High School AKA Your Time-warp Portal To Unspeakable Horrors

Grating as Regine Velasquez’ caterwauling my landline hiccupped incessant shrill rings. Which wound me up. I groggily reached out to the floor and fumbled for the blasted cordless phone buried under a glorious mess of magazines, half-read fictions, discarded underwear, strewn shirts, neckties, empty potato chips sack, green tea bottles, and butchered limbs of a hooker. Kidding.

“This had better be good!” I croaked on the phone.

Stunned silence from the other line. I drowsily glanced at the alien green blink of the Oregon Scientific Philippe Starck-designed clock. It read 1:42 PM. Oh, drat! I’m supposed to brief a few people for a project at work by 10 AM! I’m phenomenally late!


“Who is this?” I droned on, annoyance creeping up my nasal chords.

“Leonidas, the Spartan! Remember, your high school classmate?”

I was swiftly sucked into a time-warp. High school! Haha! Zits! Rampaging hormones! Circle jerks! Kidding, again.

“Whoa! Hey! How did you get my landline? I haven’t seen you in ages!”

He mumbled another classmate’s name. “She gave it to (name of another blob of a classmate) who gave it to (another protozoan classmate) who gave it to me.

I’m getting a migraine.

“Neat! How have you been?”

For another thirty minutes he patched me up into a conference call with four other high school gargoyles and we had a blast catching up. A mini reunion dinner slash get together is set.

I’ll bring the year book and make everyone cringe.