Tale #83: After-School Special (Ed)

Tale #83: After-School Special (Ed) (Content Tags: Ridiculous absurdism, surreal, sabotage, drugging, drug usage, messy diapers, humiliation, severe intelligence loss, no happy ending) Don't do drugs. Winners don't do drugs. Just say no. Say nope to dope. You're not you when you're high. This is your brain on drugs. From as early as he could even conceptualize what a 'drug' was supposed to be, he'd been propagandized by school to avoid them. Whether it was McGruff the Crime Dog or the DARE program, or even that wretched 'Cartoon All-Stars to the Rescue', every authority figure had tried to steer him clear of them. Ironically, these measures would appear to have an opposite effect. These programs themselves unintentionally glamorized drug use as being cool, and even if they hadn't, what teen would go his entire life without trying a little puff? It wasn't as if he yearned to experience the 'hard stuff' or anything like that, he just wanted to fit in and see what expanding his mind felt like. What was the harm in a little weed? How could he have possibly foreseen the series of events that would lead him to the point he was now at? How had 'sticky icky' gone from being a good thing to being something repugnant? Why was it that the only 'skunky' thing was now taped around his waist? Why hadn't he listened to the grownups and been a respectable young man? It was three months ago that this had started. Douglass was a fairly typical fourteen year old; he'd cast away the infancy of middle school and found himself a niche in ninth grade that he quite liked: the stoners. He'd already had the shaggy hair and cool demeanor for it, even before he'd ever picked up the wacky-tobaccy; it was a seamless fit for him, but gradually he'd feel the pressure of his peers to cement his status as one of them. He could bleed Rasta colors, wear Sublime shirts, and listen to 'The Alchemist' by Witchcraft, but that only made him a poser. Douglass was nervous about the idea, though he also found it rather alluring. He'd never considered that he might actually do a marijuana; after years of hearing how evil the devil's lettuce was by the school, by the church, by his parents, it would be more obvious that he'd get the message and stay away. Until the reefer was presented to him; wrapped up like a stogie and betwixt the stubby fingers of his long-haired amigo, with the implicit idea being that Douglass would partake. It was the seminal moment that would decide which path that Douglass would take: would he be a righteous moral crusader and lecture his friends on the evils of smoking drugs? Or would he succumb to peer pressure and become a degenerate by blowing some fat clouds of that dank? The devil must have been on his shoulder that day, steering his arm to take the marijuana cigarette up to his lips; he could have at least saved some of his sanctity by not inhaling, but he allowed that sinful smoke to settle in his immaculate lungs. That was game over for Douglass. No longer would the teen be a polite churchgoing lad, but he'd become a rude, rebellious delinquent that listened to too much metal and talked back to his parents! The change was precipitous, and while his parents were suspicious of his behavior, they didn't yet know the grave details of their son's degeneration into scum. He started to break curfew, he slacked on his grades, he stole money from his sister's piggy bank, he vandalized a park bench with a crude drawing of a dick, he talked about the merits of communism, he looked up boobies on the internet, he talked about how funny Seth Rogen was... Red flag after red flag, and still his parents were too unaware of the signs to intervene! Acting up in class one time too many would get him sent to the counselor's office to hash things out; Douglass's smartass remarks couldn't get him out of this one, and if anything, they'd only put him in hotter water than he was already submerged in. No one took the anti-drug protocols more seriously than Killian Joy; the woman had made it a personal mission to snuff out drug use among the student populace. There were no limits to how far she would go to save a child from their own self-destructive path, even if that meant destroying them herself. She could see the warning signs flashing all over Douglass; she could see that intervention was necessary! So the woman brought out all of her material to lecture the troubled youth with, setting it all before his reddened eyes and explaining that he was on the fast train to demise if he didn't repent from his ways. Douglass was less than receptive and even laughed a few times during her informative speech; the claws of the chronic were too dug in now, he'd become an unrepentant pothead! It would only be a matter of time before he was robbing liquor stores and murder-mugging on the streets to fuel his addiction; in a year from now, he'd probably be shooting up marijuanas directly into his veins and going on a reefer-rampage across town. It was sad to see, but she had to weigh consequences of how she should handle the disgusting delinquent. She couldn't just wait for him to snap after taking bong-hits, she needed to be more proactive in declawing him. Luckily, she had just the tool in her arsenal! One of the ninth grade students was actually an informant of sorts for her; it was a boy that had ingrained himself with the trash, so that he could snitch on the ones who were up to no good. This boy would be instrumental in handling her little Douglass problem; she simply had to give him a little additive to lace Douglass's dope with, and then Doug would be rendered too incompetent to continue on his degenerate ways. Pot was already going to fry his brain, so it wasn't as if she was changing that particular outcome; she was just controlling the variables before anything could happen. She was making sure that he'd get put somewhere where he couldn't cause any collateral damage or corrupt anyone else. It was the best course of action, even if seemingly extreme in nature. The additive wouldn't make for an immediate impact on the boy's mind. It would take repeated use over a somewhat lengthy period. That's why she'd had her little helper go and spike the entirety of Douglass's stash. Little by little, Douglass would be doing damage to his own brain by smoking; his dope was going to turn him into a dope of the drooling variety. The change could be seen as the weeks went on. Douglass first became more aloof and absentminded, and then he found himself having a hard time with remembering basic things. A couple of weeks in and he was wetting the bed, another couple and he pissed his pants at school. He already had been