Miss Prissy Snobsdigger had written her official report for the whole class to hear, in a speech that she would make at "Fudrucker" High School that would surely abolish the liberal policies, which had lead to Mr. Truffle's creative writing class with a topic based on violent things that had happened to women, following their shrinking down to inches high.
Priss, most of her colleagues called her, wore a high, reddish colored skirt, with roses imprinted throughout the fabric, no nylon stockings whatsoever, which greatly enhanced her creamy, yet meety warm flesh that looked like it felt as soft and moist as the surface of swiss cheese. The students could not help but wonder what it would be like to touch, lick, or even sink teeth into such delectable skin, and felt perverted to even think of eating her, even in the conventional way that might be depicted in a "Penthouse," magazine.
As she approached the podium at the school main auditorium and screwed her face up, scratching her cheek, she quickly ran her fingers through her corse strands of bond hair and began to read the speech she had prepared.
"Students of this school, this is your official notice that Mr. Truffle's creative writing classes are a "DEADSTICK!"
Gasps and hysterical breaths of protest could be heard from the auditorium, while the majority of the students of strict, unconditional obedience to the teachers they chose to fear, in the form of a submissive, blind jingoism to their wielding of absolute rule over what is popular, roared with applause and shouts of cheer for the female mentors who were take militant action to defend themselves from, what had offended them for the past semester. Priss took a lengthy pause to gather as much noise of psuedo-felicitous acclaim from the well-known ass kissing, goody types, and so as their ear shattering noise was just becoming barable by, even themselves, they forced themselves to work up another round of well-undeserved shouting, in favor of killing Mr. Truffle's "Creative Writing towards Shrunken Women" class.
In a surprise to everyone including Mr. Truffles, Priss made a summoning motion with her hands, to a panel of women who agreed with her, teachers and front office administrators who had wanted to see a stop put to this, literature of horror and torment to the misfortunate shrunken woman. As over sixty women emerged from different spots in the auditorium, the roars of clapping continued to grow, with the exception of corners of isolated discontent that could be seen on various faces in the crowd but like always, barely noticed in the thralls of any popular school movement. The spotlights were being controlled by those who worked behind the visibible structure, illuminating the cheery self-made, typically non-legislated victories that are commonly seen in the dictatorship that most school politicians thrive upon. Mr Truffle's was not informed that this topic would be brought up, and therefore found himself unprepared for an effective, rebuttle. He was stunned with a sickness that had permeated throughout his stomach, and began to cause some muscular soreness, where pain had seemed to reside the longest. It was like a moment that would never end, and he was sure that more token accolades would be gathered for them, as he suffered in agonizing humility. It was at this moment that he was given reprieve from his own hell.
Suddenly, a student yelled out, "NOW!" At key spots throughout the auditorium, soft marshmallow shaped, objects were heaved with some kind of a magnisium burning that lit them up as they flew towards the stage, all to hit at close to the same time, stopping all action and quieting down the applause, which had yielded to silence and a few screams. (POOF) They landed with a soft, muffled explosion that caused no damage, or at least none that could be seen by the eye of one who expects the common aftermath of a terrorist bombing. Some were beginning to notice that the sixty or so women on stage, had vanished.
Several students, who were immediately recognized by Mr. Truffle's, dashed from all points of mass spectating areas down to the stage, as the student, who had originally initiated the attack yelled, "Grab as many as you can! Grab 'em like candy, 'cause that's just what they are to us. Candy. WOOOOHOOOO!"
Mr. Truffle's face began to show the astonishment that one would expect from a man who dreamed of something all his life, and finally lived to see it become reality. Immediately, one of his favored students brought two tiny little screaming women to be handed over to him.
"This is thanks, Mr. Truffle's. You allowed me to express myself, before others like myself, in a way I've never known.
"Why, thanks, my---" Mr Truffle's choked up for a moment, "my, most attentive student." He stared down in appreciation as the student enjoyed the gratitude seen in Mr. Truffle's eyes, and added, "What will you do with yours?"
"I've caught three her, sir!" He looked at his tender beauties before him, and began stroking them so hard with his thumb as they lay, squirming to escape from his palm, that his fingernail tore part of a shoulder and began spreading blood on to the dresses of others.
"Be very careful there, Leonardo, you cannot damage your hot dogs that way."
"Yes, I suppose your right at that," Leonardo replied as he touched the abrased skin near the shoulder, filling his thumb print full of blood, and listening to the tiny screams and bitches coming from, the two tiny, bitches, who were angry about having their dresses smeared with blood.
Mr Truffle's looked up from his collection, as he began tearing their dresses off, to the smiling approval of Leonardo, exclaiming, "Oh dear boy, I was afraid of that."
Leonardo noticed his concern was directed at the stage, where every boy with his hands full of tiny women, were chasing the remainder of tiny women, running around on stage in a panic, down to a squash to keep them from escaping and telling anyone else, even though they were well known to the terrified students who would surely turn on them once they recovered such perplexing shock. Some were already standing, which was a sign that this was beginning to manifest itself into a battle that Mr. Truffle's honor students would certainly lose, being so grossly outnumbered. Dennis's shoes were beginning to perform less to the traction so boasted about by it's manufacturers, but greater the fault tiny women's guts that clung to the bottom, just like stepping on hundreds of rats or roaches. Dennis saw some of his comrades begin to eat many of the women in desperation, and thought very quickly as he eyeballed one of the councelor's techinicians closely, who noticing that his eye had fallen upon her, screamed as she realized she was his next pick. Her dress skirt was configured in such a way that gave him pleasure in jamming his finger up it, and making a finger puppet out of her. He wiggled his finger back and forth, swinging her as she screamed, helplessly riding the sways of his mere pleasure. From the lip of his pocket came a demanding shout from a teacher who had indignified him on many occasions, by disclosing his low test scores in front of his friends, at break time, in a blunt, mannerless tone. He observed the beauty that had never been noticed when conducting business as usual with this pretty, brunette, brown-eyed woman of fiesty nature, who did not scream, but instead looked into his eyes with betrayal. "I think I'll trade you for this little bitch in my pocket." He allowed her wet legs to slip off of his fingers and plucked the bitchy little teacher out.
