REVENGE OF THE PINK GRANNY PANTIES
I walked into math class and scoped out the sub.
What little life this loser had was about to get a whole lot worse.
Mrs. Billet, our math teacher, had finally had her kid and was home changing diapers for a month. We were on our second sub of the week, and Foster F. Finkman made it his job to upset subs.
I was his partner in crime.
Mr. Thompson was the victim of a bad brown toupee. It looked like Grunt, my guinea pig. This teacher wannabe was somewhere between thirty and fifty, had braces and breath that would kill a camel. I'd had him as a sub since kindergarten, and he hadn't changed a bit. Except for the braces.
Toupee Thompson knew all of us at Harly Middle School by name. It isn't a big school, since Harly, Oklahoma isn't a big town. So when Camel Slayer noticed Finkman was new, the sub flashed a silvery smile and squeaked, "What's your name, young man?"
Finkman stood and squeaked back, "Foster Florentine Finkman. And I hope you don't mind me asking, but is that your real hair?"