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Dean Mort: Mr. Dunphy, do you have a friend called "Drugs"? Timothy Dunphy: Drugs Delaney? Mr. Funderberk: How many individuals named drugs could you possibly associate with? Timothy Dunphy: Just one. Dean Mort: Yesterday we received a letter addressed simply to Cornwall Academy, Cornwall, Connecticut. So naturally we, we opened it and read it. You might want to sit down. It begins, "Greetings Dunph. What's happening? I got your letter today. Cornhole Academy sounds like it really sucks the big one. I can't believe they make everyone work a lot and not smoke. You should tell that piece of shit Thunderturd to shove it. You didn't want to go there in the first place. Eat shit, man... Drugs Delaney: ...Today you should've seen me and Mousy today at school today. I got cocked on a pint of Blackberry brandy, ate some THC on the bus. We were fucked. This teacher Mr. Rivera goes, "What's wrong with you Delaney?" I go, "I'm totally fucked, maaaaan!" Everybody laughed like a bastard. Oh man, you should see this song I'm listenin' to. It's called "Don't Bogart That Joint, My Friend." I think it's by a group called... Dean Mort: ...This is a couple of hours later. Must have nodded out, man... Drugs Delaney: ...I gotta go 'cause I'm probably definitely gonna nod out again... Dean Mort: ...Want me to send you some squeef? Or you got enough? Good luck not getting caught. Cocked in Rhode Island, Drugs. P.S. - Oh yes, there's a postscript you might be interested in - Mousy says he stinkfingered Bunny Cote. As you might imagine Mr. Dunphy, this is, this is, this fairly incriminating. And, uh, technically you have not breached any of Cornwall Academy's rules, but you can bet your bottom dollar, Mister, we'll be keeping an eye on you.

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