Mrs. Frizzle Gets Crunk

Arnold was thirty minutes late to school. And for good reason; the bus he took which generally got him there was in an awful accident. The bus driver was launched out of his seat after hitting a group of babies in the middle of the road, and all the students except Arnold who was busy being pissed off in the corner with a trash can over his head fell victim to the toxic gases released from the babies upon impact. He had hastily rolled out of the back, hoping to get hit by a car. He didn't get hit by a car, and thus had to walk the treacherous three yards to the school door. He took the trash can off.

When he got inside, he was immediately taken aback by the pungent smell of fresh doobie. Mrs. Frizzle was blazin' it in her room. All the other students were screaming in agony, as she had forgotten to let them out of the school building for the past three days, locking them in without food or water the entire time. It was a good thing Arnold was dismissed early last Friday.

He opened the door, and the entire class weakly fell onto the ground and began to crawl to the nearest water fountain, groaning like a bunch of very irritated zombies. Arnold sighed and stared at the asses of the meek children sprawled across the floor. He rolled his eyes and walked into the room, the marijuana odor emanating from the northwest corner of it. Mrs. Frizzle was staring blankly at the ceiling.

"Sorry I'm so late to class, Mrs. Frizzle. The bus got in an accident."

Mrs. Frizzle did not reply. Arnold looked down to the bottom of the Friz's dress, and saw a very familiar tail poking out of it, swishing back and forth.

"Oh, that's just gross."

After about fifty more minutes of the curly-haired reject and his teacher having a bit of a staring contest, the students piled back in the classroom, looking healthier than ever. They had roasted the lunch ladies in the oven in the middle of the science wing. Nobody even noticed. They filed back into their regular seats and attentively looked at their mentor, silent.

"Arnold, if you don't get back to your seat in three seconds, I am going to literally tear your eyes out of their sockets."

Arnold, completely forgetting the sound of his teacher's voice over the past several days, turned around to find the source of the horrendously scratchy noise that vaguely resembled human speech. It was a full twenty three seconds before he realized that it was probably Frizzle, and he ran to his seat. He was able to do this in more than three seconds because Frizzle was too buzzed to even move correctly. The tearing out of his eyes ended up just being her slowly moving her hand to the left.

She grabbed her whiskey bottle and dangled it haphazardly from her fingertips.

"Now listen here, you little shits. Today, we're gonna learn how to get crunk."

There was a confused murmur amongst the crowd, probably because none of them had ever heard of the word crunk before, except D. A.

"What the fuck's a crunk?" Ralphie asked.

D. A., in her bitchy know-it-all fashion, turned around to face him and slammed her leg on his desk, getting mud all over the poor child's face before wailing the definition at him.

Everybody unanimously understood with a reassuring "huh".

Mrs. Frizzle took a long swig of her booze. "Good job, Dee-Ay. Now get your foot off of my fucking desk before I break this bottle over your head. I have to pay for those, you know."

D. A. took her foot off of the now slimy desk, whimpering and returning to her rightful seat.

"Okay. I bought us eight tickets to the Lil Wayne concert next to the school. Since there's only eight, and Liz counts as a person, that leaves six of you to come with me, and two of you to stay. Arnold, you can keep your ass glued to the chair because I'm sure as hell not going to take your unenthusiastic attitude to Weezy's perfect stage. Wanda, you're too Asian to understand anything he's going to say. Sound good?"

The class was undecided.

"If you all come, I'll kill Arnold when we get back."

The bus was filled within seconds.

"See you bitches later." Frizzle smashed the bottle on the front of the car, pieces flying everywhere. The bus ran over a good amount of pieces, and the two front tires completely popped. Mrs. Frizzle, in her drunken stupor, just kept on driving the bus, her foot pushed fully down on the gas pedal and her other foot nonchalantly controlling the steering wheel. As the concert was literally only one block away, the class was there in only two hours, and they filed out the bus silently.

Back at the school, Wanda and Arnold were watching the clock go by, counting the minutes until Arnold's final demise. Arnold was an emotional wreck, and was sobbing uncontrollably while Wanda was pooping in the bathroom.

Wanda eventually walked out after hearing the crying, bringing with her a semi-soiled toilet paper roll to help sop up his tears. Her pants weren't on, but Arnold wasn't wearing any glasses so she figured he wouldn't notice.

She sat down across from him. "Arnold, I know life can get you down sometimes, but this is one of those times where you need to man the fuck up and move on with your life. I mean, how many times have you thought you were going to hate a field trip and ended up learning something?" Arnold blew his nose into Wanda's hair, mistaking it for a tissue. "I know, Wanda. It's just that being around Mrs. Frizzle intimidates me. I want a woman like her, and she's forty-three and married. Not that her husband is alive or anything, but you catch my drift."

