Chapter Text
To: Anthony Kiedas
From: Unknown
Time: 9:31 AM, Sep. 24
Subject: The Stuff
You, me, 6:30 pm tomorrow, behind Rockstar Lounge. I’m looking for some herbs, if you know what I mean. You’ll know me when you see me.
Thank you.
Is this dude a homosexual pedophile? Why the fuck is he emailing my school account? That’s rule one in the book of drug dealing: don’t be an idiot. Wait, how does he know my school account? Is he tryna get me busted? Always knew the homos lacked common sense.
So what if I’m a drug dealer? My dad did the exact same thing at my age, and he had sex with models! They were probably only getting fucked by him for the drugs, but so what? That’s how I was made! But I’m not gonna get caught because one guy was dumb enough to ask for weed in my school email.
Hold on, there’s another email attached to that:
P.S: Despite popular belief, Principal Davis can’t read these emails, so don’t worry about getting caught. But I’ll tell him anyway if you don’t give me this for free.
Free weed? Who does this guy think he is? The fucking president? Well, presidents are pretty gay, and they’re probably pedophiles, so I wouldn't be too surprised. But there’s gotta be better options for them. I’ll show him what’s up.
To: Unknown
From: Anthony Kiedis
Time: 12:47 PM, Sep. 24
Subject: Re: The Stuff
ok, since the principal cant read this, how bout u lick my dick? i bet u’d like that actually. fuck off u pedo creep!! 8===D
That’ll show him.
I leave my computer to go get some lunch: a simple PB&J always does the trick. Bonus points if we have potato chips in the pantry. While I’m in the kitchen, scouting out the ingredients for my decadent meal, my dad walks in.
“How’s school so far, champ? Still with that hot freshman chick?”
I sigh. “No, dad. We broke up last week. She said she wanted someone more ‘responsible’.”
“Oh, to hell with her, then.”
My dad would know a thing or two about my preferences. He’s always been into younger girls too. Like, high school age girls. But don’t worry, he only hits on the 18-year-olds in other high schools, so it’s not that bad. He was also the one who told me to take advantage of my age before I turn 18, so I guess it’s good we broke it off before I officially became an adult. She can find somebody her own age for all I care! ‘More responsible’ my ass.
Another good thing is that he doesn’t care about my grades. He hasn’t seen my report cards since freshman year, and neither have I. Throw them in the trash and forget about it, they mean nothing in the bigger world. All I need to do is pass and I’m fine. I can probably sell weed for the rest of my life and be perfectly well off, whether it’s through my school account or not.
I eventually get all the ingredients (potato chips included: booyah!) and start making my lunch, while my dad reheats some Chinese leftovers from who knows how long ago. I absolutely devour my sandwich, taking some of the pot brownies I made yesterday up to my room as a treat. Thank god the e-pedo didn’t ask for those.
Speaking of, when I get back to my computer, I see that Mr. Creepy Stalker responded to me already. Does this dude have a fucking life?
To: Anthony Kiedas
From: Unknown
Time: 1:05 PM, Sep. 24
Subject: Re: The Stuff
Oh wow, I didn’t think you would actually look at my email, let alone respond to it. While I have your attention, I’d also like to say that while Principal Davis can't see my emails, he does see yours. I won’t get into details about how that works, since you've never seemed to care about details. I can already imagine the look on his face when he opens the email. That is, if he even reads them. Don’t worry, I’ll remind him to do that.
By the way, I’m not a pedophile. I’m only looking for something else I know you have. So, since I have some pretty good blackmail on you now, how about you give me what I want?
Oh double fuck off!! Fine, he’s won me over, but not by choice!
I wipe the brownie crumbs off my fingers, furiously typing ‘Rockstar Lounge’ in the mapquest search bar, finding out that it’s only a 30 minute walk from my house. At least I don’t have to travel across the country to ““donate”” my weed. I searched it up on google too, because I’m wondering if this place actually has any value. Turns out it does, because these two french dudes from France are apparently getting popular because of it. I don’t care about them, because they’re French, and French people belong in France (Mr. Bangalter, I’m looking at you). But some non-French people like their music, so I guess that’s cool.
