I am a Genius of Unspeakable Evil and I Want to be Your Class by Josh Lieb Page A
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Authors: Josh Lieb
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just barge in here making demands. Don’t make me call security.” Pinckney picks up his phone. The line is dead, of course.
Now The Motivator’s smile reaches from ear to pointed ear. “I suggest you reconsider putting Oliver Watson on the ballot for class president.”
Most people cave in at this point. They just get too spooked. They look at this man—this monster —standing in front of them, this seven foot tall, bald-headed, black-clad beast , and they say, “Yes, yes! Whatever you want! Just leave!”
But Pinckney’s a tough man. “I don’t know who you are,” he says. “Quite frankly, I don’t know what you are. But you have no right to tell me how to run my school. My decision on the Watson boy is final.”
I put my popcorn under the toilet paper dispenser and press down on it. Hot butter squirts out. This is getting exciting!
The Motivator laces his massive fingers together. His hands look like bleached-white baseball mitts, covered with hairy moles and warts. He can see that Phase One isn’t working on Pinckney, so he moves to Phase Three 42 —bribery.
“I will give you anything—and I mean anything in the world—if you reconsider putting Oliver Watson on the ballot for class president.”
Now Pinckney smiles, incredulous. “Are you serious? You’re actually trying to bribe me? For a student-council election?”
The Motivator doesn’t move. He doesn’t appear to breathe. He just smiles, smiles, smiles. His big square teeth jut out of his skull like two rows of broken yellow tombstones.
Pinckney laughs. “Okay, fine. Anything? All right then: I want a Rocket-Firing Boba Fett action figure. You get me that, and I’ll do whatever you want. Sky’s the limit.”
The Motivator stops smiling. He nods and exits.
Pinckney stares at the empty doorway, still not sure he didn’t hallucinate the whole thing. Then the phone receiver, which he’s still holding, starts buzzing with a dial tone. The movie flickers to a stop.
This is going to be a little more difficult than I’d hoped.
I’ve run up against this Boba Fett doll before. In 1979, the company that made Star Wars toys made a special offer to fans: Send in four proofs of purchase and get a free dolly of Boba Fett the bounty hunter that fires actual rockets out of its backpack ( see plate 8 ). Yes, real, actual, cheap crummy plastic “rockets” that flew about six inches when you released the cheap crummy spring they were loaded into.
Naturally, the children of the world went nuts with excitement for this thing. Because the children of the world are brilliant .
PLATE 8: Send in four proofs of purchase,
and get a free dolly of Boba Fett the bounty hunter
that fires actual rockets out of its backpack.
Unfortunately, after a few prototypes were made, the company realized that all those brilliant children would choke to death trying to swallow the plastic rockets.
So the Rocket-Firing Boba Fett doll was never released. This led to considerable disappointment. In fact, for science geeks of a certain age, this doll represents the Holy Grail of Star Wars memorabilia. It is the toy they’ve always wanted—the toy they were promised —but never got. This is the toy that will make their lives complete.
Only two dozen prototypes were made. Less than half of those survive. Only one is finished enough—painted, with working spring and original rocket—to count as an actual Rocket-Firing Boba Fett Doll.
It’s owned by the dictator of a certain African nation, who, I happen to know, won’t sell it for any price. 43 Which says something, because otherwise he’ll do anything for money.
I sit on the toilet and munch Milk Duds until the bell rings. I have some more heavy thinking to do. I’ll tell Sheldrake to gas up the blimp.
Chapter 10:
BOYS ARE IDIOTS
Girls are idiots, too, of course, but boys are a special kind of idiot.
A girl, for instance,
Now The Motivator’s smile reaches from ear to pointed ear. “I suggest you reconsider putting Oliver Watson on the ballot for class president.”
Most people cave in at this point. They just get too spooked. They look at this man—this monster —standing in front of them, this seven foot tall, bald-headed, black-clad beast , and they say, “Yes, yes! Whatever you want! Just leave!”
But Pinckney’s a tough man. “I don’t know who you are,” he says. “Quite frankly, I don’t know what you are. But you have no right to tell me how to run my school. My decision on the Watson boy is final.”
I put my popcorn under the toilet paper dispenser and press down on it. Hot butter squirts out. This is getting exciting!
The Motivator laces his massive fingers together. His hands look like bleached-white baseball mitts, covered with hairy moles and warts. He can see that Phase One isn’t working on Pinckney, so he moves to Phase Three 42 —bribery.
“I will give you anything—and I mean anything in the world—if you reconsider putting Oliver Watson on the ballot for class president.”
Now Pinckney smiles, incredulous. “Are you serious? You’re actually trying to bribe me? For a student-council election?”
The Motivator doesn’t move. He doesn’t appear to breathe. He just smiles, smiles, smiles. His big square teeth jut out of his skull like two rows of broken yellow tombstones.
Pinckney laughs. “Okay, fine. Anything? All right then: I want a Rocket-Firing Boba Fett action figure. You get me that, and I’ll do whatever you want. Sky’s the limit.”
The Motivator stops smiling. He nods and exits.
Pinckney stares at the empty doorway, still not sure he didn’t hallucinate the whole thing. Then the phone receiver, which he’s still holding, starts buzzing with a dial tone. The movie flickers to a stop.
This is going to be a little more difficult than I’d hoped.
I’ve run up against this Boba Fett doll before. In 1979, the company that made Star Wars toys made a special offer to fans: Send in four proofs of purchase and get a free dolly of Boba Fett the bounty hunter that fires actual rockets out of its backpack ( see plate 8 ). Yes, real, actual, cheap crummy plastic “rockets” that flew about six inches when you released the cheap crummy spring they were loaded into.
Naturally, the children of the world went nuts with excitement for this thing. Because the children of the world are brilliant .
PLATE 8: Send in four proofs of purchase,
and get a free dolly of Boba Fett the bounty hunter
that fires actual rockets out of its backpack.
Unfortunately, after a few prototypes were made, the company realized that all those brilliant children would choke to death trying to swallow the plastic rockets.
So the Rocket-Firing Boba Fett doll was never released. This led to considerable disappointment. In fact, for science geeks of a certain age, this doll represents the Holy Grail of Star Wars memorabilia. It is the toy they’ve always wanted—the toy they were promised —but never got. This is the toy that will make their lives complete.
Only two dozen prototypes were made. Less than half of those survive. Only one is finished enough—painted, with working spring and original rocket—to count as an actual Rocket-Firing Boba Fett Doll.
It’s owned by the dictator of a certain African nation, who, I happen to know, won’t sell it for any price. 43 Which says something, because otherwise he’ll do anything for money.
I sit on the toilet and munch Milk Duds until the bell rings. I have some more heavy thinking to do. I’ll tell Sheldrake to gas up the blimp.
Chapter 10:
BOYS ARE IDIOTS
Girls are idiots, too, of course, but boys are a special kind of idiot.
A girl, for instance,
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