"Hayden, my love, my one and only, my schimsy-poopsie," I say, slowly grabbing his arm, "what in the holy name of 2004's Olympic winner of the 800 meters dash Yuriry Borzakovski are you on?"

Hayden, still with bloodshot eyes and with a chronic smirk, takes a bag from beneath the table. He takes out a piece of paper from beneath the table, tossing it onto the table. I guess he wanted it to be a big reveal, but the paper got stuck on the eggs and got all greasy beneath. He, however, is unfazed.

"I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation at hand," says Hayden, pressing his finger over the paper. This makes it even greasier.

Brayden snatches the paper from its eggy torture, giving it a read. Or at least he pretends to. I'm not 100% sure he knows how to read. "bitch, i know gravity. alfonso cuaron, mommy bullock. find it on amazon prime. solid 7/10."

"You are such a douche," says Okayden, grabbing the paper.

Gravity is 9.81 m/s2,

Not some B class flick."

"silly dog, you can't square time!" says Brayden, snatching the paper again, now getting ready with his little grubby bacon fingers, "we all know time comes in a circle. that's why all clocks come in a circle! right, ayden?"

"Don't pull me into your lover's quarrel," I say. "You don't see us pulling you into our problems."

"i'll take it as a yes," says Brayden with his shit-eating grin.

"Oh, you wanna go there?" says Okayden, rolling up the sleeve of his trenchcoat to reveal his very hairy arm, with something vaguely black stuck around it. Upon closer inspection, it is an old Casio digital watch with a calculator and all. "See? Square time, and I can,

Math how dumb you are."

"daddy says my dumbness is uncalculatable," says Brayden. "i'm a miracle of science."

"It's a miracle,

That you have not drowned staring,

At a glass of water."

"yo, beethoven, you're looking to get a foot up your ass?"

"You wanna shove something?

Don't threaten me with a good,

Time, you silly boy."

A thunderous sound, not unlike thunder, but most likely not thunder, thunders around the room like a thunder, but very much not a thunder. It's Hayden, slamming his roast-beef hands on the table, moving everything an inch to the left. "You're doing it again!"

This makes my penis the small penis. I hate it when he gets like this. Something inside of me wants to get in front of him and say "Look at me. You're not like this," but the thought makes my balls retreat into my body by the sheer cringe of it.

Hayden, seemingly in a moment of clarity, takes a deep breath while pinching the bridge of his nose, leaning in and taking the greasy paper away from the quarreling duo. "Look, if you wanna shove something up each other's cave of wonders, do it in the privacy of a bedroom."

Neither of them says a thing, both getting deep red. I think. Can't see much under Okayden's clothes.

"Okay, look," he says, putting the paper in front of him, "I got a call from Fuches yesterday telling me that I'm gonna be part of the team from the Football club. I said, no way, Jose! And he said, I'm not Jose! And I said, it's an expression, and he said-"

"Babe?" I say, squeezing his arm, "you're rambling."

"Right, right," he says, taking a swig of coffee. "Point is, he said that either I play for them, or I'm expelled from the team. I said I wouldn't, so I got expelled. It's okay, it was bound to happen. But when I got to my locker today, I found this letter, and..."

He hands me the paper, seeing I might be the only person in the room with more than one brain cell, and I read it. And read it some more. And once again. I don't know why it takes me so much time to read it, as it is only one, mostly run-off sentence:

"Dear Hayden Wilson it is our sad duty to inform you that since you have been expelled from the football team we have revoked your sports scholarship. You can reply for a new scholarship if you prove your invaluable contribution to the school's culture and prestige under the umbrella of a school club. You may also pay our tuition as per our policies to continue your education in our institution. You have until the end of next week to comply with either directive. Signed, Principal Strickland."

Well, that's very plot convenient. Too convenient, if I might add. This smells fishy. Maybe it's just the low on the bagels. "Wait, I thought this school was public?"

