“Ooh, let me see,” you say. And as soon as you put your eyes to the peep hole, Coach Johnson rounds the corner and yells, “What are you boys doing over there.”
The four of you try to play dumb, but Coach Johnson sees the hole, takes a quick look, and drags all of you to the principal’s office. Minutes later an FBI officer is in your face, screaming about viewing underage girls.
“Technically, some of those girls are older than us,” you say.
“Doesn’t matter,” he says. “You are now a sex-offender, and will have to register as such whenever you change addresses.”
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To avoid the embarrassment of registering as a sex-offender after every move, you live with your parents until you die of loneliness at the age of forty four.
The End
1 comments:
Dang it!
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