look at their confidence. Being able to back into a spot. I wish I felt that good about myself.” Perhaps they were just raised to think that it’s socially acceptable to back into a parking spot. Like people who were brought up to think that it’s okay to talk on a cell phone when you’re in line to buy food and then get upset when no one can tell what you’re trying to order because you’re trying to have two goddamned conversations at one time. Or people who think it’s okay to listen to Nickelback.

     I’m sure some of you are reading this and thinking that it’s okay to back into a spot. News Flash: It’s not. The rest of us think there is something seriously wrong with you.

Got what you deserved, jackwagon.

—

Listen: Kid Cudi, “Pursuit of Happiness”
Read: “You know, somebody actually complimented me on my driving today. They left a little note on the windscreen, it said ‘Parking Fine.’”- Tommy Cooper

     As Gerry was blasted into smithereens, Dan Nice led the main charge into the auditorium. He immediately spotted Steve’s group, spreading out across the stage. “Onward to the stage, men! And women!” Dan shouted heroically, rushing forward and holding aloft a mighty bomb. “Take this, vile heathen!”

     He hurled his bomb, but it detonated harmlessly a few feet ahead of him. “Okay, no harm done!” he shouted. “I’ll get ‘em with the next one!”

     The battle lines quickly formed – Steve Obeng and his group assembled on the stage and first few rows, while Dan and his men were attacking down the main isles, using cover from Josh in the balcony. Smoke and fire filled the room as more and more bombs went off. The situation began to become very confused.

     “We have to do something about their sniper up there!” Steve Obeng declared. “Steve… take care of him!”

     Steve Beneke rose from behind a table that was serving as his shield and nodded. “Leave everything to me, sir!”

     Immediately he grabbed a long chain that was hanging backstage and gave a mighty tug on it. The chain came tumbling down, and Steve quickly tied it into a lasso and charged toward the main part of the auditorium. The room was so filled with smoke and dust that none of the other group saw him approaching. Steve halted right beneath where he had seen the shape of the sniper. Gazing up, he saw that it was none other than Josh Yerk merrily throwing bombs into the auditorium.

     “It’s time to bring you down, Josh!” Steve cried. He swung the chain/lasso around his head and then, with a grunt of effort, hurled it upward. The loop came down around Josh, who immediately stood up to see what was going on. Steve laughed at his triumph and yanked with all his strength. The lasso tightened, pinning Josh’s arms to his sides and preventing him from dropping the bomb that he had just lit. With a scream, Josh tottered and plunged over the balcony railing.

     Steve Beneke, quickly spotting the flaming bomb in Josh’s hand, dove away. He was pushed into a wall by the force of the blast, which tore Josh in half and sent his body spinning away in two bloody hunks.

     “Eeeew!” Steve exclaimed, struggling to get to his feet. He was dizzy, disoriented. And then he saw Emily and Erin running toward him.

     “There’s one of them!” Emily shouted. “Take him prisoner! But just pray that we aren’t killed in the attempt!”

     “Okay!” Erin shouted in response. “I sincerely hope that we aren’t killed while taking Steve Beneke prisoner!”

     Their words turned out to be horribly prophetic. Just as they were approaching Steve, someone stepped out of the smoke right next to him, holding two bombs. Steve looked up and saw Jill – albeit a blurry and distorted Jill – standing over him.

     “Mommy?” Steve asked, bewildered.

     In response, Jill chucked her two bombs at Emily and Erin. The two attackers skidded to a halt and raised their arms to defend themselves, but their bodies proved to be a pitiful defense against the power of the explosives. They were blown backward to land in two smoking heaps a few yards away.

     Jill paid them no more mind. She stooped down over Steve and shook him. “Steve! Steve Beneke! Are you all right? Can you hear me?”

     Steve’s vision slowly cleared, and he nodded weakly. “I’m okay. I can make it.” Jill helped him get to his feet and steady himself, and then she gestured back toward the stage.

     “Come on, let’s get back to the lines!”

     Steve followed behind Jill, a smile on his face. This was certainly a change from being kneed in the groin just a few days before, he thought.

     Across the gym, Dan and Kate were pinned down by heavy bombardment from Pat Metz, Bill Porter and Matt Landis.

     “What’ll we do?” Dan demanded. “I’m too tall to die!”

     Kate’s brain worked furiously. “I’ve got it,” she said suddenly. “We’ll make a distraction.”

     “A distraction?” Dan asked. “Is that the best you can do?”

     Kate nodded, a crafty smile crossing her face. “What’s the best way to get a boy’s attention?”

     Dan raised his eyebrows in shock. “You wouldn’t!”

     “I most certainly would,” Kate confirmed.

—

     A few yards away, Bill, Pat and Matt froze in the act of throwing their bombs as Kate jumped up from behind her protective barrier. They couldn’t believe it. It was amazing. They never thought they would see it in a million years.

     Kate was pointing behind them and shouting, “Look! A naked woman! A naked woman!”

     Unable to resist that universal male lure, the three young gentlemen whirled around, breaking the first rule of combat by turning their backs on the enemy. Dan jumped to his feet beside Kate and tossed a couple of bombs at the trio of tormentors. Matt Landis seemed to vanish in a rain of bones and blood as the bombs went off. Pat Metz was thrown forward with tremendous force, and Bill was merely tossed around a bit and survived with only a few cuts and bruises.

     “Oh, God, the pain, the horrible agony!” Pat howled. “I feel as if a thousand knives have been stabbed into my body!”

     “Think we should put him out of it?” Dan asked.

     Kate considered Dan’s question for a few moments, and then shook her head. “Nah. I never really liked Pat anyway.”

     Dan shrugged. “Okay.”

     They walked away to leave Pat writing in pain on the floor.

—

     The explosions, smoke and screams didn’t bother Dirk very much – he had sat through an Olsen Twins movie one time and heard a lot worse than that. He made his way slowly through the battle, steering clear of the most intense action and heading for the stage, which seemed relatively safe. He held only two bombs – one for Steve Obeng and one for anyone else he ran into along the way.

     As he neared the stage, he spotted Adrienne standing behind some curtains, intently observing something that was happening on the other side of the stage. Curious, Dirk approached and stepped behind another set of curtains to see what was going on.

—

     Jill and Steve stood away from the rest of the action. Steve still couldn’t walk very steadily, and Jill didn’t want to leave him alone with all the fighting going on. She stood in front of him, keeping a close watch for anyone approaching.

     “I’m okay, really,” Steve protested. “You can go back out there.”

     “I’m not going to leave you alone,” Jill said, shaking her head.

     Steve nodded. “Thanks.”