Wanda grabbed a pair of scissors from the other side of the room near the sink and started cutting the mucus-infused hair off of her head. "You know, I bet if you just talked to Mrs. Frizzle, she'd reconsider. She's drunk as shit anyway, so I doubt she would be too hard on you." She cringed as she accidentally punctured her ear with the scissors. Blood flowed onto the floor.

"You're right, Wanda. I just need to drown my sorrows first. Thanks for the chocolate, by the way!" Arnold lunged for the soiled toilet paper, taking quite the bite out of it. He choked, but thought of his family life to help trigger his gag reflex.

At the concert, Mrs. Frizzle handed out the tickets. "You lose these and you're not getting back on this bus. Are we clear?" She kicked the bus to prove her point. The bus did nothing, because it was a bus. "Fuck this. You're all boring. I'm gonna go get me some crack. Phoebe, come on. I need your lunch money." Phoebe was dragged along by the torso.

"At my old school, we never learned how to get crunk!"

"Phoebe, if you say that goddamn punchline one more time, I'm going to turn your ass into gelatin. I've got the vaccine right here."

Phoebe quit complaining.

Meanwhile, Tim was having trouble finding a seat in the packed stadium. Where there looked like an empty seat, there always ended up being a shattered beer bottle, disposed-of babies, or worse: porn. He decided to plop his big black butt on the stairs to the food vendors. Sometimes they dropped a french fry or two, so he could scrounge for food without looking like a deranged homeless woman.

About thirty minutes into the concert, people started getting restless. Their precious Weezy was nowhere to be found, and all the clean water had been gulped down already. For Phoebe, however, this was not a problem. Phoebe had spent her twenty dollars not on lunch, not on crack, but for some cracked, moldy cookies that were dripping with liquid. At this point, she was so famished that when she saw the liquid dripping off of the cookies, she just forked over the twenty right then and there. It was only twenty more minutes before she realized just what that liquid was. She was tripping balls by the time Mrs. Frizzle bursted out of the porta-potty with an old mexican man, lower parts of her dress torn and covered in fecal matter. Phoebe saw three Mrs. Frizzles with guns and colored like the American flag, and ran off sideways because the world was spinning. She didn't get far before flipping over face-first into the crowd.

Ralphie, Liz, D. A. and Carlos found themselves near the front of the stadium. The speakers were broken, loose wires dangling from the ceiling, and a high-pitched squeal was the only thing they could hear other than their own voices. Liz sat on Ralph's fat lap, settling herself in his meaty mounds. Ralphie didn't know much better than to pet her. As he did so, he felt a strange attraction arise. Literally. Liz arose from Ralph's lap, and turned around, gazing into Ralphie's dark brown peepers. She gave the green-shirted moron a lick on the cheek, and smiled. He blushed as his face got closer to the reptile, and the ringing from the speakers softened as the two finally commenced their perfect kiss.

Carlos watched the two go at it, before looking directly at D. A.

"I guess you could say that this predicament is pretty..."

"Don't do this."

"Ralph-worthy!" Carlos chortled hysterically before acting upon his words, proceeding to vomit directly onto Dorothy's face, covering her purple sweatshirt with his yellow stomach acid, burning her face to the bone in some areas.

The entire stadium, peeved at his antics, shouted Carlos' name, besides D. A., who was busy literally screaming her face off, flesh dripping from her cheeks like a stick of butter in a microwave. Carlos's necrophilia kink kicked in, and he averted his eyes to keep from blushing. To keep his mind off of the hot mess in front of him, he did what he always did whenever he felt hot and heavy.

"I'm gay. I'm gay. I'm gay. I'm gay." He rocked himself back and forth in the fetal position.

D. A. paused her screaming to make sure she was hearing more clearly. "You're gay? Dude, that's like, my favorite sexual orientation! Let's make out!"

Carlos sniffled up his tears. He could finally do this. He'd been practicing making out with the corpse of his dead dog for eons just for this very reason. His teeth still had rotten meat in them.

The hispanic child stuck out his tongue for the barely-breathing blonde bitch to bite on. She ripped it off, but she was hungry anyway, so it really didn't matter in the long run. The two perverts lay in silence, tongues in each others mouths for a good three consecutive hours.

