Ka.... Me..... Ha.... Me......

Ka.... Me..... Ha.... Me......

HAAAaaaaaAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

BENYA AMA BITI BABA

before Mr. J jumps in and reminds us that we should behave ourselves and whatnot.

Too late. Jumping is the J in Mr J's name. He was crestfallen that the kids he'd hoped would be budding Jane Austens or Dan Browns were just the usual bunch of twerps.

The class he thought would respect this freedom lost his respect and he shall never trust them again. How could anyone be okay with this class with throws things in the class.

But then the teacher remembered "his" class. The one where he was a student. Hadn't they thrown things then? How could he forget. He'd been in a class all by himself way back

then. Ah, the irony of life. If only he could once again rebel...to be free of convention...to be free of...suspenders. He was trapped in this pedagogical hell with no escape.