The Magic School Bus

It's another day at Blair Wood Elementary and there's a nervous vibe in the air; partially because mid-term report cards are just around the corner, but mainly, because the students are afraid of going on another field trip that will likely kill them all.

“It's 5 minutes after 9, maybe she's sick today?” Phoebe points out the time to Gregory in hope that she's right, “She's never late, and right now, she's definitely late.”

“Or AM I?”

Startled, the entire class jumps in their seats when they see Ms. Frizzle standing right behind them, as if she were there the entire time. “Good morning Ms. Frizzle,” the class greets her through the teeth of their forced smiles.

“I hope everyone enjoyed yesterdays trip to the Jurassic period!”, she looks at Molly, “What was your favorite part of the trip?”

The question prompts Molly to have a nervous flash back of the day's terrifying events. She tries to contain her shaking as memories of screaming, running, and scrambling for their lives race through her head. Tyrannosaurus to her left, Velocy Raptor to her right, they were running, always running… and of course, what happened to Carlos… oh the humanity…. “CARLOOOOOS!!!”

Molly begins to weep into her hands.

“Oh Molly, it sounds like you didn't quite enjoy yourself. And I believe we all agreed to NEVER mention Carlos ever again. You're not being a debby-downer are you? You know how I feel about debby-downers.” Ms. Frizzle says with a piercing look in her eye.

Molly immediately wipes her tears and throws a smile back on her face, “oh no no Ms. Frizzle! These are tears of…. Tears of joy! Ha ha.” If the students learned anything this year, it was to NOT upset Ms. Frizzle, and nothing upsets Ms. Frizzle more than a lack of enthusiasm.

“Then tell me Molly, if you really had that much fun, what was your favorite part?”

Molly pauses for a moment, “Uhhh…. The screaming?”

Ms. Frizzle glares at Molly in silence for an entire minute, then nods her head in approval, “Very good.” The class exhales in relief.

A smile returns to Ms. Frizzles face, “Now class, we've seen dinosaurs, tornadoes, shrunk ourselves as prey to insect wildlife; the list goes on. But there is one place we haven't yet gone, and if anyone guesses correctly, we might just be in for a treat! I'll give you all a hint, it's the opposite of 'Inner Space' ”

Ralph raises his hand, “Outer Space?”

Ms. Frizzles clasps her hands together, “You're right!”

The entire class glares angrily at Ralph. Mumbles of whispered “shut the fuck up Ralph” echoes through the room. Ralph apologetically shrinks into his seat, but it's too late. Ms. Frizzle has already begun to mumble dark verses of old latin. Her eyes roll to the back of her head and the room begins to go dark as she ceremoniously uses her magic to summon the School Bus.

The entire class trembles in there seats, but this time, Gregory stands up. “No! Nuh uh! Nope! Not gonna happen. I'm not going into space!”

Ms. Frizzle stops her chanting and gives her attention to Gregory, “Now now Gregory, where did our enthusiasm for science go?”

“Okay bitch, first of all, I'm going to say it! It has to be said,” Gregory ignores the fearful looks given from his classmates, “My 'ENTHUSIASM' for science died when I found out that magic exists! Freakin magic! Who cares how the hell 'the water cycle' works if I know a freakin MAGICAL SCHOOL BUS exists! Why aren’t we trying to learn more about the bus?!”

“Oh Gregory, I suggest you..”

“Not done yet bitch!” Gregory cuts her off, “And it's clear to me that you've known and used this magic for quite some time. So when, may I ask, were you going to try and use it to better the world?! Which brings me to my next question! Time Travel obviously exists because I was almost eaten twice by a freakin dinosaur! Why don't we go back in time and give someone the cure for small pox before the outbreak? Why don't we go back and throw some cold water on Hitler's parents before they decide to have sex?!”

Gregory takes a breath… and continues, “And what ever happened to the 'permission note'? It's school policy to get permission from the parents for field trips, ESPECIALLY when the field trip is some crazy ass death adventure! You think Carlos's parents would have signed a permission slip for him to get his di..”

Ralph interrupts, “We're not suppose to talk about what happened to Carl…”

“Shut the fuck up Ralph!”

Throughout Gregory's entire rant, Ms. Frizzle stands in place with an eerie demeanor, that is, until she points her finger at Ralph and yells, “FACTUS PECUS DE FRIGIDUS SANGUIS!”

The transformation was almost instant, and if you weren't paying attention, you'd think he disappeared. But he was there. On the floor. As a lizard.

Ms. Frizzle walks over and picks Gregory up from the floor, “I shall call you…. Liz!”

 

 

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Tonight, we dine in hell!

I'm always perplexed by the show “Hell's Kitchen”. As far as reality-shows go, I think it's quite entertaining, but what confuses me is the restaurant “Hell's Kitchen” within the show itself. Before the dinner service, you get footage of lambourghinis, limosines, and other expensive vehicles pulling up to the restaurant's valet. EVERY dinner service is a full house comprised of customers that look quite rich and well-off– basically, people with the means to eat wherever the hell they want. WHO THE HELL ARE THESE PEOPLE AND WHY DO THEY CONTINUE TO EAT THERE?! Do they not understand what this show is about? 9 years it's been on television and it's no secret what these patrons are to expect for their dining experience.
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Near the outskirts of La Brea Avenue- one of the more sheik and classy dwellings of Los Angeles- Lester Cummings and his wife Mandy Cummings decide where they wish to dine for the night. Being co-marital owners of the city's most successful Pool and Hot Tub retail outlet “Wet Cummings”, money and reservation times are no object or hinderance to them at all. The city's culinary offerings are their oyster.

Mandy: Lester dear, what ever shall we eat for dinner tonight? I'm famished.

Lester: Well, I've been really craving a Beef Wellington.

Mandy: Oh! Why don't we dine at The Royce, I hear their chef is renowned!

Lester: No. I don't want my food cooked by a chef.

Mandy: … oh, well who would you like it cooked by then?

Lester: I want my food cooked by an ex-convict or preferably a crack addicted single teen mother. The key is that they have no culinary experience at all.

Mandy: Oh, does someone like that cook a beef wellington particularly well?

Lester: No, the idea is that we wait for about an hour before our order finally arrives, and then, we'll see it is so poorly cooked that we'll have to send it back.

Mandy: Okay. So, we're looking for somewhere with good service then?

Lester: No. When I send my order back and complain about the wellington, I want to be yelled at by the owner… REALLY yelled at… Humiliated even.. Preferably by someone with a crass english accent who's not afraid to swear around children.

Mandy: Decor important to you?

Lester: I'm glad you asked. I want the front of the restaurant to feel inviting. I'm thinking; ominous red glowing lights. Oh, and I want bursts of flames that spontaneously combust right at the door's entrance, thus, making the door both the fire exit and fire hazard at the same time.

There is a moment of silence between the two before they're both struck by the same idea. They look into each other's eyes and simultaneously yell in a fit of joy:

Mandy/Lester: HELL'S KITCHEN!

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