Asmo's Body

[Blind Hemingway]

"They say I'm in this jail because I'm crazy. And sure, I could see why people would assume I have issues. After the cops dug through all my belongings and found my stash of funta manga I was as good as dead by that point.

So I should probably introduce myself. I'm Carson but my friends call me Chopsticks because…Well I have no fucking idea why. It's not like I'm a fucking psychic…

Anyways. I am in this jail because I killed my best friend named Asmodeus. Now that I look back at it, I don't know why I even hung out with him. Always punching me and trying to stab me with his twin blades. I mean where the fuck does a Brit get a sword in these parts…They have all these anti-gun laws but nothing about swords.

Now, to get to my point. I killed my best friend because he was turned into a tentacle raping son of a bitch by a bunch of fucking Swedish douche bags.

We were just sitting around minding our own business when all of the sudden some blonde haired panzy with long hair calling him Imperial Edgecrusher jumped off the stage and all the suddenly started a fire.

I stumbled out of the burning wreckage, only to see Asmodeus being frisked away by two Viking looking dudes and a…Well, I'm going to guess the last guy was Mexican…I think. I have no idea. Anyways, from here on out I'm going to tell this story from the third person because it's a better way of telling a story…"

 

[Hecatoncheires]

7:09AM, MR. MAC'S FLAT​

The alarm vibrates, perched procariously on the edge of the cabinet. Mr Mac slapped the 'sleep' button atop the device, and it became silent again.

7:14AM, MR. MAC'S FLAT​

The timer kicking into life, Mac's alarm clock went off once more. A fist came down to silence it this time.

7:19AM, MR. MAC'S FLAT​

Another fist this time, more forceful than the last.

7:24AM, MR. MAC'S FLAT​

[ame="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oUtJothJwuE"]YouTube- Get Out The Door - Velvet Revolver[/ame]​

"RIGHT THAT'S IT! FUCK YOU, ALARM CLOCK!!"

Staggering out of bed in a drunken haze, Mac grabbed the alarm and hurled it out the window. Grabbing the nearest whisky bottle, he downed the remains as he pulled on his suit for work. Finally, he moved back over to his bed, grabbed his shoes and shoved the sleeping figure also occupying the bed onto the floor. "FUN NIGHT, KELLY WAS IT? CALL ME. NOW GET THE FUCK OUT MY HOUSE."

8:42, THE HIGH SCHOOL​

School children scattered as the Ford Focus swerved violently from the parking lot and onto the pavement. Mac hammered on the horn as he forced the car to stop, parking across two spaces. Staggering out the vehicle with a hip flask in hand and a messenger bag over his shoulder, Mac moved past a pair of 4th year students pinning a 1st year to the wall.
"JENKINS!" Mac roared at one of the pair as he moved past, "YOU'RE NOT HITTING HIM HARD ENOUGH! IF YOU EVER WANT HIS LUNCH MONEY, TRY FUCKIN' HARDER!"

9:02, CLASSROOM 4B1​

"RIGHT, YOU LITTLE SHITS. QUIT LOITERING AND GET INTO THE CLASSROOM. YES, I KNOW YOU'RE NOT IN MY CLASS, WHATLEY! YOU THINK THIS IS A DEMOCRACY? GET THE FUCK IN THERE!"

Having grabbed the final child and literally thrown him through the door, Mr Mac barrelled into the room and slammed the door. A sea of extremely apprehensive faces looked back at him. Grinning, Mac raised the sheet of paper he had been given by the principle just minutes before.
"Right, you hideous little gobshites, before we get started on some history, the school has an announcement to make. It seems that several of you attended a heavy metal concert last night, and apparently that boy in 5th year, Edgecrusher, was it?, managed to kill himself and start a fire simultaneously. Impressive, you ask me. I'd shake his hand if it wasn't charcoal by now.

"Anyways, the short of it is that aside from Asmodeus and that Carson boy, everyone at the concert died horribly. STOP THAT WAILING AT THE BACK, JENNY! DO I LOOK LIKE I GIVE TWO FLYING FUCKS THAT YOUR BOYFRIEND WAS AT THAT CONCERT?

