Smoking Loon

As Henry walked toward the corner of the Gym, he was thoughtful.  It had been a good day so far, no one had actually tried to kill him yet, but why did he feel so nervous?
As he rounded the corner he saw Bear.
Bear was standing against the concrete wall, and was thumping his head into the wall.
Blood was running down his face and dripping off his chin.   He was chanting in time to the music and the thumping. " Section 27, Section 27, Section 27"
There was a drummer giving the cadence off to one side, with a strange guy playing a double bass very fast just beside him.
Bear had a cigarette (now stained with blood) jutting out of the corner of his mouth, the drummer had a cigar and the bassist was smoking a pipe.

"Oh My Sainted Aunt", exclaimed Henry, "It's the Smoking Loons"

Jasper twitched.  The itching was definitely getting worse.  Typical, He thought, if you don't get rid of the parasitical infestation in the first couple of hundred thousand years, it digs in and gets worse.  He gave a much bigger twitch and Christchurch fell down. 

Sandra thought she was having a good effect on the boys, but then she heard the giggle.  Just one giggle to start with, but it spread throughout the class in seconds.  One or two were now laughing openly.  Even Simon, her favourite, was smirking, the little shit.  Now she realised that wearing a lavender leotard with cerise legwarmers to her English class was a mistake. She had trusted John.  He had told her that it would be a good method of keeping the class's attention.  Bastard. 

The smell of cooking pork drifted up from the Hangi pit.  Hone's mouth watered.  Nothing like roast Pākehā and watercress.  It was going to be a feast.  He'd bring the boys over in an hour.  It was about time they got they're first taste.