king gay || dave x king || closed
art class. was it art class? who fucking knows. did this school even have classes? why the fuck was he here? damn. last night was a sugar-laced blur. was an apple juice hangover even possible? because it was fucking happening, dude, and it sucked major metaphorical dong.
so, here he was, trying to get his mind off the fact that he literally has no idea what he did last night thanks to the utter amount of sugar he had consumed. did he fucking somehow manage to find exotic powdered aj and snort it? because he was pretty sure if he sneezed this whole classroom would turn into a frozen set but instead of pure white it would look like someone took a giant piss over fucking olaf.
anyway, as i was saying before i started mentioning my secret piss on olaf kink, dave was drawing some beautiful comics filled with subtle nuances of despair yet an underlying theme of hope. there appeared to be another dude in the class with him, hell, he was even at his little table squad, therefore by the transitive seat property he was in the squad. time to get a fellow artist's opinion.
"hello, my fellow artiste. how are you this fine day? would you mind taking a gander at my work? i find it to be a subtle, yet still raw depiction of the horrors of war. what say you, my modern michael angelo?"