I text my best buddy Flea and ask him if he wants to come with me to ‘deliver the goods’. He thought I meant a threesome, but either way, he told me was busy. Something about a family member’s funeral, I think.
Well fuck, now I’m gonna go all alone… I’m gonna look like such a pathetic loser, just handing out weed like candy. I hope no one else is with him, because I’m not a charity case.
Now I’m watching this pirated film Flea gave me, eating the rest of the pot brownies. I have no idea what’s going on, because it’s in Chinese with Norwegian subtitles, but he told me the lead actress looks like my latest ex, and oh my god, she does. Where the fuck did he find this? Is he secretly a Chinese spy, or, even worse, Norwegian?
By the time I’m done eating my dessert, I’m debating whether or not I should jerk off to the film. It wouldn’t be creepy, would it? She’s of legal age… I think. It’s practically the only thing I can focus on. I mean, there’s this whole plot with zombie ninjas that are terrorizing the city or whatever, but who cares about that? Unless one of those zombies has a nice set of tits – and can preferably speak American – I am not interested.
Oh well, the movie’s over, and now it’s- Holy shit, it’s already 6 pm? Damn, I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t jerk off. I would have to go to the Rockstar Lounge with cum on my hand.
I hurry downstairs, grabbing my essentials: house keys, pocket knife, cigarettes, 5 grams of weed in a ziploc bag. It’s sad to see my precious blow go to waste like this, but I have no other choice. Like my mom did to me when I was born, I have to give it to another man and forget the whole thing happened. Say la vee, or something like that. La vee.
My dad never gives a fuck where I’m going, as long as he doesn’t need to file a missing person’s report for me. He says it’s ‘too much work’. I tell him that I’m going to the Rockstar Lounge anyway, and for some reason he goes all bug-eyed.
“You know what that place is, right?” He asks me, like I didn’t just do an investigative search on the place.
“Yeah…?”
He stands up from his seat, striding over to me and puts his hand on my shoulder. “That’s the place where I lost my virginity, way back in ‘77. I thought she was the love of my life…” He proceeds to tell me this really drawn out story about this woman and how she was the most beautiful girl in the world. I zoned out as soon as I heard the word ‘love’. “...Take this opportunity for you to get a rebound.”
I zone back in, because I like that word. It sounds like something a referee would say. “A rebound… Like, another girlfriend?”
“Attaboy!” He exclaims, slapping my back.
He goes back to his desk, continuing to eat his reheated lo mein with a plastic fork. He’s so cool, acting like he’s not cool. I wanna be like him one day…
I’m now going to the Rockstar Lounge, but something doesn’t feel right. It’s not the nerves, because I ate those pot brownies specifically because of this. I don’t have a boner either, that went away after talking to my dad. No, I feel nauseous…
Fuck, I accidentally ate the normal brownies again! My dad’s gonna get real loopy if he’s craving sweets tonight. Not the first time that's happened.
The walk feels like an eternity, because I’m thinking of all the things my dad does when he’s high: watching Judge Judy with the volume at 100, pretending he’s one of the jurors. Or was it Jerry Springer? Ah, whatever. Then I think about what Flea and I do when we’re high: go to the local roundabout and watch the cars spin around in circles. Maybe throw a stone or two at their windshields to see them swerve. What will this guy do when he’s high? Go to an elementary school?
I’m mainly doing this so I don’t throw up, which is hard, but I eventually get over it. I’m almost there, just a couple more turns and I’ll finally get to see what this loser looks like. I imagine him in a greasy Star Wars shirt, shit-stained cargo shorts, and socks with sandals. Maybe he’d throw a Hawaiian shirt on too, since this is probably a very special occasion to him. Oh god, and the smell. I bet he doesn’t wash his hair, if he even has any. Like, get some 5-in-1 like the rest of us, buddy!
Okay, I rounded the last corner, and I don’t smell any BO yet. That’s a good sign… I guess. Maybe this guy is more hygienic than I thought. Or, even better, he’s not here so I can roll a joint all for myself to take the edge off of my stomach ache.
Oh, I actually do spot someone in the distance. Not sure why he’s there, since he’s all dressed up like an office employee. A red tie is certainly a statement.
