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Jimmy Fallon Meets Batman
Dale Arten was not the most popular boy in the ninth grade. He was not the most handsome, nor was he the most athletic. But he was smarter than most people gave him credit for, and he was the funniest guy in the ninth grade. And, most importantly, he was my best friend.
Dale Arten had shaggy brown hair that he never washed, the most messed up teeth, a huge, bumpy nose, and was thin like a grasshopper’s legs. But the most noticeable feature about Dale was his eyes, he had stunning, golden eyes. They were odd, in a good way, and were able to take your breath away.
Collin Collins and Reecie Edgar were the most popular boy and girl in the ninth grade. Every girl swooned when Collin Collins walked by, every boy gasped when Reecie Edgar walked by. Except for Dale and I. When Collin Collins walked by we made cat calls. And when Reecie Edgar walked by? Dale’d faint in my arms. We had a pretty good system going, our days were filled with talk show hosts impressions, backwards knock knock jokes, random questions, stereotypical jokes, making fun of political figures, faking heart attacks, and our specialty - being drunk guys talking about they’re cats. Nights? Well they were filled with tearful phone calls, screaming and a whole lot of other stuff.
Days were our prime rib, we were doing one of our classics ‘Jimmy Fallon meets Batman’ (he was Jimmy Fallon, I was Batman)
“So what do you think qualifies you for this job?”
“Well…I’m Batman!” I said in my horrid Batman impression.
“But a bat is a bat and a man is a man, you can’t be a bat and a man!”
“I can shoot bats from my fingers that makes me Batman!”
“I can shoot whales from my fingers does that make me Whaleman?”
“No, that makes you a better Aquaman!”
“Presenting,” Dale says.
“Batman and The Better Aquaman!” We say at the same time, striking awkward poses.
Laughter arises from the crowd that has gathered around us, I smooth my leather jacket.
“We’ll be here all week,” I pause, “and for another three years!”
“Whoo high school!” Dale says. I jump from the cafeteria table, and push back my dark hair, the crowd parts for me.
“High school sucks!” I then hear the words that will haunt me forever.
“Ash Green to the principal’s office, Ash Green to the principal’s office.” The P.A system interrupted our bit.
“It wasn’t me. I swear I didn’t do it,” I yell “unless it was the thing I did.”
“Haha, good luck sucker,” Dale says.
“Well I’m pretty sure I haven’t broken any laws in the past three weeks, so yeah, I’m screwed.” I throw my head back and mentally scream.
On the way to principal’s office I stop in the bathroom and look at my reflection. I’m not ugly. Well, I wasn’t ugly, the giant scar across my jaw kind of ruins that but, it is what it is.
“It is what it is,” is what I say after the principal tells me the news."I guess high school really does suck."