Entry 19

REVENGE OF THE PINK GRANNY PANTIES

I walked into math class and scoped out the sub.

Easy prey.

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?"