"Now, with that, IT'S HISTORY TIME, YOU LITTLE SHITPOKES! Who here has seen Braveheart?"

One wavering hand was raised, and Mr Mac immediately hurled a brick at it.

Spoiler

Meet Mr 'Grumpy' Mac. Arriving at school drunk and vaguely on time, he breaks the news of the fire to the students.

 

[Vay]

Squeak squeeeeaaaak squeaksqueaksqueak. Thunk! SPLAT! Clapping, trumpets, closing credits.

"Well that that was an oddly good episode."

Crunching sounds, the world becomes muffled. Thump thump, rattle, thump thump. Slam.

YAWN

Squeak squeeeeaaaak squeaksqueaksqueak. Thunk! SPLAT! Mop.

That was the normal morning and this one was no different.

Following "grumpy" at a distance Mort did his daily duty of cleaning up the foul language the history teacher spewed everywhere, though some on the choice lines he kept for his own use. THough this morning Mort wasn't felling so good.

Sqeeeeaak, splatter.

He stood up and wiping the vomit from abound his mouth replaced his mask before kicking the bucket further along the trail Mac had left stopping outside his classroom door.

There was a lot of shit to clean up today, rumors, trash talk, shitty pants, the toilets and floors 1,2,3, and 4 were backing up. And half the school was smearing emo all over his clean walls. WHO THE FUCK HAD INVITED THOSE WANKERS TO PERFORM HERE IN THE FIRST PLACE....... Asmodeus was no loss though. The only one shaken up about him was the creepoid.

 

[Krang]

The brick clanged off of Z's armor.

"Ow." He said in a flat robotone. He sat in his chair, both robotic legs sticking over the front of the desk. The rest of the class was quiet, fearful hero-worship in their eyes. The teacher began to rant to the class as usual. There were parts to it that made sense, but in between drinks from the hip flask, he began to slur and ramble. He paced furiously at first, but his flight path began to degrade and he staggered around the class now, with a lisp starting to assert itself as well.

"AH'RIGHT...LESS DO SSOME MATH." He announced, even though this was History. He strutted erratically over and deposited himself in the chair at the end of the room, where he preceded to flop on the desk and begin snoring. The bell rang. The teacher didn't budge. Z got up from his desk, his metallic head clanging against the ceiling. The other children tentatively started towards the door, and Z crawled along behind them. As they exited the classroom, they started to fast-walk away from the classroom. Z clambered up to his feet, towering a good three heads above the other students. He held his schedule up to his sensor, scanning the paper and cross-referencing the blueprints of the building. He started off, feet clanging against the floor. He accidentally stepped on a third grader, but he failed to notice the crunching noises. He waved at the janitor as he passed. The janitor waved back, then continued his flips and somersaults as he mopped with prejudice.

He clomped along the hallway, almost to his next class.

"HEY! FIRST GRADER!" A familiar voice called out. Z, turned around slowly, dreading what he knew to be coming. A blonde-haired bully marched up to him.

"Hand over your lunch money, Buckethead!" He announced.
"Please, Mr. Pedro. I find this manner of extortion disagreeable."
"Thats "Sir" Mister Pedro! And hand the cash over, bolts for brains, before I give you a pounding!" Z gave a long, metallic sigh and dropped the coins into Pedro's hand.
"Thats right, and Don't. You. Forget It!" He commanded, and turned around, marching back down the hallway, elbowing smaller children out of the way.

Z trudged, shoulders slumped, into his class.

 

[Blind Hemingway]

Carson was one of those young men that you have the urge to punch for no apparent reason. Yet, he was Asmo's right hand man, so no one dared to make fun of him.

Today he sat in the back of the room. Of all the classes he hated history the most because of the drunk rambler that the school hired. Asmo had not come to school today, in fact no one had seen him for the past eight hours.

"What did those fucking Swedes do with my best friend? Once I find them,I'm going to unleash my Funta forces on them..."

