Okay, I made a calculated risk knowing full well I'm shit at math. It happens. I already know what went shit last time. Let's get over it. It's a new day, a new plan, new vibes, new me. Let's get this bread.
You see, my mistake was to try and leave the bad boy to his own devices, when we know that a bad boy is the most bad boy when he can bounce off someone, be it a TAB/G, other bad boys, or literally any other breathing thing in existence. I once knew a bad boy had a crow that stole shit for him. He was dope as fuck. Just tailing him and waiting for him to stumble into a cliche plot that we can use to get him expelled is gonna go nowhere.
Well, it led us to a slow-speed chase, a full day of community service, and a ticket in Hayden's otherwise perfect record. But still, nothing we can use. Maybe the community service part.
We can always push ourselves into his life and drag him towards plot, but that's like cutting the nose to spite the face. I ain't down to clowning with this bozo and getting myself tangled into a plot when I spent a whole season trying to avoid plots. As such, we return to the sweet embrace of "The Art of War" to try and bake this shit-biscuit without getting crap all over us.
And by the sweet awkward mustache of Teenage Jesus, Sun Tzu comes to the rescue once again.
One of his principal tenets - aside from the one that tells you that lying fucking rules - is that "the supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.
Supreme excellence consists of breaking the enemy's resistance without fighting."
In Christian terms: give a monkey a baseball bat, and it will eventually bonk itself in the face. It will also be hilarious. Yes, some people might die, but that's a sacrifice I'm willing to take. Just introduce an element to Aiden's life and it will just sort itself out. We just have to be there with a camera and record everything. It's the perfect plan. Nothing can go wrong. I'll bet on it.
"yo, have you been here all weekend?" asks the looming specter of Brayden, nursing a Gatorade, shiny black sweatpants, and an oversized sweater reading "Snacc Sized."
"Duh," I say. As if the 18 cans of Redbull half-filled with pee and discarded boxes of Wendy's nuggets weren't an obvious indication of that. I know that I said that you shouldn't eat Wendy's nuggets, and you shouldn't! I can only carry this burden of knowledge and dip my toes into the well of sin.
Honestly, camping behind the bush in front of the R.V park isn't so bad. I have new raccoon friends, Otto and Olivia, that only mildly bite my ankles when I fall asleep. If anything, I'm grateful for them. Can you imagine if something bad boy happens while I'm asleep and I miss it? Good thing I have a camera all pointed towards his trailer and enough memory to film until the end of times.
"don't sass me so early in the morning," says Brayden, massaging his temples. "just tell me why you didn't move all weekend so we can just roll past this exposition. daddy needs his beauty sleep."
"You're already beautiful, boss!" says Jungkook, standing behind him as fresh as lettuce with his perfect sour skin. "I mean, bro."
"You're a god-damned Adonis, chief!" adds Harry, taking a bean bag out of his SUV and plopping it down next to my makeshift throne of empty Redbull boxes. A throne fit for a king.
Brayden melts over it, all the while groaning like a dad with two mortgages. "not so loud, dammit. i had too much... icecream at last night's rave. because i'm underage and can't drink, right, wattpad? wink wink."
I ignored him, but then I remember that he asked me an exposition question, one I don't wanna answer, because that would be plot.
"You brought the masks?" I ask.
"the what?"
"The masks I asked you to bring?" I ask.
"oh, yeah, the mask," says Brayden, half-covering his mouth behind the Gatorade while tossing weird looks at Harry and Jungkook. "unrelated, and totally not because i forgot about it, can you guys go get me a new gatorade in the nearest mask store? anybody wants anything while we at it? ayden?"
"Redbull," I say.
"teen wolf?"
"I'm good, thank you, bro,
I have good company, and,
The fresh morning air," says Okayden, sitting in his recliner next to me, trenchcoat and frill parasol, et all.
Wait, when did he get here? I don't remember him being here a moment ago. I gotta put a bell around him.
The two idiots nod and get into the Escalade, speeding off into the sunrise. I'm starting to suspect they forgot the masks at home.
No matter, we still have time, right? It hasn't just dissipated into a Tartarus of taurine and loneliness where two demon-shaped raccoons wait for me to be on the brink of exhaustion, only to bite my ankles awake. I don't remember offending Zeus, but I will remember to sacrifice a cheeseburger and a pack of Newports in his honor soon.
"so, i'm kinda ice creamed over here," says Brayden, taking a par of circular 'aesthetic' glasses and melting in the chair, all the while Linda, Dave, Other Dave, and the rest of the old hippies in the comune gather nearby to make their daily salute to the sun, "remind me of the plan again."
"God-dammit, Brayden, I sent you a text explaining everything yesterday! Don't try to make me spew exposition!"