     Dirk watched the scene curiously. Then he turned toward Adrienne. To his surprise, he saw that there was a bomb in her hands which she was starting to light. Dirk watched with curiosity that slowly turned to horror as he realized what she was going to do. Before he could shout a warning, Adrienne hurled her bomb toward the center of the stage.

     The blast shook the entire room. Jill screamed and stumbled back, temporarily blinded by the explosion. Up above her, a large rack of lights shook violently and, suddenly, came loose at one end. It swung almost lazily downward, heading right toward Jill.

     Steve saw the danger and knew immediately what he had to do. “No!” he shouted, and jumped to his feet. He leaped through the air, his arms outstretched. Steve struck Jill from behind, pushing her onto the floor and out of the way of the deadly pendulum. Steve paused and let out a breath of relief. Jill was safe.

     The he looked up and saw the lights swinging down toward him. They cracked into his head and sent him sprawling away into a mass of curtains.

     Across the stage, Dirk stared with horror as Adrienne smiled in satisfaction. I finally got him, Adrienne thought as a mad pleasure rushed through her body. I finally got him. Her anger was released, and no one would ever know about what she had done. Nobody…

     Shakily Jill rose to her feet. She didn’t understand what had just happened – Steve Beneke had saved her life! But why? For the past several days she had been rejecting him. Why had he risked his own life to save her?

     Suddenly the realization hit her. He liked her. He really, really liked her. And more surprisingly, Jill realized that she liked him too.

     She turned to look at Steve, but to her horror she spotted him lying in a bloody heap just offstage. Dead… Steve was dead… the whole world was dying around her, and now Steve was dead, too. It seemed as if there was nothing left. Nothing left at all.

     Jill reached into her pocket and felt the lead pencil that she always kept there. Steve was dead… everyone else was dead or dying… wouldn’t it be wonderful to just die, she suddenly thought? To end everything? With a look of resignation, Jill pulled the lead pencil out of her pocket, positioned it over her heart, and toppled forward. As she hit the stage, the lead pencil drove through her heart. Her last thoughts were of Steve as she drifted away into the soft, beautiful darkness. Then suddenly there was a blinding light and Jill smiled as the auditorium in front of her began to turn into something unimaginably beautiful…

—

     A few feet away, Steve Beneke opened his eyes and pulled himself to his feet with the help of a nearby curtain. Jill, he thought. Where was Jill?

     There she was, lying on the floor just a short distance away. Steve stumbled that way, ignoring the pain in his head, and knelt down next to Jill’s still body. He shook her gently, but she didn’t respond. Probably unconscious, he thought. Steve rolled her over onto her back and his heart almost stopped beating.

     Jill’s hands were wrapped around a lead pencil that had been thrust into her chest. Her face was white as ivory, but a smile of infinite peace and happiness had taken it. In other words, she was dead.

     Steve reached out numbly and pulled the lead pencil from her chest. He stood up, staring down at it, and closed his eyes. It was all over now, he thought. All of it had been for nothing. He placed the pencil over his own heart and threw himself forward.

     A lightning-like pain stabbed through him, and Steve’s eyes opened. He wasn’t dead. He could feel his blood pouring through his hands and onto the stage, but he wasn’t dying. There was only an incredible pain, a pain like nothing he had ever felt before.

     The lead pencil had pierced his heart, but it hadn’t killed him. Steve screamed in agony, and then he heard someone approaching. Looking up, he saw Adrienne Krum standing over him.

     “Adrienne!” he gasped. “Adrienne. Please… kill me. Kill me!”

     Adrienne smiled and sat down next to Steve. “I don’t think so, Steve. Not yet.” Steve gasped, unable to speak for the pain. “Not yet…” Adrienne reached over and grasped the lead pencil. She placed her thumb onto he lead mechanism and held it there, as if relishing the moment. “Not yet, but soon.” She clicked the mechanism once, driving a bit of lead into Steve’s heart. He gagged and squirmed as the pain increased tenfold. She clicked it again, and Steve squirmed even more. “Soon…” Adrienne said softly, and then clicked the mechanism fiercely, over and over again, and Steve screamed. His scream seemed to go on forever, and then suddenly he fell silent. Adrienne closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and then stood up. It was finished.

     Then Dirk appeared, a look of shock on his face. “Adrienne… I thought we had a plan! I thought we were going to kill only a few people, only the leaders so that we could all unite again!”

     Adrienne smiled sadly and shook her head. “I’m afraid not, Dirk.”

     “But…” Dirk didn’t know what to say. “But we had a plan! What about the plan?”

     “Sorry, Dirk,” Adrienne said. “The plan was a fake.”

     “But I was going to rule the world!” Dirk protested.

     “You wanted to rule all of this?” Adrienne asked, incredulous. “Some world.” She stood up and walked away, leaving Dirk standing stunned on the center of the stage. A moment later a bomb hit the stage. Adrienne turned back, and the spot where Dirk had just been standing was consumed by a dark plume of smoke.

—

     The battle was reducing the gym to a smoking hell. There were no longer any clear battle lines, no clear “sides.” It was just one great serious of explosions and deaths. Students who had once been friends had become combatants locked in a mortal struggle for the fate of their world.

     Dan, Kate and Kim had formed a tight defensive formation near one of the support pillars, lobbing bombs at any Obeng supporters they spotted through the smoke. They were successfully repelling any and all attacks from their enemies, but they couldn’t hope to continue forever. They were starting to run low on explosives.

     Just a few yards away, Ashley Harbon and Ashley Muir were locked in combat. They had thrown aside their bombs and charged at one another down a narrow isle. It was like watching an episode of American Gladiators as the two vied for dominance. Finally Ashley Muir sent Harbon toppling over a row of chairs to land heavily face-first. Sensing victory, Muir launched herself over the chairs and after Harbon.

     As she was in mid-air Liz Craig came sailing out of the smoke and, in a maneuver straight out of The Matrix, blasted Ashley Muir backwards. She slammed into the back of a chair and reeled, trying to maintain her balance. With a savage battle cry, Liz stepped forward, pressing Ashley against the chair. Then she grabbed Ashley’s shoulders and began to push her over backwards.

     Ashley Muir felt a horrible pressure begin to exert itself on her spine as Liz began to push her slowly but inexorably backwards. She punched, she squirmed, she raked at her opponent’s face, but nothing Ashley did could ward off the attack. She opened her mouth to scream, and as her final wail filled the auditorium her spine snapped in two with a horrific crackle.

     Liz, blood trickling from a dozen cuts and scratches on her face, neck and shoulders, stepped back. Ashley was bent over almost in two on the back of the chair.

