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fandomhigh2014-08-29 09:52 am
notmysupervisor.livejournal.com) wrote in fandomhigh2014-08-29 09:52 am
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How to Totally Be a Spy, For Real (We Mean It) [Friday, Period 1]
Why did Pam and Cheryl keep signing up to teach classes? At least with Pam, it was so she could get paid. Look, teachers might not make much here, but it wasn’t like ISIS was handing out the big money, either.
The better question was, why did Fandom keep hiring on Pam and Cheryl to teach? It wasn’t like their students were learning anything, besides “how not to act in front of students” or “how to be a complete fucking crazy person.”
"Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?" That was the noise students would hear as they filed in today, just Cheryl whining endlessly on that one word.
She did eventually pause to take a breath, which she then used to continue to bitch at Pam. "Why are we still here? I'm going to be here for Black Friday this year, do you realize that? Do you even know what kind of parties I'll be missing?" Because of course Cheryl went to weird, obscure, super-exclusive Black Friday parties. "Like, it don't matter what the weather is going to be on November 28 this year, Pam, because there'll be snow regardless. Those kinds of parties. Parties with cocaine."
Welcome to class, everyone!
“Will you quit your bitching already?!” Pam huffed. “I don’t give a shit what parties you’re missing! You never invite me, anyway!” And Pam loved a good party, you guys. Especially ones with food. Or drugs. Or orgies. Preferably, all three. “We’re still here because Ms. Archer hates us and I need the money. So let’s teach these miserable little shitstains how to be spies already so I can collect my paycheck and get out of here!”
Teaching was a really inspiring profession. Hopefully you felt motivated to achieve your personal best, today. Achieve those dreams.
"I would invite you if you didn't keep signing us up to be stupid-ass lame teachers," Cheryl lied, blatantly. Pam could never come to one of her super-weird parties for millionaires, obviously. She'd probably try to eat all the caviar and refuse to wear her sex-mask.
She turned her attention to the students, sighing heavily at how much she didn't want to talk to them. "Hi, welcome to whatever the fuck Pam named this, I'm Cheryl, that's Pam, if you fuck with our drugs, we'll make you babysit my ocelot."
She looked back to Pam, adding, "Did I cover all the class rules?"
“No fat jokes,” Pam said. That class rule wasn’t going to hold until the end of lecture. “And it’s a spy class, numbnuts. I told you that and you were all,” and now, please enjoy Pam doing her best Cheryl impression, “‘that’s a stupid topic, we’re not even spies, I’m a spoiled rich whore who likes burning other people’s shit after her ocelot pees on all of it.’”
Paraphrasing.
"If you stopped leaving your shit around for Babou to pee on, then he wouldn't," Cheryl snapped, because hanging your stuff up in a closet like Pam did was just asking for an ocelot to piss all over it, obviously. "And I don't sound like that!"
No, she was actually somehow more shrill.
“No, ‘cause it’s hard to enunciate around the dick in your mouth!” Pam shot back. Look, she was super-grumpy about Babou peeing on her weed stash, okay? Her mellow was seriously harshed. “Hey, kids, now you get to tell us why you signed up to a class about being spies, even though you’re all gonna be accountants and janitors and other boring shit. You know, a real spy wouldn’t actually have signed up for the class.”
"God, I wish that was why I wasn't enunciating."
Yep, Cheryl was still back there, on that.
"Oh, right. Anyway -- uh, right. Real spies wouldn't sign up for a spying class, dipshits, so you all failed the first day. So here's your chance to redeem yourselves: what's your cover story? Why are you here? And if you say 'to learn how to be a spy,' then you're dumber than we even thought."
And they already thought you guys were really dumb, okay.
[lots of swearing and drug references, guys! maybe don't read this one at work!]
The better question was, why did Fandom keep hiring on Pam and Cheryl to teach? It wasn’t like their students were learning anything, besides “how not to act in front of students” or “how to be a complete fucking crazy person.”
"Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?" That was the noise students would hear as they filed in today, just Cheryl whining endlessly on that one word.
She did eventually pause to take a breath, which she then used to continue to bitch at Pam. "Why are we still here? I'm going to be here for Black Friday this year, do you realize that? Do you even know what kind of parties I'll be missing?" Because of course Cheryl went to weird, obscure, super-exclusive Black Friday parties. "Like, it don't matter what the weather is going to be on November 28 this year, Pam, because there'll be snow regardless. Those kinds of parties. Parties with cocaine."
Welcome to class, everyone!
“Will you quit your bitching already?!” Pam huffed. “I don’t give a shit what parties you’re missing! You never invite me, anyway!” And Pam loved a good party, you guys. Especially ones with food. Or drugs. Or orgies. Preferably, all three. “We’re still here because Ms. Archer hates us and I need the money. So let’s teach these miserable little shitstains how to be spies already so I can collect my paycheck and get out of here!”
Teaching was a really inspiring profession. Hopefully you felt motivated to achieve your personal best, today. Achieve those dreams.
"I would invite you if you didn't keep signing us up to be stupid-ass lame teachers," Cheryl lied, blatantly. Pam could never come to one of her super-weird parties for millionaires, obviously. She'd probably try to eat all the caviar and refuse to wear her sex-mask.
She turned her attention to the students, sighing heavily at how much she didn't want to talk to them. "Hi, welcome to whatever the fuck Pam named this, I'm Cheryl, that's Pam, if you fuck with our drugs, we'll make you babysit my ocelot."
She looked back to Pam, adding, "Did I cover all the class rules?"
“No fat jokes,” Pam said. That class rule wasn’t going to hold until the end of lecture. “And it’s a spy class, numbnuts. I told you that and you were all,” and now, please enjoy Pam doing her best Cheryl impression, “‘that’s a stupid topic, we’re not even spies, I’m a spoiled rich whore who likes burning other people’s shit after her ocelot pees on all of it.’”
Paraphrasing.
"If you stopped leaving your shit around for Babou to pee on, then he wouldn't," Cheryl snapped, because hanging your stuff up in a closet like Pam did was just asking for an ocelot to piss all over it, obviously. "And I don't sound like that!"
No, she was actually somehow more shrill.
“No, ‘cause it’s hard to enunciate around the dick in your mouth!” Pam shot back. Look, she was super-grumpy about Babou peeing on her weed stash, okay? Her mellow was seriously harshed. “Hey, kids, now you get to tell us why you signed up to a class about being spies, even though you’re all gonna be accountants and janitors and other boring shit. You know, a real spy wouldn’t actually have signed up for the class.”
"God, I wish that was why I wasn't enunciating."
Yep, Cheryl was still back there, on that.
"Oh, right. Anyway -- uh, right. Real spies wouldn't sign up for a spying class, dipshits, so you all failed the first day. So here's your chance to redeem yourselves: what's your cover story? Why are you here? And if you say 'to learn how to be a spy,' then you're dumber than we even thought."
And they already thought you guys were really dumb, okay.
[lots of swearing and drug references, guys! maybe don't read this one at work!]
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