Wait. Hold on. Pause. Whatever else means ‘stop’. Is that Princy? Can I even call him that anymore? Should I call him Mr. Hawley? Ew, no. Princy sounds way better.
Well, it always sounded like he was on drugs, so I guess it’s not that surprising. I would’ve guessed he’s more of a cocaine or heroine guy, but I guess he wanted to try something new this time around. That also explains how he knew my email, and how he knew about Principal Davis… He’s not making his claim about not being a pedo any better, cause I’m pretty sure what he did was illegal. But my dad would know more about what’s legal and illegal, considering all the lawsuits against him.
He gives me a really weird glare, like he didn’t literally ask me to be here. He’s always been like that, thinking he’s better than me, and it pisses me off. Just because he’s, like, 80 years old doesn’t mean he’s wise. Then he smiles, and now I really wanna call the police… maybe my dad would be a better option actually. The cops around here don’t really like us. It’s probably the lawsuits.
“Knew I could scare you into doing this.” He says, and now I think I need to lay some ground rules with the way he’s staring at me.
“I’m not giving you a blowjob.”
His smile drops. Thank god. “What?”
“I said I’m not giving you-”
“-No, I know what you said, but…” his eyes shift around all shady-like, “...you know that’s not what I want.”
“Just making it clear.”
I also look around, making sure there’s no narcs to bust me again. Princy definitely isn’t one, cause he would’ve insisted on the blowjob. I’m not sure if that would actually be the case, but cops are pretty gay, so it would track.
“Why are you even here, anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be in jail?”
The smile comes back on his face. Ew. “Mr. Murphy paid for my bail. My trial isn’t until January.”
Okay dude, I don’t give a fuck. It was just a yes or no question… I think. Whatever.
I shove the bag of weed into his hands, and Princy slides it into his boob pocket, or whatever it’s called. He rushes through the back door of the building, probably wanting to have sex with a groupie before his show or whatever musicians do at his age. I’m just glad I’m not the groupie.
I should go back to my house, but I remember what my dad said to me about rebounds. I still really like that word.
“Rebound.” It’s fun to say, too.
Thankfully I also brought my fake ID with me, cause if the bouncer isn’t some hot college-aged Hooters worker, I’m not even gonna try flirting with them. But I don’t even need it, because this club is lame and allows people under 21. There’s not even a bouncer outside! What kind of bullshit are they running here?
Whatever. I’m going in anyway, because I wanna make my dad proud. I also need to use the bathroom. I can’t tell if I’m gonna shit myself, throw up, faint, or all of the above, but I’d rather be by a toilet while I do it. God, if you exist, please don’t let me die of shit in front of some hot chicks. I’d like to go out with my dick inside one instead.
Fucking hell, what is this music? It’s like if EDM sexually coerced disco into making a baby. Someone should make a restraining order against Princy so he’s not allowed within 50 feet of a turntable. Either that, or this EDM-disco baby should’ve been aborted when they still had the chance. Now I’m imagining Princy having children. Yuck.
Okay, I’ve been looking around for ages now, and apparently the bathroom doesn’t fucking exist. Seriously, can they not make a sign or something? If I don’t find it in the next ten seconds, I swear to God, I’ll-
Woah.
This is the second time I’ve got my mind blown tonight, but this time I might actually have a chance to do that in the other sense of the phrase. Princy probably uses too much teeth. Why the fuck did that pop into my head? Anyway…
The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen is currently gracing my eyes with her presence. Well, not as beautiful as my exes, but she’s a close fourth. She’s got her back turned to me, but I already know she’s got either a nice face or a nice rack to look at, because her ass is gorgeous. Like the Greeks carved her out of gyros, or whatever the saying is. Her hips are swaying crazily, like she knows what she’s got, and the best part is that she looks totally legal!
Now I have to prove myself to her. That’s gonna be the difficult part, cause I’m not a good dancer, but I’m sure I can charm her with my soothing voice. She seems to be talking to someone, or maybe a group of people. Fuck, I hope they’re not tryna steal my future wife!
I slide up behind her, holding her hips and whispering in her ear, “Hey good looking.”
She whips her head around, and- hold on! It’s Katherine, or whatever her name is, with the Brady Bunch, Chris, Curt, and Cavid!