     “No better than she deserved,” Liz told herself, and then moved to make sure that Ashley Harbon was all right.

—

     The battle had begun to move out of the auditorium as Dan signaled the retreat of his group. Emily and Erin were dead – so was Yerk, so was Ashley Muir. He didn’t know what had happened to Dirk. Only he, Kate, Kim, Shannon and Abby were left out of their original ten. Dan had no idea how many of Steve Obeng’s group were left, but chances were they still had the advantage of numbers.

     Dan led the way through the main doors and into the auditorium lobby. Kim, with an enthusiastic shout, tossed her remaining bombs into the auditorium as she left it. The explosions blasted out the doors and sent bits of glass flying through the air. Smoke billowed out into the lobby, but Dan and his group were already down the stairs and into the main lobby of the school, where they regrouped.

     “Where’s Dirk?” Kate asked. “Is he here?”

     Dan shook his head. “I don’t think he made it.”

     Shannon pointed up toward the auditorium lobby. “Here they come!” she shouted.

     Through the door rushed Dave Moyer and Bill Porter, carrying the mangled form of Pat Metz between them. They swerved aside as they spotted Dan’s group down below, allowing the second wave of Christy, Liz and Ashley Harbon to sweep forward.

     Dan raised his final bomb, lit it, and hurled it at their oncoming foes. The bomb fell short of its target, but its effects were still devastating. It landed underneath a section of railing and went off, sending a long and jagged piece shooting through the air. As misfortune would have it, Christy was standing directly in its path. The jagged shaft of metal caught her in the neck, lifted her off her feet and sent her flying through the air, pinning her to the wall just above the auditorium doors. There she hung like some ghastly decoration, blood dripping steadily from the open end of the shaft.

     “Nice shot,” Abby said to Dan.

     Dan shrugged modestly. “I do the best I can with the tools I have.”

     Then Steve Obeng appeared at the top of the stairs. In his right hand was a bomb. In his left was the tattered but still recognizable picture of Bill Cosby. He grinned down at his opponents. “Surrender!” he shouted. “Or we’ll destroy you all!”

     Dan gritted his teeth and took one of their few remaining bombs from Kim. “Never,” he said.

     Steve Obeng began to advance down the stairs. Behind him came Ashley and Liz. Behind them came Dave and Bill, still carrying Pat but holding bombs in their free hands. Bringing up the rear was Adrienne, who had just emerged from the auditorium.

     “Don’t come any closer!” Dan warned, but nevertheless he gave up ground as the rival group advanced. Now each person (except Pat) was holding a bomb and was prepared to light it. It was a Mexican standoff. If one person threw a bomb, everyone would throw, and chances were not many of them would survive. The question was who would back down first.

     “You won’t win,” Steve declared. “There are more of us than you. One of us is bound to survive, and as long as we have one more man than you we win.”

     “True,” Dan allowed, “but my bomb’s heading straight for you, Steve.”

     Steve winced. “I see.”

     “Just put down your bombs,” Ashley pleaded. “Haven’t enough of us died? Steve, just let them surrender.”

     Steve Obeng glared at Ashley in fury. “Surrender? THEM? Never! We’ll fight them to the last man! Or even to the last woman! Stand firm!”

     Kate shook her head. “This is crazy! How many of us have to die? We can all live in harmony, can’t we? We can make changes!”

     Dan shook his head. “Bill Cosby won’t allow any changes, isn’t that right, Steve? You’re insane, you know that? I mean, who takes advice from a sit-com personality? You’re out to lunch, a few peanuts short of a jar. You’ve got a few screws missing, something isn’t right upstairs!”

     “Silence!” Steve roared. He pulled his bomb back and prepared to light it. “All right, I’ve had it! Prepare to die, all of you!”

     “If I go you go with me!” Dan shouted, raising his own bomb.

     Dave and Bill held their bombs at the ready. Pat raised a feeble hand to protect himself from the coming destruction. Liz and Ashley stepped forward next to Steve, prepared to follow his orders to the last. Only Adrienne remained behind, not really caring who came out on top. Her job, as far as she was concerned, was finished.

     Dan’s group formed a line centered around him. “Okay… if this is the way you want it, Steve… ready your weapons!” His group prepared to light their bombs. So did Steve’s. “On three!”

     “On three, you guys!” Steve Obeng shouted at his supporters.

     “One!” Dan bellowed.

     “One!” Steve echoed.

     “Two!” came the shout from Dan.

     “Two!” seconded Steve.

     “And…” Dan paused before uttering that final, apocalyptic word.

     “And…” Steve, too, paused, not quite wanting to be the one to say it.

     Then something totally unexpected happened. There was a hissing and sputtering sound from the main entrance doorways. All heads turned to see a short blue flame slowly cutting its way through the doors that had been welded shut since the explosion. Slowly, all bombs were lowered as the flame cut its way down to the floor and then across. The door gave a creaking groan and slowly fell inward, hitting the floor with a clang.

     The students dropped their bombs. Through the doors stepped three men in radiation suits. One of them held a blowtorch, while the others held Geiger counters. The three men froze when they saw the students standing a few yards away from them, holding what looked like bottles of cleaning fluid.

     “Radiation levels in here are normal!” one of the men said, his voice muffled by his radiation hood. “It doesn’t look as if anything got in here!”

     The makeshift bombs fell from the hands of the students. They stared as the three men walked toward them.

     “The building must have withstood the blast,” another man said. “Are you kids all right?” He held the giga counter up and passed it over each student. “Levels are normal here, too. Absolutely no contamination. How many of you are there? Where are the other students?”

     Dan Nice blinked and turned to Steve Obeng. Slowly Steve let the picture of Bill Cosby drop from his hands. “So…” Dan began, addressing the man in the radiation suit, “so we’re not the last people on earth?”

     The man took off his radiation helmet and smiled. “No, is that what you thought? God, it must have been horrible to be trapped in here! No, it was an accident, a horrible accident. We thought everything had been destroyed until the radiation levels dropped enough for us to move in. When we saw this building still standing here…”

     Adrienne’s face went pale. “So it was just one bomb?”

     The man nodded. “Just one. Were there any other survivors? Where is everyone?”

     “Um… could we have a few moments alone?” Steve Obeng asked.

     The man nodded his understanding. “Of course, of course. We’ll be here.”

     The group shuffled numbly into the guidance office and looked at each other in bewilderment. After a few moments, Dan spoke. “Hey, Steve… sorry about the whole ‘trying to kill you’ thing. I guess we were all under a lot of pressure.”

