Classroom Mayhem

“So…”–gigantic, and I mean huge, pause for emphasis here–“how do we know what we know?”

The question hung in the air, and this professor, for one, would’ve left it hanging there (probably indefinitely) but an elderly chap sitting next to me raised his hand and spoke up.

He said something full of dadblamery, so I had to raise my hand and say:

“We know what we know because we know it.”

A just answer. Maybe a bit oblique, but then again, so was the question. I leaned back like a conqueror, thinking that I had won, and that it was over.

But a war was coming.

The chap teaching the class shook his head.

“No, no, you can’t answer that way,” he said. “They were the words I used in my question.”

“Quite right,” I said, “that’s why I rearranged them for my answer.”

“No.” He was a bit stern here, I must admit. Hands on hips, chin jutting out in my direction like a stag beetle with it’s great big jaws. “You don’t get it.”

Stag Beetle with its awesome jaws.

“Oh I get it.”

Of course, this professor didn’t mean to be spicy at all, but the other students laughed here a bit, bits, and little bits.

“You. Don’t. Get It,” he repeated. “I want you to use your own words to answer the question.”

And then this professor spied something on his shoulder, and I knew I’d won.

“They became my own words once I rearranged them, see. And furthermore, double see, is that a hornet on your shoulder?”

He screamed, everyone laughed, and this professor–shiny, cunning beast that he is–won.

#conqueror 

Almost Crushed

Our greatest triumphs usually take place during our weakest moments.

V. Shnodgrate, Renowned PL Poet

So, I’d been tranquilized slightly.

I say slightly ’cause this professor could feel everything but my legs and feet. Some feeling was coming back, though. But I was selfish, and wanted it all back.

The whole thing was demeaning, you know.

Anyways and some, Manly-Man and Daddy Salami had rescued me from the back of a van. (Remember, we’re stranded on Honi Planet, capital of the Honi Galaxy. That’s a no brainer, gee.)

Anyways and sums (I had to change it this time, see) Manly-Man and Daddy Salami were carrying me between them, down the busy city streets, dodging people here, there, and even some vehicles.

I swear I was almost crushed at a few points.

And this professor hardly swears when in trouble. Dadblameit.

We stopped in an alleyway.

“I need me a breather, curs,” Salami said, huffing and puffing.

“Okay,” Manly-Man said. “I could keep going, though, ’cause I’s so fancy.”

Salami looked at him. “Shut-up.”

“Look here, fellows,” I broke in, “can someone tell me what’s going on? Why was my intergalactic flight shot down?”

“I’ll tell yer why,” Salami wheezed. “You stole this”–he held up my can of cherries–“and the Honi government wants it back!”

“Give me my cherries, the sudden,” I said. And I said ‘the sudden’ part quickly, ’cause I hoped he’d give them fastly fast.

He didn’t.

“That’s why’s we’s leavin’, dude,” Manly-Man said. “I’s going to rocket outta here. Does you wanna come?”

No, of course not, I said, I must stay here and figure out things. I’m an epic spy slash super villain, after all. I shall get to the bottom of this! 

That’s what I thought would be cool to say.

What I actually said: “You got it, get me outta here.”

Let’s be real: I couldn’t feel my legs and I was in a foreign city. What was I going to actually figure out? Nothing, I tell you. Adventure had to wait.

I was like this dog: couldn’t feel my legs.

But that’s when things went south.

Salami went to throw my cherries onto the busy street…

…and I hollered…

…and I let out after them…

(Which, by the way, is a wonder, since I couldn’t feel my legs. Have I mentioned that yet? But I was able to propel myself.)

I fell right into the busy street.

A car stopped right in front of me.

Its breaks squealed.

I missed death by this much…

Ladies and gentlemen and Walt, that is my spirit animal.

Now, I just laid there. And played dead. Maybe they’d go away. After all, I had the cherries.

Safe and sound.

The car doors opened.

And a VERY tall woman got out. She was in high heels, too, so she was epically tall.

A guy her same height got out of the passenger side.

He had blonde curls floating about his head. Like worms.

Something like this. This is actually a mossy slug, or something like that..

“Oh, look,” the woman said, in some sort of scary accent, “we almost crushed his life out.”

That was a thing. Thanks for not doing that.

I said nothing, though. Still playing dead.

She turned towards the fellow and hissed:

“Put him in the back. Quick.”

I was in trouble.

A glance about told me Manly-Man and Salami had deserted me.

I was in trouble.

But the cherries were nestled safely under my arm.

Fighting But Not Fighting

So, yes, I know: I’m horribly off schedule, but mind: Schedules exist to be broken, that’s what makes them schedules.

Whoa. That was deep.

Consider that the proverb for this episode.

***

This professor was with Manly-Man, who had just knocked senseless the Honi officer fellow.

You know, the one who had done something to Starlet–I mean, Starling.

At least, I think he had something to do with something that had maybe happened to her.

We were in this room:

…with the Honi Officer unconscious on the floor.

I was carrying my jar of cherries, though, so all good on the professorish front.

