Management Theory [Tuesday, April 7, 4th period]

[saveonpostage.livejournal.com]

Yzma was back and thoroughly uninterested in talking about how she'd gotten stuck as a kitten for two weeks, thank you very much.

The students might notice that only half of them were wearing spiffy lab coats and hats. The other half--horrors!--were clad in hairnets and paper hats.

"Today we will be working in fast food!" Yzma said. "Dealing with peasants is very important blah, blah I don't believe that, no one should...but everyone, even peasants, need food." She made a face. "Apparently. So! Half of you will be customers! Make your order as complicated as possible! Demand pizza even though this is clearly a sandwich shop! Ask for only 17 ice cubes in your drinks! People in hairnets! Serve the peasants as passive-aggressively as possible without them calling for your manager! Excellent!"

Thunder cracked behind her as she laughed.

Food Appreciation [Class Thirteen, Period #3]

[baskiceball.livejournal.com]

Marshall had been bitten by a gremlin this morning. If it wasn't obvious from the strongly worded (and completely in capslock) e-mail to his students informing them to get their pansy asses to the Danger Shop for class today or else suffer the brutal consequences, it'll be obvious once they got to class.

Those not scared off by the e-mail would find that the Danger Shop had been turned into a gym of sorts. There were punching bags, a boxing ring and the setup for that Joust game you saw on American Gladiators. They would also see more of Marshall than they ever, ever wanted to see.

"HELLO, PANSIES!" Marshall yelled, his voice sounding deeper and more growly than usual. "IIIIIIIIIT'S WRESTLEMANIA 2009! I AM YOUR HOST MARSHALL "THE MADMAN" ERIKSEN!"

Pshyeah, Marshall wished people called him The Madman.

"TODAY WE'RE GOING TO SEE WHAT YOU'RE REALLY MADE OF," he said, still yelling. Oh, look, he was flexing too. Very impressive. "MY BET IS THAT ALL YOU WUSSIES ARE MADE OF JELLO. DELICIOUS JELLO."

Oh god, now he was craving Jello. Maybe after class.

"EITHER FIGHT A PUNCHING BAG, TAKE IT TO THE RING OR KNOCK EACH OTHER IN THE HEAD WITH PUNGIE STICKS!" Marshall said, gesturing to the area behind him. "WHETHER YOU WIN OR LOSE, REMEMBER THIS--I CAN KICK YOUR ASS."

Right.

Marshall rung a bell. "WELCOME TO THUNDERDOME, BITCH. GET FIGHTING!"

Library [4.7]

[death-of-hope.livejournal.com]

So that was what zombies really were. Not the blank-eyed children of Joy Division, but mindless thugs with an unrelenting hunger and desperate need to please their master.

It was a mental state Anemone was far too acquainted with, and the sensation of being locked behind glass walls in her own mind had been horrifyingly familiar. It was her entire 'life' up until three years ago, the living nightmare she'd already dealt with once.

Today was a day for hiding in the recesses of the library, while Gulliver manned the front desk. A day spent shelving the books and finding unexplored corners that needed organizing.

Anemone really wasn't in the mood to be social.


[The OCD and I are not speaking. Open library is open!]

When Words Fail, Music Speaks; Tuesday, Sixth Period [ 04/07 ].

[senor-chado.livejournal.com]

Chad had handwavily sent out emails and messages to everyone that the karaoke contest had been canceled for this week, promising more details at the regular club meeting.

"I felt," he explained, "we could all use a little break from zombies, so I postponed the karaoke contest to next week, and I hope no one minds. To make it up to you, I brought birthday cake."

Since it was, after all, still his birthday.

"And I'll still take anyone up on the drinks I promised when we're done, if you want. Until then, I figured we'd play. Music is good therapy, you know."