High School Page #8

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Yes.

F***!

Girls:
Whoa! Hey!

Just so you know,

I have surveillance footage

being brought over here right now,

footage that caught you and all

your demonic acts in plain view...

you and our valedictorian,

Mr. Burke.

Henry has nothing to do with this.

So, you admit that you did?

Normally, discipline

is a passive exercise for me.

On rare occasion

I do relish it.

I must admit that

when you go down, and...

Believe me, you will

go down hard for this,

I will consider it

one of the highlights

of my career... nay, my life.

Oh, no, helicopters.

What? What is he doing?

What's wrong with that kid?

I'll admit I'm no gem

of a student,

and for whatever stress I've put

my teachers through over the years,

I'm genuinely sorry,

but there's something worse

than a kid who breaks the rules,

fucks around, tokes down

on a bit of hakeem marijuolajuwon

now and again.

A middle-aged pimp

who pretends to be the judge

of all that is right

and good in the world.

What happened to you?

Did you fail miserably

somewhere along the lines

as a husband?

A parent?

You think that if you purify

your Morgan High

Kingdom of Nastiness,

you somehow purify yourself?

Is that it?

Well, the answer is...

no.

What the sh*t?!

What are you doing?

Get... get out of the van!

- What?

- Get out of my fuckir van!

You broke the law,

you dosed the entire faculty

and student body

with hazardous amounts of THC,

and you are going

to jail, Breaux,

where you belong.

Oh, hell...

What the sh*t?

You get the f*** out of my van!

Whoa! F***!

Oh, f***! Oh!

Oh, piss is on me!

My God, he is good.

Checkmate, Navaline.

Checkmate.

You should see

your face right now.

You look like my cat,

Dolly,

just as we pierced her abscess

sans nitrous oxide.

You prick.

Tick, tick, tick.

Are the police here,

God damn it?

They're on their way.

Time seems to be moving

very slowly.

Jesus f***ing Christ.

Aw, hell, no.

- What?

- What?

- What?

- What?

Dr. Gordon:

Wha...

Tameka, have any more

of that coffee?

Oh, yeah, I should score

some of that.

You already drank

all the coffee, sir.

Damn!

- Going to a Huey Lewis concert?

- Why? Is he on tour again?

Entrez-vous.

Sorry about the delay.

Something weird happened

to the ray drive.

Luckily, though, I was able

to make a back-up

before everything crashed.

Perfect.

Go on, show it to us.

If a picture is won'th 1,000 words,

then this footage should be

won'th 1,000 pictures,

which would equal

a million... words.

Uh, Tameka,

bring the Johnson file.

- Wait, this isn't...

- Dr. Gordon on TV: Shut the door.

- Where would you like it?

- The filing cabinet, please.

- Malcolm, what's going on around here?

- I'll show you where I'd like it.

- What is... what... stop it!

- Sweetie, it's all right.

Dr. Gordon, get off!

That's my underwear, Dr. Gordon.

- What are you doing?

- Stupid elastic. God damn it.

- Get... get off of me!

- Daddy wants some chocolate!

Motherf***er,

this ain't "Monster's Ball!"

- Dr. Gordon, get off! Get off!

- Talk to me, baby!

I don't understand the... I...

- This is preposterous!

- Back up!

You want your nuts stapled together?

Is that what you want?

- No, no.

- What is wrong with you? What the f***?

- I'm... I'm...

- Motherf***er, you ain't Billy Bob

- just 'cause you have a porn stash.

- What?

- Never do that... never do that again.

- I promise I won't, Tameka.

You don't understand.

My wife has crabs.

- Ooh.

- I can't help it. I'm...

You two, you can go now.

Wait! I've still got your piss.

I've got your pissss.

If there's so much

as an errant molecule,

you will have to spend

the rest of your lives

sans a high school diploma.

That's assuming

inculpatory facts not in evidence.

Reveal your identity, sir.

- Sh*t, it's a trap.

- What?

The police put a transmitter

in my teeth.

I'm Edward Esquire,

cheese-dick.

And it violates

"Katz v United States," 1964,

when the Supreme Court

set the standards

for reasonable

expectations of privacy.

Certainly, one could argue

that piss is highly private.

Furthermore,

any statements by you

regarding these

two little a**holes

won't stand up

in court because

you're blind off your gourd on

really high-caliber mari-hoo-hoo, bro.

Drug test his ass, man.

Would you agree to submit

to a drug test, sir?

- L...

- For the record,

he made it very clear

he didn't have any of the brownies.

Wha... honey-pie.

Would you agree

to kiss my hairy sack?

If you wanna sue this prick

for workplace sexual harassment

or, uh, score a chronic

sack of doobies,

just, you know, page me.

Uh, Mr. Esquire?

Can I have a card?

Did he molest you, too?

- In my mind.

- That's nasty, dude.

Thanks.

Dr. Gordon, what do you have

to say to the parents outside?

My... my balls feel all tingly.

Hi, son.

- Hi.

- F*** you.

Oh, how pleasant.

transporting back to station.

Take it easy!

Oh, I don't like that.

My colon.

Oh, my spastic colon!

Hey, you bastards!

We should, uh, you know,

kick it again sometime.

Come on, man.

- Be somebody.

- Oh.

Be somebody.

- Yeah, that's what I said.

- No, no.

- Be somebody.

- Be somebody.

- Be somebody.

- Got to... got to be somebody.

Twing, twing.

Weed done finally kicked in, man.

Yo, that's some

four-dimensional sh*t.

Where the f***

is the administration office?

Are you f***ing with me?

- What?

- What?

Beverage, beverage.

Beverage, beverage.

Class dismissed.

Cut.

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