     “Yeah… sorry if I lost it there for a little while,” Steve said. “You know what we all thought…”

     Dan and Steve shook hands to the smiles of the other students.

     “Not to dampen the mood, but how do we explain the auditorium?” Liz asked. “Should we tell them that we were just about to kill each other when they walked in?”

     Bill shook his head in the negative. “No way. They’d put us away for a thousand years in some mental institution!”

     “Then what do we tell them happened upstairs?” Dave asked.

     Abby had a suggestion. “Wait a second… I think I have a solution… something that will cover all the bases and solve a whole lot of problems… but first, let’s get out of this place.”

     “I agree,” Pat Metz said weakly.

     They walked out slowly to the main lobby, where the three men were still waiting. “We’re ready to leave, if we can,” Dan said.

     “Sure thing. We can’t believe that you kids survived. It was a miracle!” One of the men smiled. “It just shows that in every disaster, a little bit of human good can come through.”

     “Yes,” Steve agreed. “Yes, it does indeed.”

     The three men produced more radiation suits, which the students quickly donned. Then they followed the three men out of the building. The world around them wasn’t glowing anymore – it looked like a barren tundra. A few twisted trees still stood here and there, but for the most part there was nothing, nothing for miles. The three men helped the students into a special vehicle, which then began to move away from the High School.

     The students gazed out the rear windows of the vehicle and watched with a strange feeling of sadness as the school vanished from view. Then they turned away and didn’t look back.

     “Well… what do you think will happen to us?” Adrienne asked.

     “We’ll probably be celebrities for a short time, and then the media will forget about us and we’ll be reduced to a bunch of depressed, disillusioned alcoholics,” Dan predicted.

     “So what’s this story you came up with?” Dave wanted to know.

     Abby smiled. “Well…”

—

     A few days later, the students relaxed in the comfort of a special government hospital reading the latest newspaper. The headline read, “HIGH SCHOOL STUDENTS FOIL MASSIVE COMMUNIST PLOT… NUCLEAR ‘ACCIDENT’ PLANNED BY KREMLIN!”

     “Good plan, Abby,” Steve said, smiling.

     “Well, you know what I say about Communists,” Abby said, a sly smile spreading across her face.

     “What’s that?” Bill asked.

     “They’re ‘da bomb’!” Abby exclaimed, and laughed uproariously.

     Dan Nice snorted. “Oh, that phrase was so 7th Grade,” he said, and quickly flipped to the sports section to see how the NBA playoffs were going.

     The class – or at least the half that remained after Dan’s departure – had organized itself into a rough circle to discuss what they were going to do. Personally, Adrienne didn’t care much about the political battle that seemed to have started. To her, no matter what any of them did, their situation was hopeless. No matter who had more power, no matter who was their leader, no matter who got control of the food or who possessed more of the school, they were all going to die.

     She looked around at the others, who were discussing what the territorial boundaries between their group and Dan’s group should be. It was ridiculous, Adrienne thought… humanity outside had just destroyed itself completely, and now the last people on earth were about to do the same thing to each other. Insanity… was everyone going insane? Adrienne certainly thought so.

     Steve Obeng pounded his fist on a desk for silence. “Enough of this! We shouldn’t be bargaining with them like this! You’ve democratically elected me the leader! We can’t tolerate dissention in the ranks at a time like this!”

     “So what do we do about it?” Matt Landis asked.

     “We strike,” Steve said decisively. “Dan’s no fool. He’ll know that the most valuable area in the school is the cafeteria. That’s where all the food is, and we all need food. If he can get that, he’ll have the upper hand. So we strike before he can take it.”

     Adrienne shook her head and sunk back into her thoughts once again. Strike? What was he talking about? Strike in what way? Were they going to start killing each other now?

     She scanned the classroom absently, and her eyes settled on Jill Henning. Right next to her (practically on top of her) was Steve Beneke. To Adrienne’s surprise, Jill wasn’t kicking Steve in the groin or, for that matter, inflicting any physical harm upon him. In fact, she was talking with him rather cordially. Adrienne raised her eyebrows at that. She guessed that stress could do funny things for people. Suddenly that old anger, which she had last felt before everything had happened, flared up again. No, not yet, Adrienne thought. Keep it secret until the moment is right.

     She turned her attention back to the discussion. It appeared as if Steve had been (much to his displeasure) democratically voted down on his proposal of a “first strike” policy against Dan Nice’s group. Steve was now standing away from the others and gazing absently up at the picture of Bill Cosby. Adrienne was starting to wonder a little bit about that picture. Somehow, Bill Cosby’s eyes seemed to follow her wherever she went around the room.

—

     She was thankful that the discussion was finally over. She sat (as was her custom) apart from the rest of the group with Jill Henning and Liz Craig. They were having a little discussion of their own about the situation in general.

     “So what do you think of everything?” Liz asked.

     Adrienne shrugged noncommittally. Jill said, “I think it’s terrible.”

     “What’s terrible?” Steve Beneke asked, coming up behind them.

     “Everything,” Jill elaborated.

     Steve gave them a thumbs-up. “Right on.” He strolled away to another area of the classroom. Adrienne watched him go attentively. He didn’t suspect a thing, she thought.

     “I don’t know what you guys think,” Liz continued, “but I’m starting to think that Steve Obeng is a little bit insane. Did you see how he kept staring at that picture up there? It’s like he’s listening to it or something.”

     “Stranger things have happened. Have you seen Ghostbusters II?” Jill asked. Liz shook her head, and Jill shrugged. “Then forget it.”

     Adrienne spoke up for the first time. “Aren’t we all a little bit insane? I mean, can you blame anyone if they start acting a little strangely? I think everyone here has a right to be a bit nuts right now. Don’t you feel crazy?” she asked Liz. “Don’t you?” she asked, turning to Jill. “I know that I’m feeling a little on edge right now. This whole world is insane… we blow each other up on a global scale, and we’re talking about doing the same thing in this school. It makes me so angry…” She trailed off, catching herself. No, not yet, Adrienne thought to herself.

     Jill and Liz were staring at her. “What brought that on?” Liz asked.

     Adrienne shrugged. “I’m a little tired, I guess. Sorry, you guys. I’m going to try and get some rest, okay? You keep on talking, don’t mind me.” She got up slowly and walked to a quiet corner, where she stretched out on the floor and closed her eyes.

     Sleep did not come to Adrienne Krum, and she didn’t want it to. She wanted to think clearly, away from the noise of the class. She needed to think all of this through. In order to pull it off she needed the perfect plan, the perfect situation. Adrienne sensed that a battle between Dan and Steve’s followers was on the way. That might provide her with the perfect cover. All the noise and explosions… it could work, she decided.

