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“Closed practice is canceled on account of a giant toxic mud monster is roaming the halls and swallowing students!”
Jude got over her shell-shock and started clapping her hands, shouting, “People! Calm down! Heather isn’t going to eat anybody!” More quietly, she asked, “Are you?”
“You mean that school spirit is more powerful than the commands of an evil cheerleader bent on world domination through resurrection of the dead?”
“So, um, Heather…” said Jude. “I can’t help but notice that you haven’t returned to your grave.”
“We are a glorious circus of what-the-fuck,” said Heather, and kept walking.
The trouble began when Laurie discovered that Jamie Lee Curtis yogurt. You know, the stuff that’s marketed at like, middle-aged moms who want to reclaim their youth, or at least the ability to have regular bowel movements again. Anyway, Laurie loves Jamie Lee Curtis, for reasons that are a mystery to anyone whose taste in popular culture has matured past the early ’90s. Also, Laurie is frequently too lazy to chew. So when Jamie Lee Curtis said “come, my children, and eat of my poop yogurt,” Laurie was first in line.
“Why are we in a horror movie? I just had my nails done!”
“I don’t think we work for Cthulhu.” “Bless you.” “What?” “Didn’t you just sneeze?”
On one remarkable occasion, Laurie had broken her nose on her trip up the pyramid, only to complete the stunt she’d been on her way to perform, resulting in her effectively transforming into a blood sprinkler as she spun. The entire squad had come away looking like extras in a production of Carrie: The Musical.
As reassuring thoughts went, this one ranked right below “it’s probably not infected,” and right above “nobody’s called my parents yet.”
