Assassination of a High School President

Do you wanna know the truth about high school?

You've got to break it down into its elements.

Unfortunately, at St. Donovan's,

the periodic table is more crooked than a case of scoliosis.

But just give me the chance,

and I'll set it all straight.

Case in point... Spanish homework.

"Dame un batido de esperma"...

does not mean, "Take me to the airport."

It means, "Give me a sperm milk shake."

And 22 kids gave that as an answer in Spanish 3 last week.

I'm not sure about the milk shake,

but somebody's sure feeding us something sticky.

Every clique on campus is copying the same damn homework...

burn-outs, pretty boys, drama dorks, jocks, debaters, player haters,

you name it.

Oh, it's big, all right,

and I'm on it like pink rubber bands on your little sister's braces.

The name's Bobby Funke. I write for the paper.

Wait. Wait a second. Who?

- Bob-Bobby Funke. I write for the paper. - No, you don't.

I'm Tad Goltz, and I write for the paper. You don't write for shit.

Wait. Aren't you the freshman they tied to the snowman penis?

Sophomore.

Bobby, you can't expect us to give you a story like this...

when's there's nothing written and there's hardly proof.

Look, Clara, I'm the best writer you've got. Tell me differently.

You've never finished an article.

Well, then do you wanna go to homecoming with me?

No.

Clara Diaz, editor in chief and one tough cookie.

All I wanted was a taste.

Friedrich Nietzsche said, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

Bobby. But 10 bucks says Nietzsche never got a swirly.

Can't talk right now, Clara.

I feel really bad about what happened.

I know you're going for that Northwestern program, and I have an assignment for you.

Take you to homecoming? Heard you were going with Tad.

- You know what Tad's short for, right? - Theodore?

No. Vagina.

Look it up.

I want you to write a story on the student body president.

- Really? - Really.

Just get it on paper this time, okay?

Okay.

Finally, my big break.

It was just the story I needed...

to get into the Northwestern summerjournalism program.

Instead of delivering papers this summer,

I'd be well on my way to writing for them.

Give me a piece of loose-leaf.

Come on. Give me a piece of loose-leaf.

Give me a pen.

What happened to the last pen I gave you?

Give me a pen, Funky. Give me a pen.

Take it.

Everybody paid attention...

when Francesca Fachini walked into a classroom.

She was a National Merit scholar, the varsity soccer captain...

and the president's girlfriend.

I'd interview her for the story...

just as soon as I grew some testicles.

Senor Funky.

What?

I'm... fine. How are you?

The president was a busy man, an important man,

and he was about to give me the story of my high school career.

Would you please state your name, year and social security number?

Paul Moore. I'm a senior.

I'm not gonna give you my soc.

Aren't you the freshman they tied to the snowman penis?

Sophomore.

As president, how would you say you're gonna handle...

the recent drop in A.C.T. And S.A.T. Scores?

Well, what would you have me do about it?

Seriously, you've seen me on the boards.

I'll do whatever it takes to get it done,

and that's a Paul Moore promise...

to you, to St. Donovan's, to Paul Moore.

- You know what I'm talking about? - Mi amor.

Con regalo.

Mi Amor.

Buenos días, Senor Funky.

After 30 minutes in the shower, one thing was clear.

Paul was all length and no depth.

He didn't give you a whole lot.

He didn't give you a whole lot.

How could he not give you a whole lot? People love him.

He's like fucking J.F.K. He's smart. He's charismatic. He's good-looking.

He's a tenacious athlete.

I'm sorry, Tad. I didn't realize you felt that way about him.

It's sad.

Ongatumamwe with the rebound. The man from Sudan.

Come on! Call that!

That's a time-out. Friars.

Bring it in. Bring it in.

What's going on out there, guys?

Huh? You guys look like a dump that I took last Thanksgiving.

- What's the matter, Pauley? - I don't know, Coach. I'm not feeling it.

You got to feel it, son. You got to feel the flow and go. You understand?

Son, you feel, flow, go, hoop, win. Pauley, ball game.

No one understands why you got the Moore story instead of Tad Goltz.

I'm sure there's a lot you don't understand, Tad.

Oh, yeah? Well, I understand art when I see it.

Marlon Piazza, Bobby Funke.

I write for the paper. I'm doing a piece on Paul Moore.

- I was wondering... - Piss off, dork.

Those gentle giants were the pillars...

of St. Donovan's student council.

Marlon Piazza, vice president and Francesca's step-brother.

Matt Mullen, head hall monitor and noted date rapist.

Marty Mullen, class secretary and former child underwear model.

Oh, God. Oh, God. You hear that pop?

- There was no pop. - Can we give Mr. Moore some room, please?

- Watch out. - You all right, Paul?

- Should we get him up? - Let's get him up.

Come on, Paul. Snap it up. Snap it up!

The basketball game wasn't all we lost that night.

Like Nixon's men at Watergate,

a thief crept in and stole our innocence.

What kind of f'in' a-hole would do something like this, Nancy?

- I don't know, sir. Should I call the police? - No.

Bring me the list.

Whenever trouble came to St. Donovan's,

the principal rounded up the same ol' delinquents.

But that dark morning, there was one new name on the list.

- Bobby Funky? - Actually, it's pronounced "Funk."

Principal's office, now.

It feels nice in here.

My ass itches.

Who is this guy?

- What's his name? - Bobby Funky.

- Franky? - Funky.

- Looks like a little gentleman. - He does? Look at him.

- Looks like a stockbroker. - He's so little. Funky.

Don't look at me.

What happened to your face, man?

Look at it. It's like you have a culo on your face.

Got a culo.

Did you ever get a man on your back?

Breathing hard?

Riding you like a horse?

No?

I assume you all know why you're here.

Let me guess.

You finally wanna start that boy band you've been dreaming about.

Landis, do I come down to the strip club where you work...

and knock the dick out of your mouth?

Against the wall. You're late.

Actually, um...

I'm not entirely certain why I'm here, sir.

Really? It's fascinating.

- This is why you're here. This. - That's sick.

You've got a gum problem that's rapidly turning into an attitude problem.

That's why you're here.

I don't like gum.

I don't like your snooping around.

You are all filth.

Your parents have obviously spoiled you...

or, in your case, possibly abused you a little too much.

Now, one of you little vermin...

broke into this office and stole the S.A.T.'s last night.

Of this I am certain.

I beg you, I beseech you do not come forward...

because I will have the pleasure of tracking you down,

much the same way that I tracked down that camel-humping ammunitions envoy...

two clicks east of Tigris,

the birthplace of civilization.

Mr. Cipriato.

- Do you know the arabic word "laa hriiq"? - No.

It means, "Don't shoot. Don't shoot."

You may wanna remember that.

Dismissed.

Hey, Francesca.

Hey, Funky.

So, um, what are you doing in the men's room?

Well, I thought I might find a man in here.

Are you a man, Funky?

I'm just screwing with you.

I just need your help.

With what?

Whoever stole the S.A.T.'s, I need you to find them and get them back.

I aced that thing. I know it. I was just in a zone.

- Do you know what "mastication" means? - No.

Me neither, but in that moment, I did.

It was perfect.

I need you to find those tests.

Why me?

I don't know. I've got a feeling about you, Funky.

This stuff's right up your alley.

So do you have any idea of who might have taken the S.A.T.'s?

We took the S.A.T.'s?

I... I didn't. I didn't.

- Did you take them? - No, I didn't take them.

Everyone was in their classrooms.

That's what all the commotion was about.

Okay, where were you last night?

That's where I was last night.

Hey, Funky.

Funky, want a gum ball?