—

     Adrienne’s eyes opened at 2:13 in the morning, exactly. For a few moments she lay still, listening to the sounds of the class sleeping around her. Then she stealthily got up and made her way to the door. The knob didn’t creak as loudly as she feared, and after a few moments of careful movement she was outside the classroom and letting the door close silently behind her.

     Good. She was out. Now for phase two.

     Some of the hallways were dark – with no more mutant zombie teachers, there was no reason to fear an attack in the night. She moved through the halls with the stealth of a cat, making her way toward the B Wing, where she suspected that Dan and his friends might be spending the night.

     Her guess proved to be right. They were camped in the cafeteria, sleeping near the middle of the large room. She could see some of them in the glow of the hallway lights. Adrienne slowly and carefully opened one of the cafeteria doors and slipped inside. Just as she had hoped, they had all taken their shoes off before going to bed. Adrienne picked up one shoe – any shoe, it didn’t matter – and headed back toward the door.

     All of a sudden a voice spoke to her out of the darkness. “Going somewhere?”

     Adrienne froze, expecting some physical harm to befall her at any second. When nothing happened, she slowly turned to face the direction from which the voice had come. There was nothing… nothing but shadow.

     The voice spoke again. “What are you doing with Josh’s shoe? Does Steve think that Bill Cosby needs footwear, now?”

     Adrienne recognized the voice and gained confidence from the recognition. “Dirk?” she asked.

     Dirk Linthicum stepped out of the darkness and nodded. “None other,” he proclaimed.

     Adrienne had to think fast. Everything could fall apart if she didn’t handle the situation just right. What did she know about Dirk? What could she say that would allay his suspicions? “I’ll explain if we can step out into the hallway,” she said.

     Dirk looked as if he was thinking for a few moments, and then he shrugged. “Sure, why not? I’ve had a good life.” Adrienne opened the door and stepped out. Dirk followed her, looking around carefully before stepping fully into the hallway.

     “So what’s this all about?” he asked.

     Adrienne assumed a crafty expression and lowered her voice. “No so loud… I’m not sure if I’m the only one out tonight. I’ve been thinking about this whole situation, and I don’t think any of it’s for the best.”

     “Definitely not,” Dirk agreed. “I mean, Steve may have been President of the Junior Class, but he seems to be cracking under the pressure like the Flyers in the playoffs.”

     “That’s what I’m thinking. I’m going to use this shoe to put things right.”

     “You’re going to beat him to death with Josh’s shoe and frame him for the crime? Brilliant!”

     Adrienne shook her head. “No, it’s going to be something much better. I’m going to plant this shoe in the auditorium and then ‘find’ it tomorrow morning. I’ll say that I thought I heard noises over there, which will convince Steve that you guys are planning some kind of attack on us from the auditorium.”

     “And how will that set things straight?” Dirk wanted to know.

     “As soon as I get back to the room I’m going to take something of ours, something that no one will miss. Then you can plant it in the auditorium and tell your group that we are planning something in there.”

     Dirk raised his eyebrows, impressed. “So you’re playing both sides against each other? Pretty clever, but this still doesn’t explain how we’re going to solve our problems here.”

     Adrienne smiled. “If it works out as I’m hoping it will, a pretty big fight will result between the two groups. Everyone will think that they’re fighting people bent on their destruction… except us. We’ll know what’s really going on. We can take out both leaders, and with them gone the class will come together again.”

     “What if other people get killed?”

     A shrug from Adrienne. “What if they do?”

     Dirk smiled and nodded his approval. “I like it. Just give me whatever you want to plant in there and I’ll do the rest.”

     Adrienne nodded and walked away, back toward her classroom. She wiped a hand across her forehead as she turned a corner and was out of Dirk’s view. That had been too close, she decided. Her whole plan had almost fallen apart. But now she had improved it, she thought. She had convinced Dirk that her real plan was to get rid of the leaders of both groups and unite the class, but her true purpose was still known only to herself. A lie within a lie, Adrienne thought, and smiled.

     She liked the sound of that.

     Josh was awakened by a commotion in the hallway outside. He immediately sat up and looked around. It seemed as if everyone was outside in the hallway already. Josh mentally reprimanded himself for sleeping in so much later than everyone else and stumbled toward the hallway doors.

     As soon as he emerged from the cafeteria he could tell what was going on. Dirk was the center of all the hubbub. He was holding up something that looked like a tag from someone’s backpack. Josh (using his skills of observation) immediately noted that it was the tag for some band, much like the kind he had often seen on Steve Beneke’s backpack.

     “It looks like they were doing something in the auditorium!” Dirk was saying. “I heard a lot of voices in there last night. I didn’t hear much before they all went back into the classroom, but it sounded as if they were planning some kind of attack on us from the auditorium to seize the food supply!”

     Dan Nice stepped forward to analyze the evidence. “Yes, it looks like Steve’s all right. Are you sure that they were planning some kind of attack?”

     Dirk nodded grimly. “I’m sure of it.”

     Josh rubbed his chin. So it appeared as if a battle between the two groups was on the horizon. How could he apply his tactical genius to the situation? Perhaps if they sent a few radar planes flying over the auditorium to scout out the enemy positions and followed them up with intense carpet bombings… yes, Josh thought, that was the ticket.

     Unfortunately for Josh, Dan was proposing an entirely different course of action for their group. “I say we hit them hard and we hit them now,” Dan was saying. “We wait until they all gather in the auditorium and then hit them with everything we’ve got.”

     “Won’t that cause a lot of destruction?” Kate asked, concerned.

     “Yes!” Dan confirmed.

     “Won’t that pretty much completely destroy the room?” Emily asked.

     “Yes!” Dan said.

     “Won’t that kill a lot of our classmate?” demanded Erin.

     Dan rose to his full height for maximum authority. “YES!” he exclaimed.

     “Won’t that…” Shannon began.

     “Yes!” Dan shouted again.

     “But won’t that…” Ashley Muir started to say.

     “Yes! Now enough of this nay-saying! We’re losing valuable killing time! Josh, you assemble all the weapons. Dirk, you divide everyone into two groups. The first group will attack from the right rear of the stage, the second group from the front. That way we’ll catch them in a giant pincer of death and destruction!” Dan punched the air as he uttered that last word, and the other students hurried to follow his commands.

     Josh grabbed every weapon he could find, every cleaning explosive and makeshift bomb, every sharpened ruler and stiletto-like pencil. These he placed on a handy pushcart and moved into the hallway, where Dan was standing with his arms crossed like a mighty Roman emperor.

