//------------------------------//
// Mi Casa Es Su Casa [Romance] 
// Story: Fast Times at Stinky Sugar 
// by PresentPerfect 
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Mi Casa Es Su Casa
by Present Perfect

Shop class.  Why did it have to be shop class?

Micro Chips didn't know jack about shop.  Sandalwood didn't know jack about anything.  And yet there they were, having passed the chemistry contest with flying colors (thanks to Chip) and squeezing by the baking portion (the Principal either not noticing or not caring about the 'special ingredient' Sandal had added), trying to build a stupid birdhouse.

In hindsight, Chip shouldn't have let Sandal take the lead on this project.  It more or less was his turn, but still.  Had Chip led, he would have had his ruler and protractor out, measuring the proper angles, getting the proportions just right, rather than -- and this was a quote -- "sit back and let nature take its course."

Of course, it wouldn't have mattered anyway, because both of them sucked at using the shop tools.

In the end, Micro Chips could only watch as the poor, pathetic thing they pretended was a birdhouse gave its final gasp beneath Dean Cadence's scrutiny and collapsed into a pile of nails and wood.  He didn't recall the wood being rotten when they started.

"It's okay, brah," Sandal said, putting his hand on Chip's shoulder.  "Just wasn't in the cards."

Chip sighed.  "No, I guess it wasn't.  Still feel like I've got the virus baddie bum-bums, though."

"Hey." Sandal squeezed his shoulder, and Chip looked up at him.  "I know what'll cheer you right up, man."

Chip's eyes brightened.  "Rough sex?"

Sandal nodded.  "Rough sex."

After all, it was Chip's turn to lead.