"You know, I'm really lowering my standards even considering sitting with you losers. You're bottom-feeders.. why am I wasting my time with this?"

Turning around, you have enough time to take a single halting step in the direction of the jock table before feeling a vice-like grip take hold of the waistband of your pants. Befuddled, you wriggle around like a fish out of water trying to figure out what's going on.

It appears that the fat kid at the nerd table is in the process of giving you a highly uncomfortable wedgie. Time slows down as you feel pain building gradually, your nether regions twisting in ways they were never designed to move. You try to fight back, but find that your strength has been sapped by the overweight kid you obviously underestimated. Sweat burgeons on your forehead as you bite your lip, trying not to scream in agony.

I'm never going to have children at this rate, you think to yourself.

The skinny kid with the glasses stands up slowly, glances at you over the rim of his glasses, and asks:

"What did you just say?"

Your reply:

RATE THIS BRANCH!