I came to, as most people come, at the most inappropriate time.

From what little I can feel, it seems I'm on the back of a very tight trunk of a car. The rumbling, the slight carbon monoxide poisoning, and the clanging Lucky for me, my condom mascot suit offers me protection from getting smacked around like a ragdoll. If only it could offer me protection from my splitting headache. At least I think it's a splitting headache and not an actual split in my head. I can't fit another metal plate up there without becoming a bad boy Robocop. You would be surprised how many bonk to the head a bad boy gets on a daily basis.

Well, you can look at Haiden to see what the bad boy life does to a man who doesn't use enough gel on their head to bounce a bullet off in a pinch. There's your answer to why my hair is so soft. Theming.

Well, might as well settle down. As you know, this is not the first time I've been bagged and kidnapped. Hell, it's not even the first time it happened in this book. All we have to do is remember what I told you to do, and you will be fine. Maybe. Fingers crossed! Honestly, all this moving around is making my belly churn like butter. What the hell did that lunch lady put in my meatloaf?

For now, I jam to the muffled Insane Clown Posse songs Leila-Sue seems to be blasting at full volume. I want to believe she's doing it to spite me, but her being a Juggalo makes sense, as weird as it sounds. Would explain how she could use a pipe like a pro. Would also explain why she's as dumb as a brick.

The car finally stops to a crawl duing a particularly stupid song when the Posse is pondering the use and application of magnets. This is it, time to put my experience to test.

The trunk opens up, showing three burly dudes and a dipshit Juggalette staring down at me like a boy who just dropped his pokemon cards on the cafeteria floor and is crying because some goth bitchette heel-stomped my variant Charizard Ex with his Newport-smoking looking boots. It takes them no effort to jank me out of the trunk and cargo-carry me like a fresh sack of potatoes, the creamy kind. It feels bad, if slightly arousing, which reminds me...

I stare at them in the eyes — a stupid endeaveor since 1) I'm wearing dark glasses and b. Said glasses are inside a huge condom mascot suit, not to mention III. I suck at enumeration — and say in my most gentle voice, as if talking to a baby deer, that their manhandling is giving me an erection.

To the surprise of no-one, it works! Too well, I think, because next thing I know, I'm on the ground. "Hey, don't drop the precious load!"

"Ew," says Leila-Sue. "Well, here's my part of the deal: a dumbass mascot. I want what is owed to me."

I try to stand up, because it's more than five seconds and no girl would wanna marry a trash like me, but one of the beef fridges puts a foot on my carotid. Again. Now I'm getting a real erection.

"Really, I'm gonna fucking pre if you don't let me go," I say in hoarse, husky voice, like a purring kitten owned by James Earl Jones. "Seriously, you don't want me to make a fucking oister in here."

A bit of carotid pressure makes me pipe up in a second. And here comes the boner.

"Zip it, Magnum dork," says the beefcake. "And you, the cap has granted you access to the place you seek. You might explore at your leisure."

"Bitching," she says with a smile, I think. I can't see her, but I feel big thot energy emanate from her. What I can see is her leg approaching my giblets and turns my calabrese into a blood sausage with one felt punt. Why is my boner even harder? "Whoop whoop, bitch. See you never!"

The shuffling of her Ugg boots tells me she is leaving the... hmm, where am I? A park? I feel grass underneath me. Maybe a dog park. Heist artists are dumb so I wouldn't put it past them.

One of the beefboys kneels beside me, putting a hand over my chest. "Now, we don't mean any harm. You gotta understand, this is not personal."

"Felt pretty personal when she kicked me in the master sword," I squeak.

"Yeah, shit happens," he says. "Now, we are gonna pick you up and take you to our cap. Are you gonna be a dick and make this more awkward than it needs to be?"

"I'm gonna shart the second you lay your arms on me," I so graciously respond. "Just try me. I had meatloaf and diet Pepsi today. Not even Montezuma has fury like the one brewing on my ass."

"Okay, gross. Stand up and walk if you're gonna be a douche."

"Well," I say, really dragging that last part, "now I don't want to."

