Wank, so named for his favorite pastime and greatest earthly proficiency, finished ripping the Christ out of Destructo--the eight-foot, four-stemmed, steam-powered God-bong he and Tony had spent all semester manufacturing in Mr. Herneyâs metal shop class--and began twisting the crank that rotated the spigot over to his friend.
DESTRUCTO: WAR-GOD OF ALL BONG-KIND.âDude,â Wank suddenly exclaimed, âI think we need to talk.â âShitbricks,â replied Tony, more as an exclamation of appreciation for the monstrous cloud of smoke he could not seem to stop exhaling. âWhatâs up? Is everything OK?â âNo, man. Not really. Listen,â Wank stood up and began to pace the room, collecting and carefully organizing the words he planned to speak, âI know we screw around a lot. Weâre pretty much burnouts, and most of our young lives have been spent in the fruitless pursuit of hedonism. Serious topics are essentially outlawed between us, and our friendship doesn't revolve around ideas so much as the absence of them. But what Iâm about to say may breech all of that, and if it ruins our relationship forever, so be it. It is that important. It is a dire and potentially world-changing idea that we need to discuss solemnly, as thinking men. Tony, my friend, Iâm talking to you today about French fries. And the fact that I need them.â
FRENCH FRIES: WAR-GOD OF ALL SIDE-DISHES.âHoly goddamn,â Tony began the long and intricate shutdown procedure for Destructo--a procedure which, if performed incorrectly, could result in a boiler explosion. âTwo seconds ago I was not thinking about French fries, but it has quickly become my one and only desire.â âThen itâs agreed,â Wank said, nodding seriously. âBut how? How do we accomplish French fries?â âI donât have any cash,â Tony replied. He hadnât had any money since Terry, the giant dick of a manager at the IHOP where Tony used to work, fired him for starting a deadpool on the regular Early Bird customers. âMe neither.â âAnd besides, I donât feel like a reasonable amount of French fries will solve this problem. I need like, the worldâs largest naturally occurring deposit of French fries. And I need all of it, for me.â âDude, what about the cafeteria?â âWhat about it? Itâs like three in the morning. Thereâs no way weâre breaking into the fucking school cafeteria in the middle of the night for some French fries.â âListen,â Wank stated, clapping a hand on Tonyâs shoulder and looking into his eyes with earnestness, âwe are men of action: Lies do not become us.â
If you did not get that reference, there are more valuable things you can be doing with your time.*** Wank boosted Tony up through the freshly broken window of the science lab, then scuttled up the wall with Tonyâs assistance. They landed in the dark, and something crunched beneath their feet. âI cannot believe you broke the window,â Tony sighed. âCouldnât be avoided," Wank replied curtly, stumbling towards the doorway. âOK, but did you have to hurl my iPhone through it?â âWhat else would you suggest?â âThere are rocks literally everywhere. They are the very foundation of the Earth beneath our feet.â âHuh. That
Rocks: Nature's locksmith.It took an hour and a half to navigate the roughly 100-feet between the science lab and the cafeteria, including 15 minutes spent walking in circles until Tony and Wank simultaneously realized that they were both following the other; 30 minutes of backtracking to find the bathrooms before simply urinating through the slots of Jenny Speceâs locker (it was unanimously decided on as retribution for her terrible handjob techniques; itâs like stroking a beloved pet,
Three hundred pounds of pre-sliced potato mana; the starchy ambrosia; yellow gold.âIâm going to make all of them,â Wank whispered in awe. He rushed over and began alternately praying to, swearing at and punching the fryer. After what seemed like a frankly unnecessary flying elbow, he finally managed to hit the "ON" button. The machine kicked to life. âDude, just use the manual,â Tony offered the booklet helpfully. Wank promptly seized it and dropped it into the deep fryer, âRecords are for the weak of mind and demented! We are young and clever; we will not suffer instructions!â âI cannot conceive of a situation in which losing the instructions for an intensely complicated and dangerous piece of machinery has ever ended well.â âWell clearly it's working: They have become deep fried and delicious. Now you may dine on your precious instructions.â Tony could not shake an ominous feeling of foreshadowing, but he ate the manual anyway because he was extremely high and that is just what extremely high people do.
"This is the best fucking report I have ever eaten."*** âWe are clearly breaking some sort of record for net French fry profits here, dude,â Tony had grown paranoid of grease splatter somewhere around the hundredth pound heâd fried, wrapped himself in all the aprons in the kitchen and donned a spare football helmet. âYou look like an ass,â Wank observed, horking down French fries more out of determination than desire at this point. âSafety first.â âIâm safe,â Wank protested. âSafe? You? I think the safest thing to do would have been not to shatter the auto-shutoff switch with a heel kick.â âWere you satisfied with eight pounds?
