Captain Kirk at 900 ° Fahrenheit (At The Equator) by Jeffrey Callico / 2005 I was having pizza. Everything was fine. The TV was on. My mother and father and siblings had recently disappeared into a mist. I mean, they were alive, but they were in this mist-like stuff. The pizza I was eating tasted pretty good. It had cost me a little over eight dollars and I tipped the girl at the door, about seven and a half percent, mind you, give or take a couple of points. I wanted to invite her in, show her an expletive-deleted good time, if you know what I mean, show her what my crummy, roach-infested, toilet-backed-up, inner-city-but-for-some-reason-located-on-the-outskirts-of-town apartment was like. Oh, and speaking of 'points' and all, let me make one point clear right now: I AM NOT GOING BACK TO SCHOOL I AM NOT GOING BACK TO SCHOOL I AM NOT GOING BACK TO SCHOOL Okay. It is three days, five hours and twenty-one minutes later and here I am, yes, here I am, brothers and sisters, friends and Tunisians, everyone and everything that has ears let them hear, reclining on a LazyBoy in this shabby department store. The guy that was just over here, he thinks that with his silly striped tie and spit-shiny shoes he can sell me this thing, this LazyBoy thing I'm reclining on, but I have a news brief: Don't count your chickens. Here he comes! "So how is it?" I reallllllllllly hate breakfast cereals and the way llamas look. Take the fact, Mister, Mizzuz: Anything that looks like that and tastes like breakfast cereal has a long way to go, understannnnnnnnnnd?!,/:. Anyway, sorry for getting a little off-track, my science project in third grade was to build a robot out of, out of (out of all things!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) cotton balls!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! But I just told the teacher: Yes I'll do it, Mister Smith, thinking: I'll do it for you and Mommy and Daddy and Jimmie and Reggie and Trini, so that I won't have to bring home that stupid stupid piece of pink paper they give you with scribbled blue marks and angry little faces and stuff that the school system considers "VERY VERY VERY BAD." ME (calmy, but with pseudo-reverence): Like I told you, I do believe, I am not going back to school, okay? Okay? OKAY?? I said, OKAY?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!? ??? Otay. And now for my final statement. Here it is. Lookie! (Yessssirrrreeeeee, this is the end, the end, the end. The End Of The Wonderful Little Story, For It Is Finished.) I say again, Lookie!!!! SCENE SEVEN. TAKE 24. Clappp. Reginald: The truck is here, John. John: Good. Cut to freeze frame of dead llama. Fade.