We the Party Page #2

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Bomb! Yeah!

Oh, guys, guys,

here comes Ro-brocop.

Ultraman scans the yard,

searching for deviants

and concealing a scorching

case of jock itch.

Guys, guys. They wore skirts.

There is a God.

Aw, damn.

So I'll see you home at 1600.

- Yes, sir.

- I trust you'll be walking her home?

Yes, sir.

Okay, then. Have a good day.

Bye, Daddy.

Bye. you guys.

Those shorties so fine,

I want to lick them like a lollipop.

Mm, Schwarz-negro

got some tight-ass glutes.

What's wrong with you, Michelle?

- What?

- That's nasty.

- That's my dad.

- I'll call him Daddy.

Oh, my God, I can't take it.

Doesn't Cheyenne's dad

look like a stripper cop?

Girl, he can turn me over

and have a choice.

Okay, let's change the subject,

'cause it's really gross.

Reality is, you're short,

you've got acne,

- and you're fat.

- Hey, f*** you.

All right, look, we're all 5s,

and they're 10s.

Cheyenne is a vegan goddess.

I mean, perfection.

Her eyes, her scent,

even her voice.

I mean, the lady can sing.

Oh, and oh yeah, that's me.

Checking her out, as usual.

We're juniors,

they're seniors, bro.

Like, with high self-esteem.

Michelle's for sure

going to the prom with Reggie

and Cheyenne, well,

she's a straight-A student

and her uber-cop dad

won't let her mess with anybody

that's below a B+ average.

That's a 3.5 GPA, son.

The last guy that asked Cheyenne out

had some old traffic tickets.

Supercop ran an APB on his ass

and arrested him personally.

- No way.

- Damn.

That's when it hit me.

In just a few months, she would fly East

to some fancy-ass college.

Probably meet some Ivy League douchebag

and I'd never get to see her again.

What are you texting me for?

Just letting you know

I'm having a party tonight

at Chowder's crib.

I put you on the guest list,

so you don't have to pay.

And I was wondering if Cheyenne

had a date to the prom.

How old are you?

I'll be 17 in, like, four months.

Calvin will test you with his gay sh*t.

She'll be in heels.

That's why

I peeled him away from the crowd.

Well, I suppose you're kinda

cute in a boyish way.

After class, she'll walk to her locker

to get her gym clothes.

Michelle won't be there.

You'll have about five minutes alone.

And?

And good luck.

You're late, Mr. Sutton.

Sorry, sir.

Sorry won't make you on time.

Please see me after class.

Mr. Anderson?

C.C.

C.C.'s straight-up scary.

I ain't even gonna lie.

A wannabe rapper,

'cept no one ever hears him rap.

Calls himself the Conscious Criminal.

At least he got the criminal part right.

His big brother,

he's doing time in the joint

while C.C. does time in high school.

Rumor is, he stayed back twice already.

No headphones in during class.

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