     “Here’s everything, big Dan,” Josh said, gesturing toward the weapons. “If I may make a suggestion, wouldn’t it be a good idea if one of us got into the balcony to rain death on our enemies from above?”

     Dan rubbed his chin. “An excellent idea, Josh. I nominate you to be that person. Take all the stuff you think you’ll need and go out in advance of the main group. As soon as you see the enemy move into position, throw one bomb and the main attack will begin.”

     Josh nodded readily, delighted to be given such a grand assignment. So he would be carpet bombing… sort of. At least the bombing part of it was there. Josh grabbed an armful of explosives and hustled up toward the knuckle, which would take him to the top floor of the school and the entry to the balcony.

     The door to the balcony was stiff from lack of use. Josh had to gently jiggle it a few times, like a toilet that was reluctant to flush, and then he was in the balcony. It was dark up there – only a few lights were on in the massive room. Josh staked out a position at the center of the balcony and laid out all the needed materials. Then he waited. It was only then that he noticed that one of his shoes was missing.

—

     Unbeknownst to Josh, just a few minutes before he arrived, the group led by Steve Obeng had entered the auditorium to see the shoe that Adrienne had stolen from Josh the previous night. After consulting with the picture of Bill Cosby, Steve had decided that a full attack upon their enemies in the auditorium was called for that very day. It was survival of the fittest, Steve had declared. If they didn’t wipe out Dan’s group, Dan’s group would wipe them out.

     So as Josh Yerk crouched in the balcony, Steve Obeng led his group through the left rear stage entrance with all the explosives at their disposal.

     The first one of them that Josh saw was Steve Obeng himself, stepping boldly onto the stage and thrusting the picture of Bill Cosby before him as if it would protect him from any harm. Josh rose to his feet and cried, “Sic semper tyrranis!” Steve Obeng and the students behind him froze and looked up at the darkness of the balcony. Out of that darkness suddenly hurled one of Josh’s explosives, which Steve instinctively caught.

     Steve stared down at it for a moment, and then tossed it back to Gerry, who caught it in confusion. “Hold onto that, will you?” Steve asked, and dove away. Gerry sighed resignedly just as the bomb exploded, throwing little bits of Gerry everywhere as if he was fake snow being sprinkled over a miniature train set at Christmastime.

     Josh Yerk shouted with glee, and his group stormed into the auditorium.

     The last great battle had begun.

     When Kim gave the code word (“Wa-hooo”), Steve Obeng sprang out of the large trash bin he had been hiding in and raised a bottle of cleaning fluid over his head. Around him, his classmates were jumping out of their own hiding places to begin the attack on the mutant zombie teachers.

     “With the strength of Bill Cosby!” Steve shouted heroically, and struck a match. He set the match to the rag that he had stuffed into the top of the cleaning bottle and watched it begin to burn. Shouldn’t wait too long, he reminded himself. Steve quickly scanned the knuckle for a target. A few yards away, the mutant zombie of Mrs. Eschbach was backing away from the mass of students that had suddenly materialized. “Mrs. Eschbach!” Steve shouted.

     The gym teacher turned to face him with a look of surprise. “Catch!” Steve challenged, and lobbed his explosive. Mrs. Eschbach caught the flaming bottle and stared at it dumbly before realizing the ramifications of what she had just done. A look of horror flashed across her face, and she pulled an arm back to throw the bomb away.

     It exploded a split second later, disintegrating the teacher’s arm and blowing the rest of her body into a smoldering heap.

     Steve Obeng wondered what Bill Cosby would say in a situation like this. He would probably say something about Jell-O, Steve realized, and since he didn’t have any Jell-O with him he probably shouldn’t say anything at all. Instead he lifted another bomb over his head and scanned the room.

     The mutant zombie teachers were quickly formulating a defensive strategy. Mr. Johnson had retreated to the rear and was shouting orders to his troops. The mutant zombie McLaughlin was charging a small knot of students, bowling Steve’s classmates over with his mighty (if rather small) arms. The students retreated in panic, but Steve saw to his dismay that one student didn’t get away. The zombie McLaughlin had grabbed Ashley Harbon by one arm and was slowly pulling her toward him. The other students didn’t dare lob their bombs at him for fear of hurting Ashley.

     The situation called for a hero.

     The situation called for decisive action.

     The situation called for Bill Cosby.

     Steve Obeng charged across the knuckle, through the dust and the smoke of the battle, past his fellow students and the mutant zombie teachers, toward Ashley Harbon and Mr. McLaughlin.

     “Hey, Mr. McLaughlin!” Steve bellowed. The diminutive mutant zombie teacher turned to face him, and a look of surprise took his face.

     “Steve!” McLaughlin exclaimed. “What are you doing, loser?”

     “I’m in the mood to kick butt and chew bubble gum,” Steve declared, and then added grimly, “and I’m all out of bubble gum!”

     He threw a fist at the zombie McLaughlin. The punch connected with the mutant zombie’s jaw and sent him staggering back. He lost his hold on Ashley, who cheered Steve on as he advanced on the retreating teacher.

     “This is for Ashley!” Steve shouted, punching McLaughlin in the gut. The teacher bellowed and doubled over. “This is for me!” Steve declared, walloping McLaughlin in the chest. He howled in pain and reeled backward. “This is for the US of A!” Steve continued, punching McLaughlin in the face. Then, for the finishing touch, Steve clasped his hands together and shouted, “And THIS IS FOR BILL COSBY!” He swung his hands into McLaughlin’s mutant zombie crotch, lifting him off the floor and sending him flying through the air.

     Steve Obeng watched as the mutant zombie McLaughlin hit a railing, flipped over it and plummeted down to the floor below. Steve stepped up to the railing and saw the crumpled body lying in a heap. The head had been crushed beyond recognition. Nodding in satisfaction, Steve Obeng turned back to Ashley.

     “You okay?” he asked.

     Ashley Harbon nodded. “I’m good, considering.”

     Steve scanned the knuckle once again. He spotted the immense form of Mr. Wood looming above a few students. Realizing that they were outmatched at close range, the students fell back, but one didn’t make it. Mr. Wood reached out and grabbed Kim Mellon, who was frozen with fear.

     “Let me just kill you here if I can, please, people,” Mr. Wood said amiably, lifting Kim Mellon off the floor. Before Steve could react the hulking teacher had bashed Kim’s face in against the wall. After regarding the shattered face for a moment, Mr. Wood dropped the body to the ground, leaving a disgusting blood smear on the wall of the knuckle.

     “He just killed Kim!” Ashley Harbon exclaimed.