"private school owned by the state, actually," says Brayden. "mostly so they can push republican propaganda without any public backlash."

That would explain all the Regan posters. "Still, how can they do this?"

"Well, I had a football scholarship. No football, no scholarship. I'm knee-deep in shit," says Hayden. "I either pay up money I don't have, or I prove my mettle with a new club. But with the club situation as it is, I'm fucked."

Yes, this is extremely convenient. "It seems to me this is a check-mate move to get us out of the running. Make a contest for 4 people and expel one? Seems like they're twisting our arms."

"Speaking of knees deep in shit, sir," says Harry while holding Jungkook up, who is kneeling over his own rotund stomach, "can you please open the door, sir?"

"I'm gonna fucking shart myself," whispers Jungkook, but nobody seems to acknowledge him. But I do, my friend, I do.

I stand up and go to him, hushing him slowly. "It's okay, buddy. I've been there." I massage his lower backside with my fist, making fluid motions upwards while cooing. "Take a deep breath. In, out, in, out."

"I'm scared, Mr. Ayden."

"You're scared?" says Hayden, standing up violently and fabulously, "I'm scared! I'm on borrowed time!"

Brayden, definitely not knowing what's happening, stands up as well. "bro, i can spot you the money, you know? no strings attached. i'm a milliona-"

"No!" yells Hayden, louder that I have ever heard him before. It's so loud that I can feel the vibrations in the air. No, wait, that's just the vibrations of Jungkook's guts. "I've told you before, I don't want any handouts! I want to fulfill my dreams on my own merits."

Oh, for fuck's sake. He should just take the money and run. All this dumb pride is gonna cost him later in life. "Babe, just take the money. You're being-"

"Stupid?" he interrupts. For some reason, he looks bigger, and way more scary than before. It is as if a shadow is being cast on him. "I swear, if you belittle my dreams one more time..."

Okay, is it me, or this is turning a little... violent? I'm getting really weird vibes. "No, not stupid. Shortsighted. Brayden is giving you a solution to a timely problem."

"And I'm telling you that it's not a solution I'm willing to take!" he yells, taking two steps toward me. "I'm my own man, who can forge my own path! And the only solution that I'm willing to take is earning us a club!"

"Then, if you're such a big man, why do you need us for? Don't you need us for your club? Why don't you march alone and try to win a club for yourself since you don't even need your boyfriend's help?!" I yell back.

"I need you more than anyone!" he yells. "But I also need you to understand me, that I want to do this with my own two hands, that I want to forge my future, our future, together!"

Well... I don't know what to say. This is a dumb problem made worse by a dumb decisi... no, not dumb. This is Hayden's future we are talking about. I don't know why he's so adamant against taking the money, but I guess he has his reasons. Wait, I haven't said anything in a while. This is turning awkward.

Okayden retreats into his coat like a shy turtle, sobbing very, very softly. "Mommy and daddy are fighting," he whispers. Only that and the sound of Jungkook's guts are filling the room. That, and a very soft "fufufu" coming from the vents. I should say something.

"Fine, let's do it your way," I say, leaving Jungkook to be tended by Harry while I go back to the table. "What's this about a club name, babe?"

Hayden seems to calm down at this, returning to the table in peace. "As I said before, we need a new club name since some blue-haired freak stole ours. And we won't be leaving here until we get one. I have too much riding on this for you all to simply say 'later' and push this until the heat-death of the universe. So, sorry, Jungkook, you will have to wait a little longer."

"That's okay, boss," says Jungkook, now in a fetal position on the floor as Harry massages his back with all his might. "You do what you have to do. I have a pretty big intestine, I can keep it in."

"he's lying," says Brayden. "he has the anus of a three-year-old. we better wrap this up."

Yeah, we shall. The real battle is now be-

"No, Ayden," says Hayden as he grabs my arm.

"What?"

"You know what," says Hayden. "You have that look."

"You know, the look. The look you give when you want to end a chapter."