The beeferoni man looks at me confused, puzzled even, and goes back and forth in a staredown with the rest of his posse. "Come on. Do us a solid."

"I'm gonna do you a liquid if you touch me," I say.

"We seem to be at an impasse, then," the carne con frijoles bro says. "Why don't we try and meet in the middle? Diplomacy is the only path forward when things get heated."

"Diplomacy is a stopgap for war, at best," I say. "But I'm willing to make a quid pro quo with you, if that's okay."

The meatman scratches the back of his head, a clear universal sign that he feels about to be bamboozled. "I dunno, what can you offer?"

"Not shidding meself could be a good start," I say.

"Okay, bet. And in return?"

"Well, I'm giving up something pretty big, I expect something big as well," I say. Man, this is too easy. Definitely not heist artists waiting to steal me and go to Malta to sell my buttcheeks for blow money, that's for sure.

"And that would be?"

"Just let me go," I say. "You win, I win, everyone gets their dick sucked. What's it gonna be? Seems reasonable enough."

"Yeah, seems reasonable," says the third beefer, not the one kneeling or stepping on me, just hanging just outside of view in a b-boy stance. "Quid pro quo. Tit-for-tat."

"I guess," said carotid-man, slowly releasing the pressure from my neck. God, it feels delicious to be able to breathe. Can't recommend not doing it all day. I practically live for it.

That gives me ample time to wrestle this monstrosity of a suit to a standing position. "Well, I'm glad we managed to get to an agreement. Now, if you would excuse me."

I start to walk away from them, ready to brave this strange land with only knee grease and a can-do attitude, or at least I try to. I get yanked back by the Trojan hat and back to the floor I am. "First of all, ouch. Second, fucking what? We had a deal!"

"And we still have it," says the b-boy meat locker. "You are free to go, but leave the suit. We need it, and not you."

Oh, shit. Now I get it. That bitch was a double agent. The only people who would want this suit, besides a handful of libertarian weirdos, is Hill Valley Mountain Woods! I got kidnapped by my last school!

And that means that, despite all my efforts to get detention, Fortuna, that drunken hobo, brought me back here. Back to him. I can feel him nearby, and more so that I now realize we are on the football field. This is the greenest grass I've seen in my life, which means it's funneling all the school's budget just to keep it this luscious. We are talking about pantone summer green here.

I have to get out of here, fast! Fuck this condom, it ain't worth it.

"Okay, okay. Take it, it's yours," I yell, thrashing left and right to shimmy my way out of it. "Don't you stand there, you meatloafs! Gimme a hand!"

"What the hell are you three doing, brothers?" says a voice. Oh, that voice, that damn voice, husky, yet soft, like a newborn pug. It makes my hairs stand on their end.

Hayden is here. The one thing I didn't want to do.

I can't face him, not after what I did to him. What I did to them. Not to mention that literally all the romantic flags he raised were squashed by me almost immediately. The pain he must've felt, being there, every day, taking care of me, and not seeing even a shred of that reciprocated... man, I'm a dick. And then there are my own feelings, feelings I haven't had any time to sit down and process.

On one hand, he's my best friend... and the love of my life. On the other hand, he's the love of my life, dammit! He will be the death of me! I've never let a PLC get near me in my 18 years of life, and I don't know exactly if I want to let him near.

But he has been there all the time, and I can't say that my life has been the worst for it. To be completely honest, I've never been happier in my life than when I'm with him. He feels like home. I just don't know what to do or what to think. I think I'm the one who needs help or a talkative cat.

"Bro!" said Carotid Man, going to where Hayden is and patting him on the back. "Look, don't get mad..."

"That's gonna depend on what cockamamie scheme you pulled this time," says Hayden.

"Look, we know you've been kinda down since that douchebag broke your heart into a million pieces and scattered through the four winds," says Squatman. Also, ouch. Thanks for stabbing me in the kokoro.

"So?" asks Hayden.

"So," interrupted Carotid boy, "we stole those weirdo's condom mascot! We know casual vandalism always makes you happy!"

