High School

And now, the last finalist,

three-time champion Charlyne Phuc.

Excuse me.

Ah!

First word: Logorrhea.

Logorrhea, um...

L- o-g-o-r-r...

w- wait...

Logorrhea...

like diarrhea, but different.

I mean, they're both kind of like a spray,

but logorrhea, that's a spray of words

from the mouth, you know?

And, like, diarrhea, which is also a spray,

but it comes from a different orifice.

What in the world?

Ugh.

Fuck, am I, like, way off?

There is breaking news tonight

from the State Spelling Bee Championship

as Morgan High's own Charlyne Phuc has been arrested

for drug possession.

Phuc has admitted using marijuana

during her three-time championship run

in order to assist her mortal mind

in accessing the dictionary inscribed

in the fabric of the cosmos...

And that no one would have noticed

if she hadn't been so buttstonked.

Shh.

Shut up, Dave.

Sh... shut up, Dave.

# The wind blows cool across my face... #

Dave, take my weed.

# I can smell the taste, a trace of lace #

# There's something sinister in place... #

- Hold his feet. - I am, Dave.

- Dave, roll that shit. - I am, Dave.

- Holy... - Fuck.

Hey, Mom? I got some MIT scholarship stuff that I filled out.

If you could drop it in the mail, I'd appreciate it.

Honey, I clogged the toilet again.

The plunger should be under the sink.

- Where? - The back.

- Oh, I... I got it. - All right, thanks.

- I love you. - # My mind slips further #

# From what's real #

# Take my hands away from the steering wheel... #

# I'm crashing, coming down in waves #

# And wipe the sweat from upon my face #

# And it's a perfect day to leave this place... #

- Ooh. - # It's a perfect day #

# To hide down in my own home... #

What the fuck?!

Watch where the fuck you step, Henry!

Watch where the fuck you step!

# It's a perfect day #

# To waste away... #

# Your perfect part to play... #

# Just another perfect day, but before you know, it's gone... #

# It's a perfect day to waste away #

- # Your perfect part to play... # - Shit.

# Just another perfect day, but before you know, it's gone. #

Oh!

Bravo, fuckers.

"I swallow. "

Shut up.

D- Dad. No...

- It won't happen again. I promise. - I expect you to pay

every last penny of my deductible.

In the meantime, you can spend this afternoon in detention.

Yes, sir.

- Come along, Martin. - Yes, Daddy.

Hey.

Hey, Breaux. I hit Dr. Gordon because of you.

I shouldn't have to pay for his car, man.

All right, well, tough shit. I mean, you're the one who crashed

- into that butthole Gordon. - To avoid hitting you!

News flash: Wearing headphones while driving is against the law.

You know, I don't think I should take behavior advice from a burner flunky.

- Ouch, dude! - Yeah, well, why don't you take

your science-fair, national-scholar status

and cram it up your asshole?

You know, Breaux...

Yeah, thank you.

Way to be a hambro.

It wasrt like I made him crash into that man-whore's piece-of-shit car.

That's what that scrotum

skin tag Gordon gets for teaching his fat little clone

how to give a hand job.

Rollir on 12s, son.

Aw, come on.

He's behind you!

What?

You know what the problem is here, Brandon?

Why our average GPA has dropped

three times in as many years?

Uh, the Internet?

The sticky green.

The cannabis sativa. The sinsemilla.

Marijuana?

Which is serious stuff.

Dangerous stuff, so I hear. It's a gateway drug.

Hop-heads like Travis Breaux have been a thorn on my side

ever since they came here.

That little prick has caused me more pain than you know.

- My cat... - Yeah?

...developed an abscess on her face.

I rushed her to the vet emergency room,

but their nitrous oxide tank had been stolen.

They later tracked the culprits down

to the home of one Travis Breaux.

Without anesthesia, I had to pin Dolly down.

She scratched my face, my hand.

I developed a terrible infection.

It's called "cat scratch fever. "

My stool became

incredibly painful to pass.

I lost weight, but gained body fat.

I was a mess.

Then I heard my wife telling her friends that I looked lousy.

My attorney advised me against taking any sort of action.

No evidence to press charges against Travis Breaux,

but I knew... I knew he was responsible,

breathing in that laughing gas filth.

They call it "space surfing. "

Where do they come up with all these clever names

for recreational drug use?

Roasting a bone, candy flipping,

banging down a stiff loosey.

A stiff loosey...

I haven't heard that one.

When a woman from a sordid underworld social circle

inales powdered cocaine off of some loser's erect penis

and then doses acid off of his testicles...

I think it has something to do with the Beatles.

Now, they ruined our nation...

drugs, fornicating,

a grown man singing about his feelings.

It's time we win this war,

expunge this school of all dope fiends.

Henry: So I've created a hybrid compound

with a resistance two times that of regular silicon.

Used as the basis material for electronics,

it would provide increased protection

against power surges, magnetic waves.

This is an electromagnetic pulse generator.

Actually, could everyone take a step back?

It's a localized pulse, but it will fry your laptops, your hard drives.

It'll kill your cell phones if you're too close.

Tick, tick, tick.

So as you can see, the motherboard

manufactured by my compound is the undamaged one.

Shit.

Bitter aftertaste of reality?

You come to see how the other half lives?

- Boy: Mr. Thompson here? - He went lookir for you.

Hey, fool, that's my shirt you got on.

I gave it to Goodwill last year.

Fuckir hobo.

Don't trip, Rubin.

I'm sure he washed your dad's cum off of it.

What the fuck you just say to me?

I said I'm sure he washed your dad's cum off of it.

Or did some dry up in your ears? You should clean them fuckers out.

Try an ear candle, yo.

Rubin? Why aren't you in your seat?

You know, we could have a little Abu Ghraib action here,

or we could watch our video.

It's your call.

I'm just gonna go ahead and sit down.

Good choice.

It's all ready. Just hit play.

Everybody, pay attention.

And no talking.

Narrator on TV: With his parents out of town for the weekend,

Bob bends to the pressure of his peers to be somebody

and smokes a joint.

That's street talk for a marijuana cigarette.

Bob lights up and takes a drag.

What he doesn't realize is that this seemingly harmless act

will bring the walls of his reality crashing down.

Narrator: Is this your idea of getting jiggy with it?

Narrator: Applesauce 10 times a day.

Man on TV: How are you feeling?

- Boy: This video eats my balls. - Boy #2: Word.

Woman on TV: Dr. Gibson, you're wanted in lobotomy room 7.

Dr. Gibson to lobotomy room 7.

Narrator: It will also help fund terrorism.

I only really want to blow things up when I'm high.

Think about it.

Man over radio: Engage. Smoke 'em.

Henry. Henry, hey, hey.

Look, I'm sorry. I drive like shit when I'm high.

You were high at 8:00 in the morning?

Yeah, of course. I'll help you pay for it, all right?

I'll float you some casheesh.

Well, thanks, man.

I'm sorry about the whole burner, flunky thing.

Oh, no. It's all good, you know.