“Time to go,” I repeated.

“Let’s do it, honey,” Manly-Man replied.

Then quicker than a winking noodle, we opened the door.

It was unlocked, see.

Now, being the exceptional thinker that I am, it was around this time that it dawned on me:

“Yo. I bet someone saw you knock that fellow senseless. I bet they’re onto us.”

Manly-Man ignored me.

He was like that, see.

We were in a hallway.

And there was nobody about.

Nobody at all.

Strange.

I looked twice, thrice–still nobody.

(That’s the key, see. Always look thrice. Things pop up on the thrice look.)

And sure enough, things popped up. #LawofThrice-s

Lots of things, actually.

The hallway was crowded with figures in yellow space-looking suits. More lithe than a spacesuit, but still.

They were carrying some sort of evil-looking device.

“We better run,” Manly-Man said.

And he took off, without so much as an answer from me.

Just left me to die, in other words.

I caught up with him, of course.

Manly-Man rounded a corner and threw open a door.

It thudded shut behind us.

#thud

“We’s safe.”

“I think for the min–“

I stopped.

See, that’s when this professor saw Starling. You know, the harried lady from the international flight, the one with the big bag.

She was doing great.

Well, I lie, just a bit.

It wasn’t the whole Starling I saw.

Just her head. #NotRad

And it was looking pale.

I suppose headless heads look pale. #ProfessorishTheory

Notice how pale this fellow’s head is. Then again, the body is, too. Hmm…my theory isn’t holding up too well.

But we didn’t have time to think on things.

The door blasted open.

Yes, blasted.

Only Strider didn’t come in.

All those space suited fellows did.

They raised their guns.

This professor, of course, instinctively reached for his katana. Gone. It was gone! I nearly cried on the spot. I didn’t have it with me. All I had were the cherries, see.

Manly-Man’s suit came up.

(Yes, MM has a suit…sorta like IronMan. It’s part of what makes him so manly. Manly-Man’s suit is more bulky, though, and blue and dark gray. Now you know. Very powerful, is the manly one.)

*sigh* Love IronMan. But Spiderman would beat him. No arguing with me, children.

So, I was weaponless and everyone else had weapons. I felt sorta…sorta…like this:

One of the mean space dudes raised his weapon and shot me.

 

I was paralyzed on the spot, from the shoulders down.

The jar of cherries hit the floor. But the jar didn’t break! Dadblame plastic. Why is everything made out of plastic these days? Plastic that looks like glass, and even feels like glass. Double-dadblameit.

Manly-Man fought and blasted and fought, killing bunches, I think.

Then again, since I was laying prostate–ahem, prostrate on the floor, I can’t be sure. (My face was puppy-wards, tho. So not really prostrate.)

The floor view, see, wasn’t exciting.

A couple suddens later, I was picked up and moved by the evil space-fighting-crazy-mean-yellow-Honi dudes.

Not rad. Rats and a Heifer. Dadblameit. Maburnit. *cussing vocab exhausted*

In Trouble

A lie is a clever way to tell the truth—subjectively.

V. Shnodgrate, Renowned PL Poet

Honi Planet.

Where do I start?

Isn’t that awful? When people say that?

They get to these epically great places that need a description and all they say is, “Where do I start?”

See, that’s just so they don’t have to explain or describe anything. Lazy, I tell you.

Then again, I’m feeling that way right now.

But I’ll fight it (since I’m such a warrior) and explain, because I’m a goodly professor.

Okay, so the planet was something. It’s basically one big city. Everywhere. Tall buildings here, short little squat buildings there; pushcarts selling everything imaginable (except beetles) lined the busy streets; there were fancy restaurants, and restaurants only fit for beetles; and every sort of store imaginable; there were also bikes, motorcycles, cars, and all sorts of different transportation devices.

It stank a bit. And it wasn’t too dirty. #ProfessorAppraisal 

In fact, it looked a bit like this–

–had mated with this:

Anyways, the streets seemed treacherous to navigate, but all the passengers were driven away from the sorta-crash in authority vehicles. It was stuffy in the authority vehicles; it stank in the authority vehicles–never ride in authority vehicles.

Now, once we got to where we were going (after about a thousand years), we were all abused and pushed around. They even took my pack.

I ended up in an ugly, plain room, sitting at an ugly, plain desk.

With Manly-Man.

This was it. Blah, right?

Was hoping these two would show up.

“Hey, dude,” Manly-Man said.

He was going to say something else, but I interrupted.

“I just want to say, what you did back there, landing the ship and all…good stuff. Well done. You have my approval.”

Manly-Man smiled a tight-lipped smile and craned his head one way. Almost treating me like a little kid. Like it didn’t matter he’d gotten my approval.

Rats and a Heifer.

“So, what happened? I was sleeping, see.”

“I doesn’t know. Someone fired a missile at us.”

That’s when the door opened and a respectable looking chap entered. He looked pregnant the way his belly bulged around, but rest assured, I know he wasn’t. He had a gray mustache  and he was balding. He was dressed in the Honi Empire’s colors: Yellow. Just yellow.

