The Bad Boys' Soft Boys' Lonely Hearts Club - The Full Package

The Bad Boy From Under The Stall ~ Part 1

There we are, us three, mano-in-mano, like two bands of outlaws about to shoot at noon. Only, it's, like, 4 o'clock, and I still have to take a wicked dump. I think I might have IBS. Gonna have to schedule an appointment to check that out. Did I mention that the door to the bathroom is in no-man's-land between the two groups? Gonna have to squeeze my way in. Maybe while they are monologuing and measuring each other's dicks...

"Well, well, well, look who the bitch dragged in," says Braiden Messina-Park, standing behind Aiden and Haide, the man with a thousand fingers for a forehead. "If it isn't my vertically-challenged brother and his posse of pusillanimous pussies."

"hey, don't call okayden a bitch!" says Okayden, stepping forward like a rabid chihuahua and cutting my way to the bathroom by standing right in front of it. "his mom was the bitch, not him. and you're like an inch taller than me, if any!"

"Oh, an inch can make a big difference, little brother," says Braiden, standing nose-to-nose with his brother. Honestly, they both look twink-sized to me. "Just ask your ex-fiance. She's all about that extra inch."

We shall make note of Okayden's huffing and puffing in disapproval at being called a bitch. That, or it was a laugh at Brayden's expense.

Aiden, the blue-haired fuck, steps between the two and gently separate them while making cooing noises. "Chill out, brahs. Leave some beef for the tournament."

"Speaking of the tournament, brah," says Hayden, stepping forwards and crowding the already bottlenecked entrance to the shitter, "who do you think you are to steal the name of our club? We are the Hill Valley Mountain Wood's Feet Appreciation Society!"

"And so am I, brah!" says Aiden, his shit-eating smirk just savoring those ass-nuggets. Speaking of shit, it shall come unexpectedly unless I can squeeze past them, so I try just that.

"Excuse me," I say, trying to squeeze past Aiden, but Hayden grabs me by the shoulder. Of course.

"Yeah, excuse us? You were part of the club for, like, a week! And it was because of you that the club got disbanded in the first place."

"And I'm trying to revive it! You're welcome!" he says, putting his hand on Hayden's shoulder. Not to be outdone, I put a hand on his shoulder, making him put a hand on my shoulder, which makes Hayden put a hand on his shoulder. It was a shoulder-fuck. A Mexican shoulder-off. "Don't worry, I'll be glad to let you guys in once more after we win."

I try my best to wiggle away, but between Hayden and Aiden, I can't move an inch. Fine, I get it. This is an unskippable cutscene. Might as well just try and speedrun this convo and get it over.

"Oh yeah?" I say in my most unistered tone, "you and what team? Don't you need, like, four members?"

Aiden gives me a more wicked grin, leaning so close that I can smell his cheap patchouli shampoo. "And we do. I believe you already met Haiden Beefeater, former star linebacker of Cliff Basin Sierra Plateau Poly."

Great, the idiot who can only count to three on a good day. This is gonna be fun. "How did they rope you into this?"

Haiden stands there, hairy arms, as the beach ball of death of his stupid IOS brain turns and turns for a while as words, just like his chances of getting into an Ivy League school, elude him. "Blue hair pretty boy say Haiden can beat puny greaser without criminal... eh, what word? Lieblelelele?"

"Liability," says Aiden.

"Laboratory," says Haiden. "Which makes reminds of Haiden, Haiden beats puny greaser at three."