UnBooks:Might As Well Not/Chapter 2

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Might As Well Not
an UnAbriged UnBook

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Being born is, like many things after being born, rather unfair. An utterly useless piece of living flesh is automatically given the possibility of either a very good future or a very good chance of having a horrible foster parent in the future. They have absolutely no control over it. They can’t even choose their name. If they’re lucky they’ll get something catchy. Doctor Millipud Arson’s luck was obviously rather inferior. This fact was making itself very clear to her as she sat on a cheap vinyl chair waiting to speak to a man she never met before about matters directly related to how uncomfortable the next few weeks were going to be. And the horrible typewriter noise wasn’t helping. Eventually, however, she was indeed met by a man who, if he didn’t choose to be a headmaster, could probably have been a perfectly acceptable beach ball.

“And this will be your office,” said the man. He was giggling in a jolly way which said to Doctor Arson’s trained mind that he was either very nervous or very under the influence of nitrous oxide. She peered into the office and pondered for a second what spawn of Lucifer tapped into the mind of the headmaster and gave him the delusional idea that what she looked at could even be remotely associated with a place of work. All evidence suggested that it was more a place to throw things people had no clue what to do with or, as a tiny orange and white cylinder on the floor told, a place for a bit of “me time” to calm oneself. She stepped inside to be totally emerged in the god-awful atmosphere.
“We’ll naturally have to clean it up a bit, get some chairs in here,” the headmaster paused, “a bookcase maybe.” Everybody knew an essential piece to any psychiatrist’s office was a bookcase. It makes people look smart, when in actual fact if they were really that smart they wouldn’t need the books. They’d just know…

The only thing that Jonathan really learnt at school was that it was maybe just a bit easier for him not to learn at school. If he did, he would have known as much as Michael Jackson knows about dancing in certain subject subdivisions, while in others he would have known as much as Michael Jackson knows about raising children. Since there was all that moving between schools that didn’t really synchronize their syllabi and all.
Mr.Grayhair was one of those unfortunate souls who thought he could make science interesting. As if making students pass out on chloroform, constantly burning down fractions of the laboratory and exposing unsuspecting daydreamers to toxic hydrogen sulfide by saying ‘smell this’ wasn’t enough, he also wore ridiculous ties. Jonathan had heard about Mr.Grayhair from The Geek, who actually seemed to like his method of teaching.
But, unfortunately for Jon, the particle model of a gas just wasn’t interesting after hearing it explained three times. Even if this version of the explanation included an open flame and a condom that was rapidly expanding under pressure from hydrogen gas.
It was during this explanation that the intercom went off. It said in monotonous distortion: “Mr.Grayhair, please send Ma-… Magno-… That geek guy to the office. Thank you.”
The announcement was followed by an explosion and pieces of latex flying onto various students’ faces.

“What’s broken now?” The Geek asked as he stepped into the office.
“Just your soul, apparently,” said a voice behind him.
As he swung around in confusion a woman greeted him with a Barbie smile and said: “I’m Doctor Arson and I’ll be your psychologist for today.”

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