You know, Pranksters, I’ve been feeling a little low lately. Sometimes, you know, you get so much bullshit heaped up on you at once, you just can’t manage to shake it off, eat a goddamned cheeseburger, run around the house screaming BITCH GET ME CHICKEN, while worshiping at the alter of Billy Mays.
It fucking happens.
When it does, though, you start to question yourself; “am I really that smart?” “Is my obsession with Billy Mays cool or creepy?” “What would Bob Ross do?”
Then, if you’re REALLY lucky, the heavens open up and smile down upon you.
Today, they did:
So I grabbed out a bucket of BBQ sauce and this magnificent book. It was time to eat me some motherfucking smart fucking kids.
First, I had to decide how to lure these incredibly smart kids into my house so I could properly eat them. Luckily for me, Twix had just sent me a large stash of Twix bars AND a Twix costume, so I knew I could easily lure even the smartest of kids. Who doesn’t love a grown woman dressed as a candy bar? Answer: NO ONE.
I learned, after devouring my first MENSA member that kids? Well, they’re kinda gamey. You can CALL them the other OTHER white meat, but they still taste like boogers and dirt. Even the smart ones!
But I waited, checking every hour to see if my IQ had grown. And, by golly, it had! Suddenly, I knew how to solve complex geometric equations even though I’d spent most of that class sitting in the back row, stoned out of my gourd. It was magic!
What else did I want to raise my IQ in? The possibilities, it seemed, were endless. I want to be the VERY BEST at everything, naturally! In the end, I went for a talented athlete. I’m practically on first-name basis with the ER staff, what with my predisposition to walk merrily into walls and fall jauntily up the stairs.
Soon, Pranksters, as I was licking the BBQ sauce off his tiny bones, I realized that I suddenly COULD run more than three feet without my lungs burning. I felt my muscles tense and flex as I prepared for a nice game of rugby with the neighbor kids. I was ready to kick some little kid ass!
The moral of this story is, Pranksters, that kids taste grimy and mealy – even the brilliant ones – but we can learn so much by eating them. So please, Pranksters, won’t you eat an honor student today?
Honor student – The Other OTHER White Meat.