The Fighters and the Flighters
Once there was this guy named Paul. He'd been on steroids since 8th grade, because his dad was in prison and Paul knew that to scare off wild animals, you had to make yourself look big. Consequently, Paul's genitalia never grew on account of micro-penis being an oft not-talked about side-effect of getting "super yoked."
Meanwhile, there was also this guy named Phil. Phil's father was an insurance agent whose dinner conversation consisted of all the newly researched ways one could die; death by electronic cigarette explosion; death by trying to figure out how to use AppleCarPlay while driving; a new kind of social death, whereby you send out the wrong tweet.
Paul once dared Phil to touch an orange-spotted gecko on the wall of the band room. Phil crept around the hedges, his hand outstretched, keeping his body as far from the reptile as possible, one eye closed, one eye trained on the animal's reflective pearly black eye. The gecko, sensing Phil's approach, thought about moving one webbed appendage. Phil, sensing the gecko's thoughts, rolled over the bush landing at Paul's feet and, being in a frantic state, clawed his way up Paul's leg, pulling down Paul's pants and exposing Paul's tiny prick. Paul then pummeled Phil to death. After being sentenced to prison, Paul discovered his para-sympathetic nervous system and everything was cool.