>The pavement quakes as my $3000 dollar, highlighter-yellow Giuseppe Zanotti boots make contact with it.
>The students out-doors turn their heads as they hear the impact.
>They have to crane their heads upwards to make eye-contact with me - a consequence of their poor posture.
>Many are blinded by the rays of sunlight reflecting off of my shined-and-buffed scalp.
>Those that aren't are instantly cowed into submission by my commanding gaze.
>Even hidden behind a pair of J.F. Rey sunglasses, they can tell. To lock eyes with me is to witness God.
>The men kneel, out of respect for their superior.
>The women convulse from the sensation of immaculate conception. The most important moment of their lives - the moment they were blessed with Chadldren. To me, it's Monday.
>Tip-toeing in my trademark beetle-like stride, my arms flail into the front door, sending it flying off its hinges. Three students die on impact with the mangled mass of metal and glass before it embeds itself in the far stairs.
>The rest crowd around me, forming a tight right of scales and phones. They've never seen a human before.
>Making eye contact with every single one of them simultaneously, I flex one pectoral, my muscles clearly visible beneath my orange-and-blue Gucci jacket. Several phones explode. A raptor in the front faints, his body instantly trampled by the adoring masses.
>I flex another pectoral. Screams of ecstasy ring out from the crowd.
>Consulting my internal clock (which has been honed to natural perfection) (wristwatches are gay and I keep losing them), I recognize that it's 7:55. I have five minutes until Physical Education.
>Resuming my stride, my erratic arm movements knock any dinosaurs ahead of me across the hall like bowling pins. I hear the distinct sound of TRVE photography, and turn my head 174 degrees to look at the source.
continued