I think he was a sheriff.

He sat down across from us.

“Okay,” he began, but I cut him off.

See, I was cranky. After all, being taken into custody right after surviving a near fatal crash was wrong. Especially since they told us nothing. Not much of a kind reception. (Goes to show you how much the Honi Empire dislikes people from TPL.)

“Look here,” I said, but then he interrupted me.

“Don’t you DARE talk over me,” he said, wagging a finger in my general direction. “I give the order–“

But I cut him off.

“Double look here, you beast,” I said, “I’m the professor–“

He took over here, with a vicious slam to the table.

“If I have to tell you one more time–“

Manly-Man broke in.

“Quiet both of you. I’s leaving. I’s done playin’ games with you. I’s gettin’ cranky.”

And he stood.

That’s when the that chap put my can of sweet cherries on the table.

They’d searched my pack. The blackhearts.

I was even crankier then.

“You’re going nowhere,” he said. “We found this can of cherries in this one’s pack”–a thumb in my general direction here–“and you were the pilot. How’d you get that can? Did you run into Starling on the flight? What’d she tell you?”

Then, quicker than a lightning bolt, I grasped the cherries.

Yes, my bolts are blue.

“Mine,” I said, like a caveman.

Not the professor.

He stood.

“If you don’t answer my questions, you’ll end up just like Starling!”

Was that the lady with the briefcase?

Then everything happened too quickly.

The fellow pulled some sort of evil looking instrument from his belt and Manly-Man took him out–with one blow.

Dadblameit!

And then, Manly-Man said, as if to explain his actions: “I’s said I was getting cranky.”

Of course, that explained everything perfectly.

“Time to go,” I said.

Honi Planet

The more folly you have, the more wise you can possibly become. 

V. Shnodgrate, Renowned PL Poet

The door opened (with a ding, mind) and the mass of humanity moved forward.

Now, here’s the thing: It was so dark, I couldn’t see a thing. The path we were supposed to follow, however, was lit up by blue lights.

That was convenient, I must say. After all, without those lights, I probably would have tripped or fallen a few hundred times.

So good of them to include those.

I must’ve stopped for a minute or two, ’cause the lady behind me (you know, the one with the huge briefcase) gave me a friendly tap.

“Keep moving!” she said, quietly.

And I did, of course.

Okay, so I’ll be honest with you: The launch chairs surprised the grubs out of my ears.

Really.

Grubs almost look like noodles.

The launch chairs were in rows. And there was a sort of canopy above each row. What a thing.

When the line stopped moving, I was in front of a chair.

And the professor did what the professor knew he had to do.

I stowed my pack in the basket below the seat, and sat down. (The seat was sorta web-y. That’s how it felt, at least. Like outdoor furniture, see.)

And I buckled in, too, because. Just because.

The lady with the huge briefcase barely got that mammoth stowed under her seat, but she managed it.

A veteran of the huge briefcase, truly.

Then she took her seat. Within minutes, everyone was seated.

That’s when the voice came back, because we’d all missed it:

Intergalactic Flight 10 is about to Launch. Green light.

And that’s when the rows left the ground, leaving my feet to dangle helplessly in the dark air, like a bunch of butterflies caught in a net.

This chap has been at the art of butterfly catching for years, see.

And we were moving, through the blackness.

I turned to the lady next to me.

“Where are we going?”

She leaned close and whispered: “We’re being carried to our launch ship.”

And she was right. We entered into some sort of rocket looking thingy (tough to see ’cause of the light, mind). Each row was above another row. And yes, the feet were still dangling.

Sorta like this:

Then there was a hiss and shout as the rocket closed us in.

Trapped, we were.

Dark, it was.

That’s when there was a loud boom, and we sorta blasted off at that point, I bet.

It was sorta enjoyable.

After a bit, lights came on, and a voice came over the loudspeakers:

“Hey, honeys, this is Manly-Man and I’s your Captain for the flight. We should be landing on Honi Planet in a little bit. Okay. Bye.”

Great. What could possibly go wrong with him as the pilot?

I decided to forget about it. See, I wiped the whole thing from my memory system. Done.

Honi Planet. Capital of the Honi Galaxy.

The thing was, The Punchy Lands was usually left alone by the Honi Empire. Even though, TPL was technically part of the empire, and therefore subject to them, it certainly didn’t seem that way.

That’s when the professor was tapped on the arm.

“Hey,” the lady with the huge briefcase said. “I know this is strange…but if anything happens to me…and you’re around…make sure my briefcase doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”

“Who has the wrong hands?” 

A just question, I thought.

But she turned away. Wouldn’t answer.

I got out Shakespeare, then.

And it must’ve worked, ’cause the next thing I remember was a bunch of screaming, and alarms blaring, and Manly-Man’s voice breaking up over the line:

“We’s been hit, honeybuttses. H—o–l–d…”

I looked next to me.

The lady with the huge briefcase was gone.

But her briefcase wasn’t.