It is not really rocket science unless there has been at least one unplanned explosion.
It is not really rocket science unless there has been at least one rapid unscheduled disassembly. -- RecklessPrudence
Katie could easily learn to hate the summer monthly T-Shirt Days. Hackmeyer kept ogling her boobs. Well. Where something boob-like was still forming. She was fifteen, and the last time she'd been forced to go along with T-Shirt Day, she wore her age with the subtitle, Don't even think about it. Which had earned her a talking-to by the Dean because Hackmeyer had complained.
Today's Tee had a more witty quote. It's not really rocket science unless there's been at least one unplanned explosion. She got to wear it for a sum total of five hours before the Dean saw fit to lecture her about the 'inappropriate language'. She politely asked about the fellow she'd seen with the Show me your melons T-Shirt and got promptly seen out of the office.
Gotta love the Boys Club. There were no other options.
Still, she knew some art nerds who were only too glad to use her as a performance piece. Especially since Katie paid for all the blank Tees they were printing up for her. After half an hour and a little ironing, she proudly walked out onto campus with a slightly oversized shirt that read, It's not really rocket science unless there's been at least one rapid unscheduled disassembly.
It was very telling that none of the faculty got it, but Kev and her friends did.
Hackmeyer, of course, found the words 'fascinating' and used her shirt as an excuse to keep undressing her with his eyes. The lech.
On the next T-Shirt day, she swore, Katie would wear a shirt that said, Talk to my face (my boobs already hate you) and record all of the outraged male ranting about it. The art students would probably help her with that performance piece.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / burnel12]
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