There’s something about Tony


“…and if my wish came true, there would never be anymore war, or people dying from hunger and people would live together in harmony and peace. The end.”

The young girl put down the piece of paper she had been reading from and smiled. There was some polite clapping from the rest of the class as the teacher, Miss Mitchell, said, “That’s very nice, Amanda. You may sit down now. Who’s next?”

She scanned the students to see who hadn’t gone yet. As her gaze fell on a particularly dumb-looking kid named Tony, who seemed to be considerably older than the other children, she saw that he was looking at something on his desk that he was trying to shield from her. She surmised it was another one of his pornographic magazines that he was always bringing to school.

Not in the mood to deal with it right now, she instead called on him to read his report.

He let out an exasperated sigh, this was clearly putting him out a great deal and dramatically rose from his seat, as if it took a huge effort.

He shuffled his feet and walked to the front of the class with his piece of paper. He started to read in his nasally voice, never looking up at the class.

“What I Wish, by Tony Norton. What I wish is that I could have 146 letters to type my messages in Twitter instead of 140, like everyone else. That way I could be better than everyone else and write more because I would have six more letters than them because I would have 146 and they would only have 140 and that is less than I would have and everybody would be super jealous of me. The end.”

Tony started back towards his seat when Miss Mitchell stopped him in his tracks.

“Excuse me, Tony. Is that really what you would wish for?” she said, wondering if he perhaps hadn’t understood the assignment.


“But you can wish for anything. Anything. You could be rich or famous, you could help the poor or invent a flying car,” she offered.

“No, that’s OK. Can I sit back down?” he asked.

“Yes, you can,” she said. He hurried back to his seat and resumed reading his pornographic magazine.

“Well, it’s almost time for lunch, we’ll get to the rest of the assign–”

The teacher stopped in mid-sentence. She was staring intently at Tony. The other kids turned to him too, but he he didn’t seem to be doing anything unusual, for him, anyway.

“Tony,” she said, “I’m curious, why did you choose the number 146?”

Annoyed, he looked up from his magazine, “I dunno. It’s like more than 140 or something?” His eyes darted from his magazine to the teacher and back again.

“Well yes, but why only six more than everyone else? I mean, if you really wanted to set yourself apart from everybody, why not 300? Why not a thousand? Why not just unlimited?” Raising her voice out of sheer bafflement.

“Cuz that would be stupid,” he said, matter-of-factly.

There were some gasps from the other students as the fire began to gather in Miss Mitchell’s eyes.

“Oh really, Tony? That would be stupid? You’re given the chance to wish for anything in the whole world, real or imaginary and the best you can come up with is six more letters to type out your inane and idiotic ramblings about your pathetic life to a bunch of friends you don’t even have, but that’s stupid, is that right?”

“Yeah,” he said, not understanding why she was so upset.

“You’re stupid, Toby! You’re stupid!” she was now screeching.

“No I’m not. You are,” was his reply.

“That’s it. Outside. Right now!”

He stood up, gathering his things as he did.

“No, leave the magazine!” she ordered him.

He let out a groan and slid his feet back and forth along the floor as he walked to the door, the teacher following him right behind. As they exited, she shut the door.

The door shut and nobody looking, she threw him up against the wall, kissing him passionately.

“Why do you torture me like this?” she asked.

“I dunno,” was all he replied in the same monotone, in between kisses.

She pulled away and ran her hand over his face, caressing it gently and wiping away the pus and blood which had exited one of his many blemishes as they had aggressively made out.

“Do you wish I looked like those girls in the magazines? Is that what it is?” she asked, in a teasing voice.

“Yeah. You should be hotter,” he stated, honestly.

“I’m sowwy,” she was in full-on baby talk mode now. She took two of his fingers and put them in her mouth and began to suck on them, suggestively. As she did so, he let out a loud fart.

“Pull my finger. Huh huh. Get it?” They both laughed at his joke.

She had fully taken her shirt off while she sucked on his fingers, right there in the middle of the hallway, which was now no longer deserted. Vice Principal Anderson had just come around the corner and spotted the two of them cavorting. In horror, Miss Mitchell saw him, spit out Tony’s fingers and began buttoning up her blouse as fast as she could.

“Miss Mitchell!” roared Mr. Anderson, “Just what in the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

“I’m sorry, we were discussing the lesson plan…” she stammered, red-faced and embarrassed, trying to collect herself.

“Miss Mitchell, this is highly inappropriate. Please, go to my office and wait for me there. Son, are you OK?” he asked Tony, as Miss Mitchell ran away.

“Yeah,” said Tony, again, completely unfazed.

Mr. Anderson watched Miss Mitchell turn the corner and then his whole demeanor softened as he put an arm around Tony to console him.

“Did that mean wadie hurt ooh?” he asked Tony, in a baby-talk voice similar to Miss Mitchell’s, as he began to caress his own bosoms through his shirt.

“I farted earlier and I think poop came out,” admitted Tony.

“Oh, you dirty boy! You need a spanking!” said Mr. Anderson, with delight, as he started to undo his tie.

Meanwhile, Tony had taken out his Blackberry and was on Twitter, eager to tell his followers how he had just pooped his pants, when he stopped and frowned.

“What’s wrong” asked, Mr. Anderson with concern, momentarily giving his sore nipples a break from all the vicious pinching he was inflicting on them.

“I’m trying to tell everyone that I pooped, but I ran out of letters,” said Tony, showing Mr. Anderson his phone.

“Awww, I’m sowwy. And you only had six characters too many!”


  1. I can field that one for you, Eric. Well, Auntie, it’s understandable that you wouldn’t get that part, since you are not from that part of the country. In the rural area where this story occurred, it is common for the term “Toby” to be used when referring to a lady’s bachina. So, in essence, T, Miss Mitchell was screaming in frustration at her own arousal. Un fortunate.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s