Now Carson, wasn't generally worried about his friend since he had a habit of wandering around the country side at weird hours...Though, the improbability of a bunch of Swedes and a single Mexican guy coming into the school to play a metal concert made little sense to him.

However, he clearly remembered what Imperial Edgecrusher had shouted before he set himself on fire, "Ve're-a cumeeng fur yuoo Cersun. Bork bork bork! Yuoo hefe-a ooffffended us fur zee lest teeme-a!!!"

Carson had no idea what a Cersun was. He assumed it was some kind of Swedish insult for the English....

 

[Fel of the Eternal Forest]

It was nine fifteen in the morning and once again, Beavis Morales was asleep in an uninhabited classroom - one reserved just for him... Yes, he was in the infirmary for being a drunken moron so much that they reserved a special room for him - one devoid of anything that could catch fire. Once again he had ended up staying the night in the school, and once again he would wake up in a pool of his own vomit.

"Fuck..." He said, "I need wisky."

He lurched to his feet and stumbled out of the room. As he railed into a nearby locker, he lost what was left of his stomach.

"Hurrrrrrrrrrr."

 

[Hecatoncheires]

9:33, CLASSROOM 4B1​

Mac snored loudly through the ringing of the bell that signalled the start of the next class, only being awakened as a small hand hesitantly poked him awake.

One of the drunken Scotsman's eyes cracked open, coming to rest on the positively terrified-looking first year student who had just woken him. Mr Mac sat up, glaring at the boy, and brought his head back whilst inhaling a deep breath, as though preparing to unleash a torrent of abuse, only to suddenly move his head forward so it was next to the boy's and whisper,
"What?"

The boy, now confused as well as terrified, stuttered,
"It's, uh, it's... it's second period, Mr Mac. You... you teach us h-history now--"
History? HISTORY?!" the teacher suddenly yelled, rising from his seat and knocking down a filing cabinet in the process, "WELL FUCK THAT; THAT'S WHAT WE DID LAST PERIOD. WHAT THE FUCK DO THEY THINK I AM; A TEACHER? NAH, TODAY, YOU DISGUSTING LITTLE WASTES OF OXYGEN, WE'RE LEARNING ALL ABOUT THE WONDERFUL WORLD OF ECONOMICS."
"But Mr Mac, that's a sixth year subject--"
"ARE YOU THE BLOODY TEACHER?"
"...No, sir--"
"THEN SHUT THE FUCK UP."

Just as Mr Mac was about to begin his ramble that none of the first years had even the faintest hope of comprehending, a shout echoed through the hallways of the school. Mac lurched around violently and staggered, knocking over another cabinet in the process.
"ALL OF YOU STAY HERE WHILST I GO FIND OUT WHAT THAT WAS. DON'T SO MUCH AS FUCKING BREATH; IF YOU'RE DOING IT RIGHT, BY THE TIME I GET BACK, YOU SHOULD ALL BE DEAD OR AT LEAST UNCONSIOUS."

Managing to maneuver his way around the fallen cabinet whilst simultaneously drinking from his hip flask and opening the door, Mac staggered down the corridor demanding to know what was going on. By this point, other teachers and students were beginning to appear from their classrooms, and a scream echoed through the corridors this time.

Rounding a corner that led to the main doors, Mr Mac found the source of the commotion; through the doors, a figure with blood all down his smart dress shirt had staggered through, looking fairly dazed and disorientated.

Mac blinked once, startled, before the alcohol kicked in again.
"ASMODEUS, YOU'RE LATE; WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN? AND WHAT THE HELL'S THAT ON YOUR SHIRT?"

Spoiler

A group of first years are saved the horror of being taught sixth year economics by Mr Mac by the arrival of Asmodeus.

 

[Blind Hemingway]

Carson then shot up from his seat when he heard Mac shout his friend's name. The creepy young man then stood next to his teacher to see that Asmo was back and in one piece; granted, a little bloody. Again, this was somewhat normal for Asmo since he get into fights with Scots all the time.

"Dude! What happened to you. You looks shit..." Carson said, sounding somewhat concerned....