academically disengaged, but he was seeming increasingly intimidated by the concepts instead. The pants wetting became frequent enough that he got put into disposable briefs, and then he found himself sharting himself a few times a week too. What made for a vicious cycle was the fact that as Douglass degraded, he became more stressed, and thus he partook more in his vile addiction to the forbidden herb. His idiocy accelerated with every exhale. It'd gotten to the point that a conference with his parents was required. The two seemed totally oblivious to the deviancy that their son had become entrenched in, but they could see that he was different and his grades had been going through a precipitous slump. Ms. Joy was direct in her own analysis. She insisted their son was probably on the weed, and that her theory accounted for the brain cells that were fleeing his head like rats on a sinking ship. She gave them pamphlets on the costly effects that such a dangerous narcotic had on a young mind and offered her condolences in what destruction had already occurred. The woman didn't do any of this with the hope that the parents would do anything helpful; if they'd been this clueless already, then they wouldn't be able to stop Douglass from going any further. She'd talked to them merely to set the stage for the inevitable finale that was approaching. Once Douglass reached the end of his stash, he'd become irreparably broken. Douglass had been smoking with the rest of his delinquent friends when he lost their support. They'd started to notice how dimwitted he'd become over the last month, and being stoned out of his gourd couldn't account for all of it. The clincher was what happened during their final smoke session together, when the teen had crossed the line of decency. He farted badly, but this time it didn't result in him sharting himself. No, there was no streak of brown in the back of his disposable briefs; this time, he shit himself. He shit himself *badly*. Douglass had leaned forward after exhaling a big rip, and then he'd ripped that fart, and the rest of the group had watched as the back of his jeans visibly puffed out as they got loaded with his own poop. The teen even drooled down his chin while he helplessly filled his seat with a payload of solid logs. None of them wanted anything to do with him after that. The sudden sense of isolation only made Douglass want to smoke more, and soon he was shitting his pants every single day. He would only have one more meeting with Ms. Joy before the end of the road. Douglass was failing his classes and his accidents seemed out of control; thus the woman was tasked with informing him that he was dangling precariously over the edge of being academically reassigned. If he couldn't show some improvements, then he'd be on the fast-track to the slow class. The woman made it easy for him with an ultimatum that even a dimwitted stoner like him could understand: he had to give up the dope or become one. Stop doing drugs or be sent to special ed. Poetically, while he looked to be mulling it over in that tapioca he called a brain, the woman could smell that he'd had a bowel movement in his pants. Douglass didn't seem perturbed or even aware, so Ms. Joy didn't address it, merely smiling at the fruit of her labor. Ultimately, the decision he made would be evident in the next week. Douglass didn't heed her final warning and had resolved to finish the tainted stash of weed he had in a jar in his room. That final smoke session would push him right over the edge into being just as idiotic as he deserved to be. As had been threatened, he was moved to the special ed class with no chance of 'parole' and his disposable briefs were switched out for some bulky adult diapers. No longer did he wear 'Sublime' shirts, but instead he wore a jumbo-sized drool bib, and he made good use of it. Worst of all? Ms. Joy had gotten his parents' permission to make him into her own waddling, babbling PSA! The next time the school district was to go out to the elementary schools to warn them about drugs, Douglass was taken as a prime example to show off. He got led in on a harness, picking his nose and drooling down his chest. His immense diaper wasn't covered at all, since it was one of the most striking details about him. He was introduced as 'Douglass the Dope-Fiend', and Ms. Joy solemnly told the story about how he'd smoked so much marijuana that it'd permanently destroyed his brain. At some point during her presentation, for which Douglass barely seemed cognizant of, he began to bend his knees. His change in posture was not lost on the young eyes that were tracking him, but the grade-schoolers, who were already shocked by the sight of a teenager in a diaper, couldn't have possibly expected what would come next. He tightened his fists and bit his lip, while his glazed eyes rolled back and his stance stiffened. **BRRRAAAAAAP!** The speech being given by Ms. Joy was suddenly interrupted by the sloppy sound of her dope-head's wildly uncontrollable flatulence. Some kids in the audience began to laugh at the outburst, but Ms. Joy didn't want them to think this was funny, she wanted to make them fear the evil that was marijuana usage! "As you can see, Douglass here can no longer control when he poops. Smoking dope has destroyed the part of his brain that allows him to use the toilet like any of you would. Isn't that right, Douglass?" She might as well not addressed him at all, because Doug wasn't paying attention to anything except for the unyielding desire to push on his bowels. Instead of a verbal response, all the woman would get was a drooly grunt and another bubbling fart. "Douglass has to wear diapers now, for the rest of his life. He has to be in the 'special' class because of the choice he made to use drugs. His brain has been sent back to infancy and he won't be able to recover from it." The teen being talked about let out another noisy grunt, "Nnggghh! P-PoOoPiE!" The back of his diaper suddenly tented out with a large bulge, and simultaneously a snot bubble popped in his nostril and made more of a slobbish mess of his face. Cries of shock and disgust came from the young onlookers, and that was hardly quashed by Douglass getting down lower to the ground to continue. His knuckles touched the ground, and his posture looked more like a monkey than a man. The crackling that came from his diaper was emphasized by each new lump that loudly formed; his tongue lolled out of his mouth and coated his chin in yet another layer of mindless slobber. The woman speaking smiled, thinking that she couldn't have asked for a better way to scare these kids away from weed. "This is your brain on drugs. Any questions?"