     “Don’t worry,” Steve said, “I’ll get him.” With the battle still raging around him, Steve Obeng charged toward Mr. Wood, a bottle of cleaning fluid in hand. Deftly, before the teacher could react, Steve lit his makeshift bomb and slipped it into the elastic band of the mutant zombie’s pony tail. Then he dove for cover.

     A moment later the bomb went off, blasting the mutant zombie Mr. Wood’s head into oblivion. The teacher’s body stood there for a moment before collapsing headless in a heap.

     The battle seemed to be fading around him. Steve Obeng watched as a hail of bombs reduced the mutant zombie Mr. Cipriano into a smoking heap, and a moment later Mr. Timmer was set aflame.

     Then Steve noticed the mutant zombie Mr. Johnson making a quick escape. “Stop him!” Steve shouted. “Mr. Johnson’s getting away!”

     Mrs. Italiano, standing on the sidelines, shouted, “I’ll get him!” She charged after the fleeing mutant zombie, but nobody noticed her. As one the class lit their bombs and lobbed them at Mr. Johnson. The unkindly teacher halted as the bombs landed in front of him and whirled to run in the opposite direction. Before he could move, however, Mrs. Italiano gave him a flying body tackle that knocked the mutant zombie back onto the bombs.

     “I got him, kids!” Mrs. Italiano shouted.

     A second later the bombs detonated, filling that end of the knuckle with smoke and the smell of blasted flesh. When the smoke cleared, the stunned students couldn’t see the remains of Mr. Johnson or their beloved teacher.
     There was silence now in the knuckle. Steve Obeng sagged wearily against a wall. All eyes were fixed on the spot where they had last seen Mrs. Italiano.

     “Maybe she’s just hiding,” Gerry Hess suggested.

     “I don’t think so,” Erin Gotwals said grimly. The whole class fell silent once again, and then Steve Obeng stepped forward and raised his voice.

     “So what do we do now?” he demanded. “Do we stand here and grieve? Do we waste time grieving for the dead? Some of our friends died today! They will be missed! But wouldn’t they have wanted us to keep on working, to look ahead to the future and move on with our lives?”

     Dan Nice raised a common thought when he said, “But Mrs. Italiano was our leader! Who’s going to lead us!”

     Steve knew the answer to that one already, but he brushed over it. “We’ll decide that later. As for now… the mutant zombie teachers are dead! I say we have a celebration!”

     The class cheered, pleased with Steve’s pragmatism. They rallied around him, and Steve led them from the scene of the great battle toward the cafeteria, where food waited.

     Only a few students lingered behind, worried about what might come later.

     Dan Nice sat away from the main group of students in the cafeteria. Everyone was eating (for most of them, this was their first real meal in over a day), but Dan was only picking at his food absently. He didn’t feel much like eating, not in the aftermath of the Battle of the Knuckle (as it was now being called). They had destroyed the mutant zombie teachers, true, but not after suffering some losses. First Rob and Jess had been killed, now Kim Mellon and, perhaps most tragically, Mrs. Italiano.

     It was ironic, Dan thought, that she had been killed by friendly fire. They themselves had deprived themselves of a leader.

     Leader… Dan glanced over at Steve Obeng, who was the center of attention. It seemed as if everyone wanted to sit closer to him or talk to him. After his performance in the battle, Dan wouldn’t be surprised if the class elected Steve as their new leader.

     “What are you thinking about, Dan?” Josh Yerk asked, sitting down beside him.

     Dan shrugged. “I’m thinking about what’s going to happen next.”

     “You mean with Steve?” Josh asked, glancing in that direction. “I don’t know. You think he’ll become our new leader?”

     “Possibly.”

     A few moments later Dirk and Kate joined the two. Dan was glad to see that at least some people weren’t fawning over Steve. Perhaps there was hope for them yet.

     Just then he heard Gerry Hess raise his voice in a toast. “To Steve Obeng, the best kid in class!” Everyone cheered – everyone, that is, except Dan, Josh, Kate and Dirk. They sat there grimly watching the spectacle.

     “This is just the kind of thing that got Ulysses S. Grant elected president… and we all know what a great job he did,” Dirk remarked ruefully.

     Dan nodded his agreement. “Has anyone noticed that Steve seems a little… hung up on that picture of Bill Cosby that he’s always carrying around? I could swear that just before the battle I saw him talking to it.”

     “Yeah, I’ve seen him doing that,” Kate said. “Very strange, if you ask me.”

     “I say we blitz him,” Josh said craftily, narrowing his eyes and looking around to make sure no one was listening in. “We stage a coup and overthrow Steve, setting ourselves up in power in the process. We could be kind of an oligarchy, sharing power equally.”

     “If we kill you we could be a triumvirate,” Dirk said.

     “What?” Josh asked.

     “Nothing,” Dirk replied smugly. Josh shrugged and turned back to Dan.

     “I say that we talk to some people, find out what they’re really thinking,” Big Dan suggested. “Maybe we can recruit some more people to our cause. Then we could elect our own leader instead of Steve.”

     “He has a lot of support, though,” Kate said. “I don’t think we could beat him in an open election.”

     “Then we could secede!” Dan declared. “We can start our own group and elect our own leader. We don’t have to listen to crazy old Steve Obeng if we don’t want to. Who died and made him leader?”

     “Mrs. Italiano,” Josh reminded him.

     “Oh.” Dan hesitated. “But still!” He extended his hand to the middle of the table. Josh, quickly getting the point, put his hand on top of Dan’s. Dirk put his hand on top of Josh’s, and Kate put her hand on top of Dirk’s. Dirk gave Kate a sly look.

     “You’re holding my hand, Kate! You sly devil,” he said.

     The others ignored him and nodded at each other in silent agreement. Dan Nice smiled. Their little conspiracy was formed. All throughout history, he thought, groups like this had worked for the betterment of their governments. Brutus and his conspirators had killed Caesar. Caligula was murdered by his own guards. Hitler’s own generals had tried to assassinate him. Mussolini was shot by his own people. What they were doing was nothing more than carrying on an old and glorious tradition of backstabbing.

—

     Later that day, most of the students were still in the cafeteria, but a few of them had began to wander out into the hallways to look around (for lack of anything else to do). Dan and his co-conspirators were among these, and as certain students wandered their way they were snagged and given a good talking to by the foursome.

     The first of these was Kim Nguyen, who came skipping down the hallway humming a merry tune. When she saw the group standing near Mr. Landis’ old room, she waved and skipped over to them.

     “Hey, Dan! Wasn’t that a great battle?” she exclaimed.