Meanwhile, Ralphie and Liz were getting serious, doing despicable things to each other. All that the underage obese child could feel was a barrage of pleasure, pain, and scales. But mostly the last two. Having never experienced any sort of physical affection in his entire existence, including his birth where his mother screamed louder after giving birth than during, he passed it off as merely just the social norm for kinky interaction. He could have done without the claws in his nipples, though. He was pretty sure milk wasn't supposed to be red. Pretty sure.

Four hours passed, and there was still no sign of Lil Wayne. Ninety percent of the audience had already filed out of the stadium, and the majority of the rest of them were too crunk to move. The atmosphere really needed some livening up.

All of a sudden, the lights flashed off, and a small stage in the center of the stadium rose, a purple spotlight shimmering down on it. A single person stood atop the platform, not moving, not breathing. A single twitch of the buttcheek later, and the lights all flipped on, revealing an African-American girl twerking it like none of them had ever seen. She had obvious buttock implants, as her booty rammed the top of the stadium and the bottom of the stadium with each shake. The crowd cheered with the enthusiasm of a thousand parents relieved that they don't have to take their kids to Disney World. One particular lady, though, was a bit skeptical of all the excitement.

"Holy shit, that's Keesha!" Tim hollered.

Indeed, the Nicki Minaj lookalike, was, in fact, Keesha. Upon hearing her name, the kinky stripper brought her dancing to a halt. She slid the twenty feet down the pole, and hung her head in shame. All she had ever wanted to do was get away from the madness that was Mrs. Frizzle, and even then, she could not escape. The half-conscious lady stumbled down the stairs, hurling herself into the stadium. She spilled her 128-ounce jug of what probably wasn't fruit punch on herself, banged her foot off of Phoebe, who was now muttering something about astrophysics and the theological factors of entomology, and tore her dress off in the ring, feet away from Keesha.

Keesha sighed and let her hair down. "Damnit, Mrs. Frizzle. I tried to run away from you because your class always bored me. I thought if I learned to get crunk, maybe I would finally be happy."

Mrs. Frizzle smiled sadly, petting the side of the black girl's face. She was proud of her little prodigy, and she took a minute before deciding how to respond to the flattering jewel of passion smiling innocently in front of her.

"Bitch, if you don't get in the fucking bus by the count of three, I'm gonna jam my fist so far up your ass you're gonna start shitting food you haven't even eaten yet."

Keesha groaned. "See, this is why..."

But she never finished her sentence because Liz smacked her to the ground and tied her mouth shut with medical tape. Ralphie handcuffed her hands behind her back using Liz's trusty emergency S&M gear kit, and Carlos rubbed D. A.'s face on her legs, rendering her unable to use her now rotting feet. Keesha rolled her eyes as they dumped her in the back of the bus like they did with Arnold's adult diapers.

"I was gonna see Weezy!" Ralphie grumbled as he took his seat next to Liz, who had jammed her claws into his torn jeans.

The entire bus ride back was a conglomeration of angry moans, erotic farts and Mrs. Frizzle slamming the bus back and forth to try to knock Keesha out, with no avail.

Back at the school, Wanda and Arnold were finishing the touches on his speech to Mrs. Frizzle when she got back. Arnold was determined to win his spot back in his much-beloved classroom.

"Now, say what we worked on, Arnold." Wanda gave him a reassuring thumbs-up.

"Mrs. Frizzle, I know I've been an asshat to you recently about my opinions on your field trips, but I really don't mean it. It's just flirting and shyness, because in truth, I really wanna rub my hands up your shirt and motorboat those fine tits of yours. It's hard for me to be nice to people when I always have this raging boner that nobody will let me whip out. I just want to love you, and I hope you'll reconsider mauling me."

Wanda gave him a smile. "That should win her over." Arnold smiled too. In fact, he puckered his lips together, leaned in, and...

"Hey, look! It's the bus!" Wanda snapped her head around, breaking Arnold's nose with a fine crack. She wasn't sorry. She grabbed Arnold's penis and pulled him out into the front of the school, waiting for his teacher to arrive, gun in hand.

The bus slowly grinded to a halt in front of the school. Mrs. Frizzle was tired, and she just needed to get up and go to sleep. She stood up, and accidentally slammed full speed on the gas pedal, launching the kids into the back of the bus with Keesha.

"At my old school, we never..." Phoebe was cut off by the screaming of the class, including Mrs. Frizzle who smashed her head into the horn out of sheer annoyance. The class suddenly went silent, as they realized just what they had done. They all leaned their heads out of the shattered windows to take a peek at what they hoped was going to be just a coincidence.

Arnold was dead.



The entirety of the school burst out of the building wielding pinatas, firecrackers, and complimentary champagne. The battle was finally over. Everybody was crunk.