"And then the machines got pregnant and I had to drop out of school to work at the mill and wait... what was I talking about again?"âI think that one got away from you a bit,â Tony observed. âDude, we donât need the bullshit mothering of technology. Whatever safety methods we make up on the spot are good enough.â âI donât know dude, I want French fries so bad that itâs basically a sickness at this point. Iâm not sure if I should be the one monitoring our safety,â Tony replied, sifting the basket of oil. âYour vision is clouded by the fries,â Wank agreed, dipping his fistful of crinkle-cuts into a bucket of ketchup and then attempting to shove the entire thing, hand and all, into his mouth. âPerhaps my desire
When it grows a face and starts screaming for your death, that's officially an inferno.âWhy was this not considered relevant information?!â Tony panicked, hurling off his helmet and stripping off aprons like a nymphomaniacal sous-chef. âShit dude, at first I thought it was just like residual flames. I mean sure it was bad, but it wasn't an ongoing situation. Then I was pretty sure the sprinklers would kick on and take care of it, so it didn't seem worth mentioning. Finally, I figured the flames would just burn the cafeteria; no way theyâd spread to the rest of the school.â âWhy in Godâs name would you assume so many things that just get more consecutively retarded as they go on?â âWeed?â Wank offered, reasonably. âOh, right. Ha ha, do you know Iâm so high that I actually forgot I was high? I was like âMan, Tony, why are you doing this? This does not seem like a good idea.â I totally spaced on the drugs.â âDude, inferno,â Wank reminded him. âOh yeah. Shit! What do we do?!â âIâve got it,â Wank exclaimed, fumbling through his pockets, at last coming up with his lighter, âwe burn this fucker down!â âItâsâ¦ already on fire.â âWelp, Iâm out of ideas.â
"If arson is not the answer, then I just don't understand the question."âMaybe if we like, scoop the oil off the floor and back into the fryer?â Tony was already emptying the ketchup bucket in preparation. âIt is way too late for that. Maybe we can get to the science lab and throw some acid on it.â âWhat? Why the fuck would youâ¦? Why use chemicals more damaging than the actual fluids?â âListen, dude: Weâre already going to die here. Might as well make it awesome.â Tony opened his mouth as if to respond, but had to stop short to consider Wank's logic. His gut instincts couldnât place what was wrong with it offhand, but his gut instincts were also telling him âignore fire; eat more fries.â He was starting to suspect his gut was not terribly reliable at the moment.
"You have a moral responsibility: Don't let your greed endanger others."
"On the other hand, Zagnut bar."âWe can call the cafeteria workers!â Tony exclaimed, taking a few steps back for a running start, belly-flopping onto the ground and using the spilled ketchup as a kind of Slip nâ Slide to luge his way over to the phone. âTheyâve got to know what to do.â âWhy would they help us?â âWell, whoâs got more at stake than them, right? They must want to help!â âDude,â Wank knelt on the empty bucket and used a spatula to push himself across the ketchup lake like a gondola, âwe are currently in the process of burning down their place of employment. I donât think theyâll be too happy with us.â âWhat if I give them each five bucks? Thatâs likeâ¦ five bucks! Each!â
"As in, per person!"âI think weâre missing the obvious conclusion here, friend,â Wank said, dismounting from his condiment canoe. âWhich is?â âFuck it.â âWhat? How is âfuck itâ the obvious conclusion?â âDude, just fuck it. Letâs run away.â âOh. Yes. Yes that is good. Letâs do that.â As they fled the scene of the break-in, arson and first-degree theft of a side dish, Tony couldnât help but think that this was the last real summer he and Wank had left as children: After this was college, and after that was manhood, and there would be a lifetime of responsibility and moderation. But for now, he simply ran and enjoyed the tangy scent of the summer forest coupled with that of a gargantuan grease fire, gallons of burning ketchup and the caustic sting of the acid theyâd paused to throw on everything before fleeing. It smelled familiar. It smelled comforting. It smelled like freedom.
Mr. Herney the metal shop teacher went on to win the Annual French-Canadian Strongman competition, and started a successful Creperie with the prize money. He lives with his life-partner "Michelle" (thatâs a dude in French.)
Terry was arrested on charges of embezzlement four years later. He escaped and fled to Senegal where he started a novelty brothel. He insists that the locals call him âThe White Death,â but all they really call him is âa giant dick.â
Tony Hayward would go on to become chief executive of British Petroleum, where he would recreate this accident step by literal step â losing vital records and manuals, neglecting shut-off mechanisms, insisting that volunteer safety measures were enough, using chemicals that are actually more toxic than the oil to clean up the spill and then offering to pay the displaced, unemployed Gulf fisherman to help clean up the mess for him.
Though thereâs no official evidence that Tony was directly involved in the accident, it should be noted that Destructo the God-bong was never found, and that the Deepwater Horizon oil platform exploded on 4/20.
Eleven people died and the ensuing spill was one of the greatest ecological disasters in history.
Wank married a goat!
Most rich kids just want to be pop stars.
How did these hyper-specific tropes spread so quickly?
The Hollywood rumor mill has been playing games with celebrity deaths for at least a century.