The Bad Boys' Soft Boys' Lonely Hearts Club - The Full Package

The End ~ Part 1

I'm gonna skip the foreplay here and go straight to the climax, and believe me, you ain't missing much. Like a virgin at prom, we stumble our way through layers in a cramped space, only to be mediocre and unsatisfactory in every considerable way.

And it all boils down to one simple question: What does your club do?

Said question comes from Superintendent Patel, tapping his pen on a piece of paper while sitting behind a plastic table, with Strickland, Dickwad and Lee flanking him, all staring at us four under the big tent.

A fair question, and one any other club should be able to answer in a sentence or less. But we are not any club. We are just a glorified social club for antisocial people. We have no bigger objective other than hanging out and not doing crimes, or get into trouble. Honestly, we can hire a babysitter and it would be just about as effective. The point is, there is no external need for our club to exist, and we know it. We serve no bigger purpose for the school ecosystem, nor do we bring prestige and fame, like a sports club. It's just four dudes, helping each other be better, and nothing more. At this point, we only need the club status because school policy dictates we be in one, and that Hayden needs to be in a club to keep his scholarship.

Our plight might be compromised if Brayden or Okayden intervene, because duh. Brayden might tell them all to suck his shiitake mushroom, and Okayden might say something about feet. I, on the other hand, feel like this whole affair was Hayden's idea in the first place, and so, we collectively decided to let Hayden speak for all of us while we stand there, doing hot boy shit, like slightly flexing and smirking.

Wait, I've been monologuing this whole time, haven't I? Did Hayden answer the question? Given how they are staring at us in confusion, I think he hasn't. Maybe he's monologuing as well. To be fair, I would think long and hard before answering that question as well.

I bump him with my shoulder, which barely moves that beautiful hunk of marble made man. "Psst, babe, answer the nice man's question."

Hayden shakes slightly, snapping out of his monologue, before taking a deep breath. "Well, eh, yes, quite. Sorry, could you repeat the question?"

Superintendent Patel raises an eyebrow, leaning over the table. "Of course, Mr. Wilson. What does your club do? What is it about? What are your usual club activities?"

Hayden is a hulk of a man. A huge boy. A big chungus, if you will. But now, he looks like a frail deer about to have his mother hunted down in front of him. So small and shivering, thumbs twiddling, arms heavy, mama's ragu. The entire future of the club is on his shoulders, and I believe he's now realizing the scope of it all. I call that "The Protagonist's Folly," where a protagonist takes the onus of saving the world without having an actual clue on how to do it, or if it can be done in the first place.

Sadly for Hayden, he's not the protagonist of this story, and doesn't have the plot armor I have.

"Well, you see, your honor," says Hayden between mumbles and whispers like a TikTok rapper.

"I'm not a judge, Mr. Wilson," interrupts the superintendent, who I think has the superpower to be a complete sourpuss.

"Of course, your majesty," says Hayden with a bow. "Our club, eh-"

"The Bad Boys' Soft Boys' Lonely Hearts Club," says the superintendent, venom in his words, as if mocking the objectively dumb name. "And just call me sir, if you must."

"Yes, that one," says Hayden. Beads of sweat fall down his forehead, raining down on the ants below. A small apocalypse is happening at his feet, and none's the wiser. Maybe we are like that, ants at the feet of gods who have affairs beyond our comprehension. "We, eh, we are a support group."