Middle School: The Worst Years of My Life Page #2

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- Excuse me.

Is your name David?

No.

Were you carved by Michelangelo?

No.

Stop standing around

like a statue.

You're blocking

the flow of traffic.

Yeah, you heard the warden,

get back to your cell, Rafe.

Hallway etiquette is no

laughing matter, young man.

And rule number 11

clearly states,

"no loitering in the halls."

Okay.

Okay?

Okay, sir?

It's vice principal Stricker.

Go, now.

Shon.

Yeah?

Do you know how to

sync this to your phone?

Um... probably not.

Doesn't your dad work at best buy?

Oh, yeah, he does.

Just in marketing.

So you don't get any free stuff?

I do,

but mostly office supplies.

You got it?

It's just homeroom.

We'll wait.

Okay, let's start class.

Bella? Bella.

Please put your phone away

during class.

You can't rate teachers

on yelp anyway.

I've tried.

So we have a new student today.

I'm assuming you are...

I'm a transfer student, sir.

Oh, you don't have to

call me "sir."

Makes me feel old.

And I already feel old.

I drive a Saturn.

It's just, principal Dwight

told me to call everyone "sir."

It's one of his rules.

Okay.

Well, I don't see any principal

Dwight in here. Do you?

Seriously, do you? Because

he is a master of disguise.

So we have a new

transfer student today

whose name I'm realizing

I did not ask just now.

What's your name?

Rafe Khatchadorian.

Whoa! It would suck to have to

spell that dumb name.

Well, Rafe, welcome to hell.

Back to the homework

from last night.

You all listened to the Drake

and future mixtape last night.

Because today we will be

talking about fair trade.

Okay. There's a hot track

and it's produced

by future's Hendrix crew.

Drizzy, champagne papi,

is in the studio

with future and he says,

"hey, yo, let me

get on that track."

"Well, I'ma have to

charge you."

And what does Drake say back?

"Charge me?

I thought we were boys."

"We're the best of boys.

"We're gonna make

a mixtape together."

But there's a tax.

Not anymore,

once NATO came along.

Teller, it's NAFTA, not NATO.

Ah? What? Word?

Shon is right, it is NAFTA.

So, now there is no tax.

So champagne papi and young Hendrix

can be on each other's tracks

without having to

charge anybody.

Much the way

that America and Canada

have goods

importing and exporting.

Hey, kick-a-dorkian.

Does anyone have any questions, comments?

It's Miller time.

Stay out of my way,

or I'll wedgie you so bad

you'll be able to taste

your underwear.

How?

Ladies and gentlemen,

let's get ready

for the pain event.

Oh, this one always delivers

a fistful of hollers!

The grip-n-rip!

Holy Yosemite!

Want to lodge a complaint?

It's the beaver-tail!

Irritating, even to

people just watching,

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