or at least what I've finished....

Harry Palms and Harry Johnson went to Buford Tannen High School, where they were universally regarded as mean, stupid and dangerous. And while they weren't the best students at Tannen High, they were the worst.

This September Harry and Harry had found themselves back in 11th grade for the third time, having flunked every single one of their classes last year, and the year before. Which shouldn't be a surprise to anyone, given their habit of playing hooky nearly every single school day. Except in winter, when they played ice hookey. And to be honest nobody had really minded those days when they were absent. Their fellow students breathed easier and were far less jumpy and nervous, their teachers experienced fewer disruptions, and Harry and Harry themselves seemed to feel their time was better spent at Greasy's Billiards or down at the town dump shooting rats.

But this year they had resolved to knuckle down and complete 11th grade. Not to, like, do the assignments or listen to their teachers' stupid yammering or any of that other pussy shit, but to earn themselves passing grades (and we're talking D-minuses here) by at least showing up and sitting in their assigned seats before they grew too large for them.

And being bigger and older than all the other students was a definite asset to Harry and Harry's lucrative lunch money extortion business, and to their sworn mission in life of beating up every queer they came across. Which amounted to quite a few, since their definition of what a queer was wasn't just guys who did gross faggot shit with other guys (which they had it on good authority included such acts as putting their whole arms, metal plumber's snakes and live rodents up each other's poopers---often all at the same time!---and were easy to spot because they were such fucking queers...) but any male who listened to anything besides the same five bands that Harry and Harry liked (Omnicide, The Epileptic Cookie Monsters, Drawn & Quartered, Full Metal Jackboot, Screams of a Giant Exploding Eyeball, ), or drank any of that fruity pretentious weird bullshit beer that wasn't Budweiser, or gave any thought to what they wore. And of course any and all foreign exchange students, with their creepy politeness and good grammar.

So yes their war on queerdom was time consuming, but somebody had to take a stand against the creeping plague of fagdom, feminism, weakness and bleeding heart wussification that their favorite FOX radio guy warned had taken over the nation and was now out looking for the last few real American men with real American values, in order to cut their balls off and turn them into liberals for Hillary and the pro-gay agenda that was going to make everybody get a sex change. Not that Harry and Harry had any consistent political beliefs but they loved listening to Michael Ravage for his anger, for the merciless way he tore into anyone who disagreed with him in the slightest and for his hilarious imitation of Chinese women drivers. It seemed like the perfect job for a bully.

With dykes our two stalwarts tended to be more tolerant. They were okay as long as they weren't the man hating feminazi kind who will call a cop on you for grabbing their ass as they walked past, but the kind of lesbians who were smoking hot and wore red lacy underwear and high heels in bed, and would put on a hot moaning titty-rubbing show for you before asking you to join in, because that lezzie stuff they were doing was just their way of getting warmed up for you and your mighty salami anyway. And while Harry and Harry had never in their vast imaginary sexual experience met any of that kind of lesbians, the evidence of so many in porno magazines and dirty movies meant their chances were good.

One thing that Harry and Harry were not though, was homos. If you said they were Harry would hold you while Harry hit you, hard. Harry and Harry hated homos, and hurt homos, and here they stop being funny, if they ever were...

For here, today, behind this convenient dumpster behind the convenience store on 13th street, they lie in wait for the 13th day in a row, to pounce on and pummel one Percival Hewlitt Packard (a/k/a Fag Meat) as he wended his way home from William Henry Harrison high school; A wimpy, whiny lilly-livered weakling with a neck that was decidedly pencil-like, who got good grades just to rub it in their faces.

"I AM NOT A HOMOTHEXUAL!" he resolutely maintained, even under the motherfucker ministrations of Harry and Harry's feet and fists, but he did not use contractions and he said 'homosexual' instead of some properly derisive term for the total disgustingness of what these faggots was, so what else could he be? And he lisped. Case closed.

Also he was white, like an albedo or something! Some of the kids called him Powder, like in that movie, but he sure didn't have no powers, they beat him up so good. And he wouldn't fight back neither, or even usually try to get away the wuss!

XXXXXXX

Some of the times before they beat him up Percival tried to reason with them, like the stupid homo he was, but today when they popped up from behind the dumpster he ran away. Harry and Harry hastened hotly in pursuit Percy, to preferrably head the pussy off at the pass.

But Percival wasn't headed for the pass. He led them to the Old Witherspoon Place, a delapidated mansion on Sycamore Street, which everyone said was haunted. He ran straight up to the porch and in through the front door, that was unlocked for some reason and didn't have them boards and stuff across it no more.

If Fag Meat thought the mansion's reputation for hauntedness would keep Harry and Harry from entering this eldritch and environment, he had another think coming. Harry and Harry weren't scared of no ghosts! Harry and Harry chased him right into the dark sepulcheral space, and after a speedy search caught him cowering in the dark corner behind the credenza.

