There was a little boy named Ft. Worth, living in a place called Cowverdey. He went to Johnson Valley High School, and had fun. He spent his days there running from one troubled situation to another. The teachers (mentors, torturers, ear-boxers, etc.) didn’t like him for the simple facts that follow: he wore an earring, he asked honest questions (honesty is not allowed at JVHS), he tried to do his homework (instead of jacking around, like everyone else), and he enjoyed having real friends (real friends are not allowed at JVHS, either).
    One day, in the 20th Century, Ft. Worth was calmly doing his school play work, and a misfortune befell him. The head dissector disciplinarian of the prison school, Mr. Passageway, sent a decree to all the mentors in the mental institution. It read:

“Attention all Troops, er... Teachers:
(This is a decree from Mr. Chad Passageway)
We have had a few empty seats in the Detention Hall room, lately, since some of you are not meeting your quotas of animals, er... children sent to Detention. Please assign more detentions.
            Thank me you,
              Mr. Passageway”

When all of the Torturers received the written decree, they danced for joy they set to work. One Torturer, named Mrs. Humper (or possibly Rider), had Ft. Worth in one of her classes. She smiled evilly, and opened her satchel, which was full of seven million D-Hall slips, in small bills. She pulled out her stamp, marked “Ft. Worth”, and began fanatically stamping the sheets. She had worked herself into a frenzy, when Ft. Worth came into the classroom (well, actually, it was a cell block.) She laughed insanely, showing her yellowed fangs teeth.
    She said, with three truckloads of gravel in her voice, “Ft. Worth, sign this,” and released another torrent of laughter. Ft. Worth, deciding to make the best of the situation, began writing poems on the D-Hall slips, knowing he would have to go to Detention whether or not he signed them. Mrs. Humper then said (because Ft. Worth was enjoying himself), “Okay, weenie... Uh... er... Ft. Worth, come sit at the front of the cell, er... class. Now!”
    The moral is that all of the mentors at Johnson Valley High School should be fired, since they only give Ft. Worth D-Halls for the thrill of it.

    Another tale: Once upon a time, while the masses were ignorantly studying, Ft. Worth pulled an electric guitar out of his pocket, and began writing a love song to his girlfriend. For no reason, the other students (who were conforming to the wishes of the rulers) raised an outcry against this. When the poor, abused Ft. Worth continued strumming his guitar, the legions of the devil (the other students, I mean) gathered around him, hurling insults at him. He pleaded for mercy, complaining that the country was no longer free. One of his few friends, a young man named Won’t Boil, loudly agreed with him, saying, “He’s perfectly correct. This country is no longer free. In fact our society is worse than communism. In fact—”
    He was cut off by shouts like “Oh shut up, Weenie,” and “What a scumsucker” and “Oh, go freak off.” (His comments were frequently greeted with friendly comebacks like that.)
    Ft. Worth looked as if he were about to cry (probably because he was about to cry.) Sadly, he thrust his guitar into his pocket once more, and sat at his desk, examining it for secret buttons or levers which he could push to launch a nuclear strike against the teacher. She grinned evilly again, as if she liked to grin that way, then she grinned that way, as if she liked to grin evilly. Then she grinned at a passing insect, imagining that her tongue was long enough to suck it in.
    An anonymous student in the class, named (just joking!) loudly made a trumpet of his butt, releasing terrific pressures from his bowels. Then he made a saxophone of his butt, then a drumset. Finally, he tired of this, and settled back into his normal routine of jacking around. Mrs. Humper naturally assumed that it was Ft. Worth, and began foaming at the mouth as she senilely thought of giving him another D-Hall.
    Consequently, since every day of his life was as such, Ft. Worth quit school to make a life of his own. (Next Christmas, Mrs. Humper got a long tongue, so she could eat all the flies she wanted.)