ROMEO AND
JULIET FLYNN,
THE SOPHOMORE SQUAD'S
HEAD CHEERLEADER.
BY J.P. LACRAMPE
- - - -
Verona High's evening study hall.
ROMEO: Her eyes in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright
That birds would sing and think it were not night.
See how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
O, that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek!
JULIET: Shut up, retard.
You get near my cheek and I'll rip your airy region out.
ROMEO: She speaks.
O, speak again, bright angel, for thou art
As glorious to this night, being o'er my head,
As is a wingèd messenger of heaven ...
JULIET: I said shut up, retard. You smell like Doritos.
And do you mind sitting a little further away?
I can feel your stupid Dorito breath on my face.
ROMEO: Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?
JULIET: Listen, Creepoid, my older brother's a linebacker on the varsity squad—and he just loves to beat up the creepoids that bother me.
ROMEO: I take thee at thy word!
JULIET: I know you: Hienkles, right?
Your sister's a bitch.
Did you know that, Nacho Breath?
You're related to a walrus-faced ho sack.
ROMEO: My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself
Because it is an enemy to thee.
Had I it written, I would tear the word.
JULIET: Whatevs.
Don't you play tuba in the stupid jazz band,
or something even gayer, like the oboe?
ROMEO: Neither, fair maid, if either thee dislike.
JULIET: You're weirding me out, Cheese 'Stache.
And you better not be the sicko that's been peeking into my bedroom window—my dad and brothers are going to crunch the cookies out of that guy.
ROMEO: Thy kinsmen are no stop to me.
JULIET: OK. Let me just explain something:
My older brother benches, like, 325—in his sleep. With the flu.
Plus, my dad has a collection of crazy-sharp Japanese swords that he got from the emperor or somebody. Like 15 of them.
ROMEO: Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye
Than 20 of their swords.
JULIET: My brothers are going to shit honey over this.
You know it's tough playing the oboe with broken thumbs, don't you?
ROMEO: My life were better ended by their hate
Than death proroguèd, wanting of thy love.
JULIET: Jeez, could your fingernails be any longer?
You disgust me. Go away.
ROMEO: Wert thou as far
As that vast shore washed with the farthest sea,
I should adventure for such merchandise.
JULIET: Shut up. And why is your hair so greasy?
God, you're grosser than a bag of bear shit.
Go tell Blake to come over here.
And move to where I can't smell your corn chips and hair juice.
ROMEO: O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?
JULIET: Seriously, what do you want to leave me alone?
ROMEO: Th' exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine.
JULIET: OK ... Fine.
I ...
I ... love you.
... Not.
God, you're so stupid and gross.
You dumb oboe player.
ROMEO: Wouldst thou withdraw it? For what purpose, love?
JULIET: Because your fingers are orange,
And you smell like fake cheese.
How many bags of Doritos did you eat? Like 10?
Oh, my God! Are you crying?
What are you crying for, you stupid baby?
Hey, Blake! Blake, listen:
Hienkles sounds just like a blubbering walrus.
Arrf, arrf, arrf.
Arrf, arrf, arrf.
OK, that's enough—
It's not really funny anymore.
Jeez, you know, even for a stalker, you're really emotional. Now here: shut up and do my civics homework.
ROMEO: O blessèd, blessèd night! I am afeard,
Being in night, all this is but a dream,
Too flattering-sweet to be substantial.
JULIET: I said shut up, retard.
Exeunt.
- - - -
OTHER McSWEENEY'S FEATURES:
- - - -
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The Birthday Party Log of Ned, Born on February 29 By Brian Sutorius
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