"Did somebody said Exposito?" says an annoying voice that I wish had a face to punch. Like the kind of voice a mom would hear and ask God for a do-over. You know that kind of voice that if you had it and heard it in a recording it would actually sound better?
I take 20 bucks from my wallet, holiding them up to her. "I'll give you this if you fuck off, May," I say to the old woman marching towards us with all the might her craft beer gut can muster.
"Aww, somebody woke up today and chose to be a sourpuss," says May, the elderly shaman/sex therapist/real estate agent/goop saleswoman/woman who can't take no for an answer and has been pestering me for the past two days with her numerous and gross life stories. "Don't worry, nothing that a patented goop 'Body Vibe' bio-healing sticker. That there was made by my personal goddess Gwyneth with her patented thingamajig that actually traps the energy of the universe and makes you vibe with the universal forces. It's gonna make you less of a party-pooper, I reckon."
She slaps a heart-shaped sticker on my forehead that reads "Bad Bitch," all without me saying a word in edgewise. She also takes the money.
"um, stranger danger?" asks Brayden.
The woman, whose short shorts are so tight that I can even see her expiration date, gives him a healthy, if choppy laugh, slapping her belly. "Then let's change that, honey. The name's May Exposito. Mayonnaise "May" Exposito. My daddy liked his whipped eggs and oil. I do prefer it over my sister's name. Good old Margarine. We call 'er Maggie. But look at me, rambling like a cat in heat on a rooftop at midnight. Nice to meet ya, kid! I believe y'all go to school with my grandson Scooter. You know, little Billiam."
"lady, i don't even know what day is it," says Brayden, once again massaging his temples.
I take the sticker out of my forehead and slap it in his'. "Better?"
Have you ever seen a cat play with catnip? Their eyes dilate in both bliss and curiosity as their past none lives flashes by, like a salmon swimming upstream, only to fade away. That's the vibe I'm getting from Brayden right now.
"Yes, I am very good," says Brayden. "It appears my ailments have been cured. I feel my insignificant existence melt away into the pot that is the universal flow, being one with Gwyneth, for she is queen."
"Yeah, and she also shoves jade eggs up her hoo-ha. She's brilliant," says May. "Hey, Okayden. Lookin' good."
"Looking good yourself,
Ya got an ass than don't quit,
And feet of a babe."
Seriously, has he been here the whole time? How do they know each other?
If May didn't have skin like a fried lizard from all the hippie sunburn, I swear she would blush. "Oh, you. Wanna join us for our daily salute to the sun?"
Brayden chuckles, but not a normal chuckle, but an advanced, a bit evil, and a little downpitched voice, like how a cheesy 80's cartoon villain will laugh. "Foolish mortal, you think that praising Helios will save you, but it is he who will ultimately end you. The only salute you should make is to the void, for it is the only comfort one will find once oblivion comes from us all. And believe me, it will come for us soon."
Okay, he's too woke now. Time to rip the sticker out.
"ouch-ie, my eyebrow job!" he yells, rubbing his forehead this time. "You still haven't told me what the hell I'm here in bumfuck, middle of nowhere, at this ungodly hour."
There he goes. Back on track.
"Ayden didn't tell ya?" says May, scooting a very confused Brayden as she takes a seat on his beanbag. "Sheez, that's rough. Even I know his scheme."
"I told him the scheme already, it's just that he's too lazy to pick up his phone and read the text," I say. I can slowly feel myself drifting towards Morpheus' arms. I need my Redbull, and I need it now. Lucky for me, one of the raccoons that make the bush a home scurries out and bites me in the ankle. And my torture continues. "Also, you only know 'cause you caught me monologuing in a fugue stage. Where is Hayden? He's supposed to be here with the Sombreros."
Brayden tries, and fails, to bump May out of his beanbag, just in time for Jungkook and Harry to appear on the horizon. "yeah, he ain't coming."
"What? Why? He's instrumental to the plan."
"he said, and i quote, 'i don't wanna see my brother be swallowed by hate. when he is ready to be mature and try and solve this like young adults that we are, i shall join him.' so... yeah."
Dammit. I thought Hayden was my ride-or-die. Granted, I could've killed him while riding him-his Dick-Mobile-but well, I guess I'll have to make do with these dumbasses. He will surely be happier once I'm done with Aiden. Speaking of idiots, here they come.
"Hey, got the masks?" I ask.
They look at each other in shame, or confusion, or at least mild discomfort, that of a man stuck in traffic that has to take a wicked shit. I've been there.
"Yeah, we did, but just know that only 7 Eleven was open at this hour," says Jungkook, giving me a six-pack of Redbull and two DVDs. One for "The Mask," and the other for "The Son Of The Mask."
I don't know whether to punch them, or just punch myself in the face for not being specific enough.
