.. Now blah blah blah is all I do. I use my grand IQ to decide what colour gloss to wear, and how to hit three keggers before curfew. -Mmm... Heather Chandler is one bitch that deserves to die. -Killing her won't solve anything. I say we just grow up, be adults and die. But before that, I'd like to see Heather Chandler puke her guts out. -Trust me, she skips the Saturday morning trip to Grandma's, even when she's not hungover. -We'll just concoct ourselves a little hangover cure that'll induce her to spew red, white and blue, then. -What about like milk and orange juice. What's the up-chuck factor on that? -I'm a no-rust-build-up man, myself. -Don't be a dick. That stuff'll kill her. -Yeah... -I know, we can cook up some soup, and put it in a coke. It's... it's pretty sick, eh? Now should it be chicken noodle or bean with bacon? -Put a lid on that stuff. I say we go with big blue here. -What are you talking about? She would never drink anything that looked like that, anyway. -So we'll... put it in this. She won't be able to see what she's drinking. -It's only in a cup, jerk. -Okay, milk and orange juice. Mmm... well maybe we could cough up a phlegm *globber or something*. -Mmm... -No? Oh well, milk and orange juice will do it quite nicely. -Mmm... you chicken? -You're not funny. -I'm sorry. Ahh... -Veronica... -What? -Ahh... never mind. I'll... I'll carry the cup. -Morning Heather. -Veronica... Jesse James. Quelle surprise. Hear about Veronica's affection for regurgitation? -Heather, I think last night we both said a lot of stuff we didn't mean. -Did we? How the hell didcha get in here? -Umm... Veronica knew you'd have a hangover, so I whipped this up for you. It's a family recipe. -What did you do, put a phlegm globber in it or something? I'm not gonna drink that piss. -I knew this stuff'd be too intense for her. -Intense. Grow up! You think I'll drink it just because you call me chicken? Just give me the cup, jerk. -Corn nuts! -Oh my God. I can't believe it. I just killed my best friend. -And your worst enemy. -Same difference. -What're we gonna tell the cops? Fuck it, if she can't take a joke, Searge? -Oh the cops. I can't believe this is my life. Oh my God. I'm gonna have to send my SAT scores to San Quentin instead of Stanford. -Ohh... alright... I'm just a little freaked, here. At least you got whatcha wanted, y'know? -Got what I wanted? It is one thing to want somebody out of your life, it is another thing to serve them a wake-up cup full of liquid drainer. -We did a murder and that's a crime, but... this were like a suicide thing, y'know? -Like a suicide thing? -Yeah. I mean, you can do Heather's handwriting as well as your own, right? ...Right? -You might think what I've done is shocking - -Umm... to me, though, suicide is the natural answer to the myriad of problems life has given me. -That's good, but Heather would never use the word "myriad". -This is the last thing she'll ever write - she'll want to cash in on as many fifty cent words as possible. -Yeah, but she missed "myriad" on the vocab test two weeks ago. -It proves my point more. The word is a badge for her failures at school. -Oh. Okay, you're probably right. People think that just because you're beautiful and popular, life is easy and fun. No-one understood, I had feelings too. -I die knowing no-one knew the real me. -That's good. Have you done this before? -Any other principal'd take the same position. Keep things business as usual. -Heather Chandler's not your every-day suicide. She was very popular. -Come on, Paul. If I let these kids out before lunch, the switchboard'd light up like a Christmas tree. -I must say I was impressed to see that she made proper use of the word "myriad" in her suicide note. -I find it profoundly disturbing that we're told of the tragic destruction of youth, and all we can think to talk about is adequate mourning times and
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