Hasenpfeffer Finklestein was having a bad day.
No, make that a very bad day.
David Hasslehoff was trying for a come back again with a music album. Please, as if that sick fuck should even sing; or be famous for that matter. He had even come out with t-shirts that said “Don’t hassle the Hoff!” This was assuming that anyone with any good sense would do so in the first place.
But it never failed. Every time that stupid fuckwit tried to become popular, it became her downfall. Some of the popular kids had come to school today wearing t shirts with her face on them.
Has had felt a moment of embarrassment at seeing the photo; then there was only the hot, fierce pain that flared every time she knew it was going to be a bad day. She had sighed inwardly and prepared herself.
And, as always, her preparations were never in vain. She was treated to people playing the loser’s fuckwit song, some even showing her the retarded video on their god damn fuckwit Ipods. The small screens blinked at her as she walked down the hallway.
Three times that day, Has had excused herself. Everyone knew that she was going to the washroom to cry, she could see it on all of their faces. But she couldn’t help it. There had to be a moment of release or she would burst.
“God damned fucking stupid David Hasslehoff.” She said.
“That certainly sounds better than fuckwit pisshead asshat.” A voice said. “And much easier to say.”
Has turned. Yhestin Rosebude was sitting on the school steps beside her. “Thanks.” Has smiled.
“It’s not even really original, not really.” Yhes said. “Rhyming Has with Hoff.” He gave out a small, low chuckle. It fell awkward in the air. “I mean, that’s barely above forth grade wordplay. Any fuckwit kindergartner can figure that shit out.”
Has experienced a small pain behind her eyeballs. She massaged her temples. “Remind me again why I talk to you?”
“I’m not agreeing with them.” Yhes said. “I mean, it’s not even like you’re names are all that similar. Like Hasenpfeffer and Hasslehoff? I mean, they don’t even rhyme if you put them together. But I suppose you could make some interesting anagrams, oooh, like a I am Lord Voldmort sort of thingy, but you’re not evil and scary, you’re just evil.”
The pain behind Has’s eyes increased. She wondered if someone was playing soccer with her eyeballs. She sighed and remembered her therapist’s recommendation to breathe. Yes, she had to remember to do that. “Do you have a point to all this inane chatter?” She asked.
To her credit, Has did try to keep her voice light and even, but she knew that she hadn’t really succeeded. Yhes didn’t even notice her annoyance. It was one of the things she loved about him. “Well, what I mean is, like, what are you going to do?”
Has sat there for a moment before answering; she had indeed been thinking of the very answer to this question. And the answer always amounted to the same answer. “Oh, the solution is quite simple.” Has said.
She took out a small slim case from her purse and removed a silver case. Out of the silver case, she plucked a long, thin cigarette. It was black and when she lit it, the smell of cloves filled the air.
Yhes waved at the air in front of him. “Christ, why do you smoke those?” He said. She would smack him if he coughed. “You’re like thirteen, right? Those are bad for you.”
Hasenpfeffer again reminded herself to be calm. She was a tree, she could bend. She could whip someone’s mother fucking ass with her branches. “I need to relax.” She said. “They help me cope with my stress.”
“What do you have to be stressed about? You’re thirteen!”
Has shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. You just don’t understand what it’s like to be creative.” She said. Has tried to centre herself and find her chi, or whatever the fuck it was. “Don’t you want to know what my plan is?” She asked.
“Huh?” Yhes looked at her. “For what?”
The pain behind Has’s eyes flared. “You know, for someone so smart, you’re pretty fucking stupid.”
“Yeah, well for someone really nice, you can be an ice cold bitch.” He huffed at the cloud of smoke that floated around him like incense. “So what’s you’re great fucking plan?”
“Oh, it’s really quite simple.” Has said.
This had been the point of lighting the cigarette in the first place. Every great dramatic moment needed something sensual. “We only have to do one thing.” She took a drag of her cigarette and tried not to cough when she released a cloud of smoke.
“We have to kill David Hasslehoff.”