"Come out of there you stupid fag and take what's comin' to you," cried Harry, and to which Harry added, "Yeah!"

But suddenly something was very very different about Fag Meat. When he stepped out from behind the hutch he didn't look no scared at all! He was facing them, standing up straight and unafraid and smiling, his teeth all sharp and his eyes were these blank white glowing things.

"Oh I think not," he laughed horribly, "If anybody is going to get that which it coming to them it shall be you, you goonish terrestrials."

"What did you call us?" cried Harry confrontationally, trying to sound more not-scared than he was.

"Yeah," seconded his sidekick, "We're not two restrooms!"

"No, you dolts! Terrestrials, Earthings. Creatures born of this miserable little planet. Not aliens such as I."

"You ain't no alien," said Harry, "You're just some weirdo with weird teeth an' weird glowy eyes."

"And a punk fag too!" added Harry.

"Am I?" laughed the suddenly-not-so-wimpy-wimp as he rose straight into the air, "Could a punk fag do this?"

Harry and Harry's eyes bugged out and they started to run. But the levitating lad made a grandiloquent gesture with his hand and the door before them slammed resoundingly shut! And from the floorboards in front of the fleeing felonious fuck-ups rose a roiling explosion of fire and red smoke.

"Stop! Turn around!" demanded the airborn teen, "Before I blast you to smithereens."

Harry and Harry skidded to a stop and turned timidly around, to espy in the palms of the gravity-defying dweeb a most fearsome ray gun.

"Please don't hurt us!" they cried out as one.

"This won't hurt a bit, but it will evaporate all your manliness and turn into sissy faggots.”

“NO! ANYTHING BUT THAT-” cried the harries, and as strangly pulsating red beam shot out from the weapon shot out and hit them, they could feel the strength draining from their wrist and they heads were filled with images of penises and lace doilies and Mike Pence posing naked. And a terrifying 30 seconds later they knew it was too late to recover their heterosexuality.

I'll leave you gay boys alone now," laughed Fag Meat, and left.

CHAPTER 5: HOMO ALONE

Harry and Harry were alone now in the haunted house. They looked at each other, feeling horrible desires. Well really they felt wonderful desires, that's what was what so horrible about them. Harry and Harry had been turned into homos by the homo ray!

Looking at each other, the two were compelled to start kissing. They couldn't stop themselves. They kissed and kissed and kissed and then started doing other stuff. Horrible homo stuff, that they did with their various mouths and fingers and butts and penises.

"This horrible homo stuff is heavenly," sighed Harry.

"Mmmmpff!" agreed Harry, whose mouth was full.

Then Harry's mouth was full too. Harry and Harry had discovered 69.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

In the morning, Harry and Harry were still homos. They knew they were homos because when they woke up entwined in each others arms they didn't jump away from each other like every other time, but held each other tight and cried about being turned into homos. And that's how they knew they were homos.

"Harry?"

"Yeah Harry?"

"I think we're homos now."

"I think so too, Harry."

"But I don't want to be a homo. People will be mean to us if they find out."

“But that isn't right. We didn't ask to be homos. Why would people be mean to us just for being who we are?"

“Well then it's a good thing we're stupid and the irony of all this is lost on us...”

But then in the hey-chump light of dawn they started noticing things about the room they had awoken in. Like the harness attached to the pulley that had allowed Percival to fly. The horrible homo ray was laying there too, and they saw now it was just a bunch of laser pointers bundled together with a pinwheel attached to the front.

“Hey wait a minute!” cried Harry (or maybe it was Harry) “He tricked us into thinkin this thing was turnin into homos. Oh thank GOD!!”

“You said it, Pard!” Harry (who I'm pretty sure was Harry) replied, and in their great relief they started kissing.

It was hard speaking with their mouths pressed together, but Harry managed to say, “Uh... Harry?”

“Yeah, Harry?” replied Harry.

“I think we're still Homos...”

THEN IN THE LAST SCENE THEY CONFRONT PERCIVAL IN THE SCHOOL HALLWAY WHEN NO ONE IS AROUND, AND HE THINKS HE'S GONNA GET HIS ASS KICKED. BUT THEY THANK HIM AND GO SKIPPING OFF HAND IN HAND>>>>>

I started this for a BCTS Halloween Story Contest years and year ago, but DELIBERATELY stupid writing full of ignorant cliches is still stupid writing full of ignorant clichés. I was trying to write like Dave Barry, but doing Dave Barry is a lot harder than it looks, because you have to come up with something brilliantly stupid in every paragraph, and not be so ham-fistedly partisan as this got in places....

This failed by the deadline and was abandoned....
~hugs, veronica