     Dan nodded soberly. “It was pretty good. Say, you wouldn’t want to form a conspiracy to check Steve Obeng’s rising power, would you?”

     “Sure!” Kim exclaimed. “Well, see you guys later!” She skipped off down the hallway.

     “That was an easy sell,” Dirk said.

     Kate pointed to another student further down the hallway. “Let’s try Ashley Muir… she’d probably see things our way.” The group moved over to Ashley and, after a few moments of discussion, she agreed to join their little band.

     “Now we have six,” Dan said, demonstrating his almost supernatural ability with numbers. He quickly thought out their situation – they had a group of six against the rest of the class, who was apparently pro-Steve Obeng. They needed at least a few more people if they were going to pose any real threat to his power. A group of three or four people would work perfectly.

     “Who else could we talk to?” Dan asked.

     “Well, Pat, Bill, Matt and Dave usually stick together, but they’re pretty pro-Steve. Gerry would probably go with them. Steve Beneke will go wherever Jill goes, and Jill, Adrienne and Liz usually stick together. Steve saved Ashley Harbon’s life during the fight, so she’d be loyal to him.” Kate shrugged. “Doesn’t leave too many people.”

     “How about Abby and her friends? I’ll bet they would come over to our side,” Josh said.

     Dan nodded thoughtfully. Yes, he thought, Josh was probably right about that one. “All right, let’s try them.”

     To Dan’s surprise, it appeared as if Abby and Co. had already begun a conspiracy of their own against Steve, and were more than happy to pool their talents with Dan and his friends. They also brought Shannon Kulp on board. An attempt was made to convert Christy, but she casually mentioned that she liked the Cosby Show so all communication with her was dropped. Anyone who liked Bill Cosby was likely to be under the influence of Steve Obeng.

     “So now we have ten people. That’s about all we’re going to get,” Dan said. “They have twelve.”

     “Why are we talking we and they already? We don’t know for sure that Steve is going to try something really drastic, do we?” Kate asked.

     Dan shook his head. “We don’t know for sure, but we have a definite suspicion We’ll postpone our uprising until the Steve situation really gets out of hand. Then we’ll strike like a cobra.”

—

     Dan Nice glanced at his watch and saw that it was approaching six o’clock. As he passed by that one unclouded window, he saw that the world outside was still aglow with radioactivity. Dan wondered if they would ever be able to leave the school building or if they would be stuck inside forever, forced to try and maintain their own society in a single building. Of course, there wasn’t much chance for them with their limited food supply, but they could last for a pretty long time if they kept everything frozen…

     Dan brushed those morbid thoughts out of his mind as he entered their old classroom. Most of the class was already there, and Steve Obeng was standing at the front of the room, flanked by Bill Porter and Pat Metz. Immediately Dan got the feeling that something important was about to happen.

     He sat down next to Abby and leaned over to her. “What’s going on?” he asked.

     “Steve says that he has an important announcement,” Abby informed him. “Do you think it’s going to be what I think it’s going to be?”

     Dan nodded. “No doubt, Abby, no doubt.”

     At the front of the room, Steve Obeng began to speak. “It is a very tragic blow to us that our teacher, the beloved Mrs. Italiano, was struck down while engaged in mortal combat with the mutant zombie Mr. Johnson this morning. She will be greatly missed.” Steve hung his head, and a moment of silence ensued. Then he spoke again. “However, we cannot afford to mourn the loss of our leader for too long. There is much to be done to ensure our continuation in this school. There is food to be gathered, plans for the future to be made, perhaps living quarters assigned. We need someone to coordinate this massive undertaking.”

     Dan looked around the room. He noted that all of the conspirators were sitting on one side of the room while the students who seemed loyal to Steve were sitting on the other. They were watching Steve with rapt attention, waiting and hoping. At that moment Dan Nice knew that trouble was waiting just around the corner.

     “I have done much soul-searching over the past few hours,” Steve Obeng continued. “I humbly realized that many of you now look up to me as the hero of the Battle of the Knuckle. Many of you have spoken to me in hopes that I will accept the mantle of leader. Well now I tell you…”

     Steve trailed off and looked around the room. Dan realized that he was trying to build up suspense for the announcement they all knew was coming. “I accept,” Steve said softly, and one side of the classroom erupted in cheers. Steve raised his hands for silence.

     “However, I cannot rule alone. I do not have the wisdom or the foresight to lead this class effectively. Therefore I will have an advisor, one who will tell me what to do if a difficult situation arises.”

     Dan raised his eyebrows in surprise. He hadn’t expected Steve to be willing to share his power with anyone.

     Steve Obeng smiled benevolently on the class and reached into his pocket. From it he produced a folded-up piece of paper. Slowly, reverently, Steve unfolded the paper, turned, and pinned the picture above the chalkboard. When he stepped back, Dan Nice saw that it was the picture of Bill Cosby. His jaw dropped in shock.

     “The one and only Bill Cosby will direct me,” Steve said solemnly, clasping his hands behind his back. “As God directed his prophets, so Bill Cosby will direct me down the right a proper course. Think of me as the mouthpiece of Bill Cosby in this school. Treat him as you would have treated Mrs. Italiano.”

     Even some of the pro-Steve students seemed shocked at this new revelation, but several of them cheered anyway. The rest joined in quickly.

     Dan Nice stood up and took a step away. “Steve!” he shouted. The cheers died down and all eyes turned to him. “Steve, you’re insane… insane. Nobody is going to follow the directives of Bill Cosby… or you. Who’s with me?”

     The other nine conspirators rose, but no one else dared to rise from their seats. Steve Obeng glared angrily across the room at Big Dan. “So there will be no bargains?”

     Dan shook his head, no.

     “There will be no negotiations?”

     Again Dan shook his head.

     “Then it is to be war between us?” Steve asked dangerously.

     This time Dan nodded his head, slowly and seriously. Steve Obeng snorted. “So be it,” he said. “From now on, no student who is loyal to me is to communicate in any way with Dan Nice or his friends. They are no longer a part of this class. Now get out,” he said to Dan, “and don’t come back.”

     Dan Nice turned and opened the door. He held it open as his friends walked out, and then turned back to Steve Obeng. “You outnumber us now, Steve,” Dan said, “but numbers aren’t everything. I warn you, if you try anything against us, we’ll be ready for you.”

     “We’ll see,” Steve answered.

     Dan turned and left the room, letting the door bang shut behind him.

Upon a request from a co-worker at Pete’s law office to decorate, Pete took it upon himself to bring in a basket for lotion and hand sanitizer. He plans on getting some of that Easter grass to complete the look.