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Angus and the Big Slam Dunk


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ANGUS and the Big Slam Dunk


Without the usual parade of laughter and adorn from her fellow friends, Angus rolled up onto the Last Play Wins basketball court at the local public school, Can't or Not High (the passing rate was only two percent). Determined to win the Big Game like all of the other Horse Enjoyers, Angus stayed up all night decorating her basketball outfit instead of actually practicing. For what it's worth, her outfit was undoubtedly second-best in terms of style--a huge achievement, considering her competition. 


"Well well well," her competition crooned as he came up on Angus from behind, with his squad of bona-fide goons. "Looks like we've got another artist boys," Grossboy cackled as his goon friends threw mustard at Angus' new jersey.


Before Angus could begin to cry and use her tears and snot to clean her jersey, Thiccly threw a basketball at Grossboy's face, knocking him completely unconsious and leaving his goons distraught. 


"What are we gonna do Utensil?!?" No-Diggs-Allowed shrieked as Grossboy began to spasm with what could only be figured as an epileptic fit. 


Utensil bit her bottom lip, adjusting her glasses while fishing a juicebox out from her back pocket. Meticulously chewing the top layer of the foil that the straw's sharp end was supposed to pierce through, she scanned the poorly-outlined chalk squiggles--a vain attempt at outlining the sections of the basketball court at Last Play Wins. The sunlight wasn't letting up, either, as its rays beat down viciously upon her head as the sweat from her brow creeped down her porous nose and on top of her lip, mixing with her saliva and the papery outsides of her juicebox forming a concoction of impatience. 


Thankfully, the local homeless man Rotundant Frank emerged from his usual twelve-o-clock catatonic state to help Utensil with her juicebox endeavor. After returning the straw'd juicebox to her, Frank readjusted his ratty, mouse nest-filled top hat, and groomed his ungroomed beard with his Count Olaf-tier fingers. "Settle down boys and girls! Why, wasn't it only a year ago that half of you got expelled from this very high school for this very same tomfoolery? Not to mention the charges currently laid against me by this very same establishment!"


All of the Horse Enjoyers solemnly nodded, as No-Diggs-Allowed helped Grossboy to his feet. Rotundant Frank immediately erupted into a cackle, that of which was indicative of his seasonal manic episode (and thus a very exciting game of Last Play Wins). "You all know the rules! Anyone ever can score as much as they like, but only the last person who gets a point before the bell rings, OR the police arrive to detain me, actually wins!"


Angus, already familiar with the rules because of her extensive studying (or in this case, stealing Grossboy's notes while he called his girlfriend (No-Diggs-Allowed's mother)), wiped the mustard from her jersey, and eyed Grossboy's and hers. Upon her jersey was a gorgeous apple with a bite taken out of it--obviously indicative of the same apple that same smart person infused with cyanide and took a bite from, and not the atrocious software company that based their very own symbol off of--with light blue stripes with a general base of white. She was, by many other peoples' standards, pretty cute. 


But she couldn't ever hope to beat Grossboy's. He had this dumb stupid squiggle of a patented UNCOUTH MAN GRINNING. It was this feat of sheer irony and self-aware humor (while also giving off the vibe of not caring) that she couldn't ever hope to achieve, outside of public Facebook posts she'd make late in the evening drunk (and high) (AT THE SAME TIME!!!). 


Before anybody could actually care, David Ruth the Moldy Tooth ate sixteen hotdogs. After powering through the last two, he threw up on the pavement and began to cry, halting the progress of the game (a brilliant diversion). As Rotundant Frank and the rest of the Horse Enjoyers approached David Ruth the Moldy Tooth to try and offer assistance, Angus decided to be an absolute madman and try to score a clean goal on the net (in order to damage the morale of the other participants). 


Angus rushed forward toward the net closest to her, dribbling the ball much like an overly-excited-but-stupid, small, abandonment-anxiety-ridden dog would stamp a livingroom floor upon seeing their owner return from the bathroom. Before she reached five feet of the net, she tripped and fell face-first on the pavement, dying. 




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Sorry for the technical difficulties; I have now completely finished. I hope you all enjoy it, and maybe even find it funny. My humor is probably a little too post-modern (and bad) but I hope it gets a giggle or two. 

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