Story Time Part II

This story of mine is dedicated to our very own Stone Warlock. I saw how much you liked my last story, and I figured you'd especially enjoy this one.

This is the story of how I had to stop the nicest person I've ever known from killing the dumbest person I've ever met.

Hmm, but where to start? I think the beginning is a good place to begin such a tale.

I went to high school as the lone poor kid in a sea of rich yuppies. Needless to say, I hated high school. There was just no challenge to it whatsoever. However, in the course of my journeys in the hormone jungle, I was fortunate to come across a few intelligent and open-minded people. As I think about them, all sorts of warm and fuzzy feelings come to mind, but one person sticks out in particular. Her name was Afua. She was born in Africa, but for the life of me I can't remember the country. She was one of the most intelligent people I knew at the time, and she always held a unique perspective on life, the universe, and everything. In fact, if there is one person who I could say first introduced me to Paganism, it would be her.

Now, Afua was one of the more active members of our student body. Along with many academic clubs, she was also the president of our African Culture Club. Now I was not a member, due to the fact that I never paid any dues, but I was alway invited to their meetings and parties. You didn't have to be of African decent to be a member, but you at least had to be open minded and honestly interested in the subject matter. Naturally, Afua took her position very seriously.

Now, one note about my dear Afua before I continue with this story. She was a very lovely girl, but very small. All in all she was about 5'4", and no more than 90 pounds. However, as small as she was, she could skin your hide from twenty paces with just the words of her mouth.

So, it happened to be that one semester Afua and I happened to have the same world history class, along with half the football team and part of the cheerleading squad. Obviously, we were intellectually outnumbered. We tried our best to be civil as the teacher was forced to repeat himself time and time again and as our various classmates spat out wrong ideas time and time again and complained about their grades time and time again, but it was all for naught when we began to study Africa.

So, one day we're discussing the current social, political, and economic topics of Africa at the time. Actually, it was Afua, the teacher, and I who were doing all the talking. As the conversation progressed, the topic of our African club came up. As Afua began to passionately describe her pride and joy, one of our classmates decided to speak up for the first time that semester.

I will never forget her words.

The girl, a cheerleader named Hayden, asked Afua, "So, like, don't you, like, have to be African to be in the African Club?"

Afua, as wonderful as she was, kept her calm. "No, anyone interested in the African culture is more than welcome to join. Even [insert my real name] here is an unofficial member."

Hayden replied, her words burning into my skull. "So, like, okay then. So what do you, like, do?"

The smallest of sighs comes from Afua's lips. I know how much she hates any form of improper grammar even more than I do. "Well, we discuss the history and culture of Africa, and we get together, we eat authentic African food. We're having a party tonight, even. Your welcome to come."

The words that Hayden said next, and the events that happened afterward, I will never forget. At this moment, I knew why I awake at night, screaming in cold sweat. It was at this point, that I realized the limitless potential of human idiocy.

Without dropping a beat, and with total sincerity, Hayden cried out ,"Sweet. Like, I love fried chicken."

It took me and three football players to keep Afua from beating that girl within an inch of her life. Never before nor since have I ever been so afraid in the entirety of my life.

Later that week, Hayden was suspended for starting a fight, and being racially vulgar. To this day, we still call her 'Fried Chicken'.

Afua, on the other hand, went on to graduate within the top 7% of her class, and headed off to Stanford.

END