I notice fairy #1 – otherwise known as Kurt – staring daggers at me, like I just killed his puppy. Like, dude, it’s not that serious! I just called her hot!
“Fuck off you creep!” She yells in my ear, like I wouldn’t be able to hear her shrilling voice over the music if she just talked normally. “I have a boyfriend!”
I scoff, knowing women like her usually never get boyfriends. “Really? Who?”
“Kurt, dumbass!”
No fucking shot. The kid who dresses up like a doll in his dresses and makeup has a girlfriend? Who would even be into that? Katrina has a really weird taste in men. I dodged a bullet.
Just as I’m walking away, I can hear fairy #2 (David) ask Karen, “What did he tell you?”
“He tried to hit on me!”
David bursts out into laughter, which boils my blood like it’s never boiled before. I turn back around, my hands clenched into fists, and my teeth gritted.
“What’s so funny, fuckface?” I ask, getting all up in David’s stupid, smirking face. “Are my feelings funny to you?”
He thinks about it for a moment. “Yeah, actually.”
“Oh yeah? You wanna know what I think would be funny?”
“No, not-”
“-Bashing your fucking head in. How about that?”
The guy fucking shrugs me off, like I’m playing around or something. Has he forgotten about my fight with Zack and whats-his-face? Does he not see my muscles? “Go ahead, there’s gonna be a whole bunch of witnesses if you do.”
Just as I’m about to strangle that stupid smirk out of him, the music fades out. All of our attention is now on the stage, and in the middle of it is… Mr. Murphy? So Princy wasn’t making that shit up? Or am I tripping balls after all?
“Testing, testing, one two…” He says, like an idiot. “...Okay, um. A few things. First, I’d like to apologize to my students…”
Blah blah blah, I don’t care. This is the second worst monologue I’ve heard today, and it might become the worst if he starts talking about his sex life like I’m sure my dad did earlier. Where the fuck is this bathroom again?
Okay, I finally see it. David’s tryna get my attention again, but I don’t care about that either. He’d probably give me the third worst monologue of the night, and two is more than enough. As I’m walking away, my mind catches the last part of Mr. Murphy’s lame-ass speech.
“...and I’m happy to announce that we will be the ones performing at Rockstar High for the homecoming dance!”
That’s it, now I really need to go. I’m imagining Princy and Mr. Murphy with an EDM-dance baby, and my stomach does not like that image.
I shove the door open, seeing Principal Davis taking a piss in one of the urinals. At least, the nasty white-boy dreads make me think it’s him. Like this night couldn’t get any worse. I think he turns his head to look at me, but I avoid eye contact at all costs. If what Princy (OG Princy, not the pissing wackjob in the bathroom) said was right, then Principal Davis is probably gonna piss on me for what I did. He’s probably into that, fucking loser.
Once I’m in the stall, I curl over the toilet and let it all out like I’m a white girl with a hangover. Sadly, there aren’t any hot ladies holding up my hair and comforting me as I puke, so it’s not really that fun. I haven’t heard the door move over my coughing, which means Principal Davis probably didn’t leave yet. It’s not like I care that he’s heard me hacking up my guts, but again, I don’t wanna deal with another one of his weird lectures.
Oh fuck, are those his shoes? And his legs? Wait, of course they’re his legs, if they’re his shoes-
“Uh, y- you okay in there, kiddo?” It is him, I can tell by his dweeby voice.
“Yeah.” I groan.
The dude still doesn’t leave. Instead, he says, “This is probably bad timing, but I saw that email you sent Joe- I mean that random guy today. Yeah, you’re… gonna have to get suspended for that.”
“Oh fuck off!”
“Excuse me?”
“Princy’s such a bitch!”
“Who’s-”
“Hawley. He’s a fucking loser for ratting me out like that.”
Principal Davis clears his throat. The wimp thought I was talking about him, wasn’t he? Maybe I shouldn’t have clarified. He’s probably really funny when he’s mad. “Um, well, good luck with your… illness?”
Finally, he leaves the room, and I think I need to puke some more. At least I didn’t get a monologue, or else I probably would have opened the stall door to strangle him mid-speech. But I don’t really care that I’m suspended. It’s not like I was planning on going to homecoming anyway… totally not.
I think I need to puke some more.