"Hell no, brothers! The H-train hates casual vandalism!" sas the H-train, apparently. Worst, nickname, ever. "I told you I didn't want that stupid tradition to continue. We gotta heal the wounds between the schools, not make them wider! How did you manage to steal the Trojan in the first place?"

The three of them go dead silent. A pregnant silence, one that is like eight months and it's huge and needs to pee all the time, and just wants to get this over with, but no, it still has a month of sleeping on its side and having potatoes for feet. An awkward pregnant silence is what it is. B-boy man is the one to step forward and own up to them.

"Well, this girl was sending emails to everyone in the school asking for help getting into some LaCroix room? Something about avenging her parents or some shit, yo. Most people thought it was a Nigerian Prince scam type of deal, but I got drugged on silly gas from the dentist's office and replied for shits and giggles. One thing led to the other and... figured we could just... you know, have a quid pro quo!"

"That's a big word for you, Beefer," says Hayde. Wait, is he really called Beefer? Guess sometimes people wear their name on their face. "Didn't I told you not to answer random calls and messages? Do we want a repeat of that one time you called that number on the bathroom stall of the Chilli's 'for a good time' and woke up in Vancouver with nothing but a tramp-stamp and a missing eyebrow?"

"Well, he's the one that said it!" says Beefer while pointing at me. Are we just gonna ignore all that Vancouver thing? "He seduced us with his magic big words, brother!"

"He also said he was gonna shit himself if we touched him!" says Squatman. "But he's leaving, just as soon as we take the suit off him."

Tittyfarts, this is bad! Hayden can't see me like this. Not now. I'm not ready. Be still my racing heart.

"Here, cap. Help us get the suit off him!" says Beefer while grabbing the underside of the suit. "Everybody grab a corner and we will yank it out of this big-worded idiot."

I don't even say a word in edgewise. I can't say, or else I'll blow my cover. I'm surrounded in less than what you can say "what the hell is that smell?" And how did I know this? Because it took them about that to realize that I don't make idle threats.

That's right, dear readers. I shit myself for the second time. It's almost as if I've been cursed to relive my worst moments over and over again in a Sisyphean nightmare of infinite recurrence. Or maybe it's just the story rhyming with itself.

"Holy fucking... dude!" says Beefer as he and the boys get away from my putrid stink bomb.

This is my chance to run away! Damn Principal Dickwad, making me wear a damn condom suit in this damn midwestern weather! Can't even properly run in this.

Now that I think about it, I'm not running at all. Why, I can't even feel my legs hitting the ground. Almost as if I was suspended in the air or something.

It now occurs to me that Hayden is pulling me from my Trojan hat like an overeager chihuahua. Now I know why they're so full of rage and trembling.

"Go," says Hayden, more deadpanned and dry than I've ever seen him. "I'll deal with this. We leave for the game in twenty minutes and you're already late."

"But-" Beefer tries to say before being shot down by a killer stare from Hayden.

"Buts are for cigarettes and corgis!" he yells, making the three men cower in fear. Sports Hayden is crazy. "You go hit the lockers and get all your shit together. I'll deal with this mess."

Maybe taking the easy way out, the three stooges leave the football field, leaving me and Hayden completely alone.

"Now," he says in a softer tone, putting me down gently. He knows I can't run away, not on a football field with a huge mascot suit on. "On behalf of Hill Valley Mountain Woods High, I'm incredibly sorry. I'm Hayden Wilson, captain of the football team, and I take full responsibility for my actions."

He... doesn't realize I'm me? Am I really that lucky?

"Don't worry, I will see that you and your suit get back in one piece in time for the game. I'm really sorry about it."

Another spell of silence told me he wants me to say something. Of course, a condon might hide the dick inside, but my voice is a dead giveaway. I'm the dick, by the way. It wasn't an euphemism.

"It's okay, you don't have to talk," he says, much to my mental health. "But I do want to ask, can you do me a favor? I would greatly appreciate it if you can pass on a message to someone in your school. He's new, so I don't know if you know him. His name is Ayden Gomez."

Why do I get the feeling I'm going to hear something that is going to change the plot of the story?