"Punch them. Punch them good," says Sabalito, the elf that lives in my left ear and makes mochi with my earwax. "Fuck 'em up, Ayden. You know you want you. Your blood tells you to."
"Zip it, Sabalito. You told me to invest in Dogecoin and now I lost half my savings!"
"What you mumbling there, Ayden?" asks May, her mouth tentacles spiraling seductively.
"Just talking to the fairy in my ear, is all."
"I'm an elf, you grease fuck!" yells Sabalito, punching my earlobe. I barely feel anything.
I gran two Redbulls and snap them open over my piehole. Yes, daddy, fill me with taurine and bad decisions.
"Okay, we can use this," I say, grabbing the two DVDs and giving them to Okayden. "Cut those up into masks. I'll make a strap using twigs, leaves, and some ducktape. Hey, May, are there any ducks around?"
"You're thinking of duct-tape, not duck. No duck is used to make tape, sweetie," says the old fart who is totally not being helpful right now. I don't have the time to explain to her the intricate minutiae of duck by-products.
"Just give me a bunch of vibe stickers."
"Aight, suit yourself," says May, standing up and finally giving Brayden a much-needed relief.
He's like a chihuahua who doesn't like strangers, people he knows, family, mailmen, other dogs, loud noises, and Tuesdays.
May hands me a handful of stickers before taking off her top to join the daily salute to the sun and butthole tanning session, which apparently is a thing. I swear America is doomed.
"srsly," says Brayden, eating at least three vocals that I can count, "what's the plan?"
As Okayden gives me the DVDs he cut with his nails and I fasten them around both Jungkook and Harry's head, I can see a taxi approach the entrance of the R.V. Out comes a woman that can be recognized a mile away since, despite having been expelled a few weeks ago, she refuses to use anything but the Hill Valley Mountain Woods High cheerleader uniform. Leighlay McKenzie, the former Queen B.
"hey, that's hay-hay's crazy ex-girlfriend!" says Brayden. "what's the deal?"
All in due time, my friend. All in due time. "She is an integral part of the plan, which is why I wanted Hayden to be here. But now she's here, so the plan can begin. Showtime, people, showtime! Okayden, man the camera. Make sure to film everything, okay?"
He vaguely looks up from his book at the tripod-mounted camera, grabs it by the top, and slowly moves it to the right to center her in the shot before returning to his book.
"Jungkook, Harry!" I bellow, if that's a verb, and if the thing I'm trying to express is a verb. I'm not thinking very straight right now. Need more Redbull. "Go to her wearing these masks and yell 'Oogie Boogie, I've come for your loogies over and over again."
For one, I'm glad they don't question orders and just do what I ask. Good soldiers. I know why Brayden has them around.
"bro, bromeo and juliet, bad bromance," says Brayden, now standing up from his beanbag, "wtf the fuck? don't go ordering my bros around! who knows what that bitch will do!"
I pat him on the head. Oh, sweet summer child, and other Game of Thrones references that don't matter because that franchise is dead. "Don't worry, it's all part of the plan."
"which you haven't told me," he says.
"I texted you the whole thing."
"While you were talking," says Okayden, barely acknowledging anything beyond his book, "The girl mazed the two eggheads,
And now punting them."
As and so she is, screaming and kicking Jungkook in his Dragon Balls while Harry is running around, tossing sand over his eyes. Excellent. All part of the plan.
I take a knee to take the Clamato juice, the Tony Bennet vinyl record, and a bad of Skittles, and... and... shit, how did the plan go again? My brain is kinda fuzzy.
"Brayden, quick, check your phone and look at the plan! I'm blanking right now!"
Brayden looks at me with the intensity of a million mother-in-laws telling their daughters that they should've gone with the Lawyer instead of the deadbeat musician that lives off pizza scraps but can shake your world with only a little finger and a can-do attitude, all the while trying to suppress what I can only assume is an acid spittle. "dude, i'm gonna level with you, i dropped my phone in the jacuzzi while... eating ice cream, wink wink. i really don't remember shit besides coming here at this hour, and that's because your neurotic ass sent me an e-vite and my apple watch recorded that shit."
Damn my hubris! If I had monologued about it to Brayden, I would've remembered.
"I think your lack of sleep and caffeine abuse is catching up to you," says Sabalito, who I'm starting to think is a fever dream.
I look to my left, and Okayden is gone. Was he really here? Is he a product of my imagination? Are we all living in a simulation, or a story created by some fat dude with back problems and sexy afro? Who are we? What are we?
Oh, wait, he's on my right.
I might skip class today and sleep in the clubroom. I don't even remember the last time I slept. Damn you, Aiden! You win this time!
Time to skip plan C and go straight to Z...the nuclear option.