My fans, they love me

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I knew I’d win. Inviting the jury to a party at my ranch did the trick.
Surprisingly, none of them tattled on me, despite huge rewards those nasty tabloids offered.
My fans, they love me.
It’s hard to celebrate, though. My back is killing me, but the pills they give me don’t help anymore.
They aren’t completely useless, though. Mix them right, and you get GHB. That takes care of the memories.
A nice hot shower washes away the physical evidence.
But never mind all that. Thanks for helping me with my pants, Johnny. Now help me with my shirt.

To Sir With Love

231938

Patty? Yeah, I knew her. She was always a bit dyke-y.
Her parents were so in denial. They were always joking about her being a tomboy.
She’d grow out of the sandals and flannel shirts some day. Despite always running him down, that Chuck kid would make a good boyfriend, perhaps?
Yeah, right.
Instead, she turned to me. And heroin.
God, she was fun, but I swear I tried to get her to go clean. I really did.
I was the one who found her body, the needle still hanging out of her arm.
I wonder what Velma’s doing tonight.

Send ’em off with a bang!

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Suzy wasn’t cheap, but the Boosters were picking up the tab.
Every year, the same thing. Sort of a graduation ceremony for the football team.
She still had a scar on her lip from last year, thanks to a quarterback with a piercing and a thing for slapping.
They paid her double to keep her mouth shut, so to speak.
This time, it was behind the Science Building. Suzy found it funny that some didn’t even know where it was despite getting A’s and B’s from there.
She heard a zipper.
“Showtime,” she sighed, as the line started to move.