"But we are 1626 words in! We should wrap it up and just tackle everything in the next chapter."

"No, this ends this chapter," says Hayden.

Bitch, I wanna end this chapter! "Fine, let's speedrun this thing. I vote for whatever Hayden wants. I really don't care about the name."

"hey, not fair!" yells Brayden. "what if it's a really dumb name?"

"Too late, he has already cast his vote!" says Hayden. "And for your information, my proposed name is 'The Bad Boys' Support Society.' Simple and elegant."

"and boring and non-inclusive," says Brayden, blowing a raspberry. "not all of us are bad boys, you know. some of us are soft boys. like me!"

"You are a bad boy," says Okayden, not really paying attention while reading something about fires and why not to play with them,

"Wearing a girly sweater,

Doesn't make you soft, boy."

"look, clifford the big red douche, first of all, this is a bisexual sweater-"

"Unisex," I correct.

"and second, i'm totally a soft boy, and i'm tired of not getting the respect i deserve. you wanna trample my identity? fine. i'll do the same. i propose we call ourselves 'the soft boys' club.'"

"Over my dead body," says Hayden. "Fortunately, we need a majority for this. Okayden, what will you choose?"

Okayden stares at us from over the book, tossing a CD toward us. "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band." Uh, okay? "What's this?"

"My proposal, of course," says Okayden very matter of fact,

"See, I'm into the Beetles,
And why not? It's cool."

"and here i was thinking fido was gonna choose something about feet," says Brayden.

"Hey, I have other likes,

Like swimming, the stars, hiking,

And acid rock bands."

"i aint gonna vote on some bri'ish vapid boyband name," says Brayden.

"I second that," says Hayden.

"i aint voting for yours either."

I guess he's trying to diversify his character traits. I can respect that. But still, we seem to be at an impasse.

"Uh, boss?" says Jungkook from the sidelines. "I think I'm about to shit meself."

Oh, my sweet summer child. Is it your first time? There is no shame in being one with nature. "Okay, let's just, I dunno, combine all of them? I honestly don't care."

"But, babe!" says Hayden.

"God dammit, people, a man is shitting himself here!" I yell. "You want to be a man? A man compromises, for the greater good."

"I mean, I guess..."

"And Brayden, your man is gonna shit himself. We are playing against the clock. If I add the 'Soft boy' in the club name, you will be happy, right?"

"sure, whatever."

"And Okayden, is it okay if we drop the band part?"

"I genuinely,

Don't like the Beetles that much,

I was just bluffing."

"Okay... then. For the sake of Jungkook, why not call us 'The Bad Boys' Soft Boys' Lonely Hearts Club'?"

Everybody stands there, sitting, and not standing, and doing it very quietly. Too quietly, if I might add.

"Thats... a fucking stupid name, love," says Hayden. "Like, how did you come to something so unappealing?

"yeah, what dingus said," says Brayden, grabbing now-cold bacon with his little soft boy hands.

"The Beatles are rolling in their graves," says Okayden.

"Anybody got a better idea?" I say.

After a series of mumbles, strange words and a high-pitched scream from Okayden, we arrive at a name. Finally, no more feet.

"Good, then, it's settled," I say. "We are The Bad Boys' Soft Boys' Lonely Hearts Club. Now, can you let Jungkook go so he can relieve himself?"

"Don't worry about me, boss!" says a strangely-chipper Jungkook, who feels somehow more distant than before. "I found one of them porta-potys, like in the hospital!"

We turn around to see Jungkook, in the kitchen, squatting over a huge pot the lunch people use to make chilly, followed by the sound of the wettest, most disgusting diarrhea I've ever heard, like shooting an assault rifle in an empty basin. It sound like bubbles upon bubbles of anal mucus just overflowing out of a tiny hole. Like if a thousand squishy birds were hitting the roof of a tin ceiling.

Coincidentally, today's special? Chile con Carne.

I'm gonna fucking puke.