"Put me down, you loser. You and your kind belong with Mr. Truffle's. All losers. All dreaming about something that stems from your own male impotence."
With those words of her most kind words ever spoken to him, he dangled her over his mouth and dropped her in, starting the chewing process with his teeth, immediately. "YEEEECH! It's like eating a piece of rotten fish," he said as he attempted to spit her out gently in his hand, so that he could yank her arms and legs off, slowly, agonizing one after the other, but she was so horribly tasting that he threw up, expelling her in a title wave of puke, still alive to be aware of what was being done to her, as the final blow of death came from Misses Glendrich, a college aged teachers aid who he had always thought looked good enough to eat, but couldn't when it came right down to taking her life. He had swallowed her whole and wondered how he would get her out of his asophygus. They were both lying on the grass as he reached down for the tiny little doll of beauty, walked over to the drinking fountain, and washed her clean as she tried to reorient herself. "Don't take it personally, I just forgot everything and felt hungry for you."
"You bastard," she said as she coughed out the water, as it washed the vile liquids off of her.
"Oh," he said viewing her closely in his open palm, "I can tell we are going to have much fun, later."
Suddenly, the tiny cute thing had noticed, off in the distance, oblivious to the nightmare that had occured for over sixty women, was a guy she had cherished greatly. Nobody else did. He was nothing but a bully, the kind who could charm a little carnival prize like her. She waved her tiny arms and called out to him. "Rob! Rob, help me! Rob!"
Normally, he would have said what would be most expected in his situation, with an apathetic, "Go ahead and cry out all you want, he can't hear your tiny voice," but the realization that girls like her worship the bullies that make life harder on everyone else, disenchanted him altogether, sexually, and in any other physical way. Suddenly, he found nothing but hatred for this quickly depreciating tiny fleshbag, an abuse of the word, "Humanity," and looked right at her, with a wicked smile, saying, "I'll send you right to him," as he drop kicked her, soon to look like some little rock he was kicking to someone, while yelling, "Rob, you a--hole, she's coming fast!" It was a direct aim, that he soon readied himself for.
"Whoa!" He looked into his hands at what he caught, and noticed a very mutilated looking version of the girl he jumped through whoops to impress, with his intimidating attributes that were shown off in the chasing away of those known as "Nerds." He felt around her and soon realized that this was her, shrunken down by the infamous students of Mr. Truffle's class, and no other explanation would make sense to him. He jumped over the edge of the balcony to end his life, fell one story, and was greeted by a friend of his who said, "You can't commit suicide that way, that's only one story." Struggling and hurting all over, he picked himself up and noticed the blood splat on the ground, where he had fallen on top of the tiny girl. "Look," his friend added, "you landed on a roach."
By this time, Leonardo was driving home with is catch. At first he had three blonds and one brunette teacher, all at his mercy as he began to demonstrate his power by squeezing one of the blonds until her guts came out at both ends. A friend who was taking a ride home from him had collected six, all brunettes, and was complaining that they come a dime a dozen until he looked at Leonardo at the stop light, tormenting the remaining three, and disgarding the dead one against the windshield of someone who had cut in front of him.
"Hey, you crazy! Don't kill a blond. Please, don't do another one. Here, I'll trade you of these for every one. Just don't squish any."
Leonardo had hit the jackpot, but did not want to cave in so easily, afraid that his friend might suspect that he would have traded one for one, "How about all of your brunettes for these two blonds."
"It's a deal," his friend said as he loosened the grip of his hand, while one of the more fiestly of his dark haired girls, attempted an escape, quickly averted by his foot as it slammed down on her, smashing her into the floor mat. "Here's all of them," he said as he handed Leonardo five of them.
Leonardo hesitated, but said, "Well, I guess I would have done the same thing in that situation."
Leonardo's friend Dane, was madly in love with his two beauties. "Now, I'll get to do what I've always fantasized doing, and all I needed was two blonds."
Leonardo dropped Dane off at his house, where he lived with his folks who were industrious enough to keep themselves away until after seven at night.
Miss Cassimeyer choked, and bravely asked, "What is it you've alway wanted to do with us?" She looked with a stearn expression of a woman who you would never be able to intimidate, even with her life, which was a rare quality in such a day. Tough as nails. "I like my post scratched. I'll keep either one of you on, full time, who does the best job," he said as he held each one of them, in each hand. Miss Cassimeyer was squirming and looking rage filled.
Ms Camarot caressed her tiny hands along his big thumb and said, "One must not be stupid in these situations. I can't win against you, so I'll cooperate. Feel my hands and you will choose me instantly."
Miss Cassimeyer screamed to her, "Don't sell out! He's just trying to scare us." She looked straight into his eyes, "This chicken sh--- hasn't the guts."
"You first then, Cassimeyer," he said as he stretched his strap and dropped her in, screaming and protesting.
She began to scratch for the first few minutes, but before he could even begin to feel something from it, she stopped moving. He flicked her in the back, through the cloth of his pants, a few times, "I'm not paying you to just sit there. That's what your employer would say," and he let out a wicked laugh.
Ms. Camarot, mostly concerned for her own hide, proved her disloyalty to her seasoned colleague and said, "I'll convince you that I can be the better one. I'll be the keeper."
Dane checked his pants and replied.