God, I hate when you're planning to take a sick day and then actually get sick. I spent the whole day in bed, hacking up mucus and expecting to die at any moment. I only got out of bed because of a particularly persistent pounding on the front door. Figures it was the one person that could make me sicker.

Bebe wanted to know why I was home alone if I was sick, and I told her my parents were off making meth.

I'm not sure if she believed me or not, but she looked really alarmed. She offered to come in and make me chicken soup, and I told her we didn't have any soup. She got this really miserable look on her face, so I demanded to know what the fuck she wanted before she started blubbering and treating me like a charity case. Bebe rubbed her shoulder and admitted that she'd come over to chew me out for skipping english class, but she hadn't known I was actually sick. I neglected to tell her I was skipping. Serves her fucking right for her morally superior assumptions.

She said she'd decided she'd been too hasty and was willing to help me through The Catcher in the Rye. I told her I wasn't illiterate and that I'd already finished that gay book and Bebe got all thrilled, pushed herself inside, and set up her english notes on the coffee table before I could stop her. She started quizzing me.

God she's obnoxious.

But I didn't kick her out, because what Mole said has been nagging at me. Mole thinks EVERYTHING is 'that bad.' I mean, the guy's an antisocial, anti-God, asexual anarchist. So I interrupted Bebe from her literature analyst lecture and asked he how Mole knew her. She fumbled for an answer for a while before admitting she had been the last one to hire him for his services.

So she's an ex-client of his. Still sort of weird because Mole usually complains about the stupidity of his ex-clients - Stan, Kyle, and Cartman in particular.

Bebe kept babbling about test material, and eventually we started watching the Three Stooges on my family's black-and-white TV. It wasn't as bad as it could have been, I guess. She finally left when my little sister came home and started hitting on her, badly. Bebe seemed especially unnerved by the experience.

I was sitting up in my room later, in the dark because I hadn't gotten a new bulb for the lamp yet, chugging cough syrup and wondering why my cold hadn't killed me yet, when Mole crawled in my bedroom window. He flopped down on my bed, offered me a generous box of communion wafers, and said "Do you know ze state decides 'ow many prisons to build based on 'ow many people drop out of school?"

I stared at him, 'cause the guy was wearing a suit. With a tie and everything. It's sort of a shock to the system. I finally said, "You don't say."

"Ze government assumes all of eet's citizens are criminals," Mole said. "You're failing english?"

I groaned. Bebe has the biggest fucking mouth. And now I know why Mole brought up dropping out - I'm only getting a good grade in French because Mole hand feeds me the answers, and I'm only passing history because Clyde lets me copy his homework.

I told him I wasn't dropping out of school, and he made a face at me and said "You're just skipping."

So I decided to change the subject and asked him what the hell was up with the suit, anyway?

Mole pried his tie off, scowled, and told me his parents had tried to drag him to confession. He gestured toward the crackers and told me to help myself, which I did, rather amused. "Dude," I said, "you stole their Jesus flesh?"

He grunted and complained about God and the church and that religious bitch that always sat in the front row and glared at him for a while, then he picked up his tie and said he had to go back home and face his parents for calling the priest a cock-sucking beetch and flipping him off. He told me I could keep the crackers, so I devoured the box.

Not exactly chicken soup, but it made me feel better.