Mr Benson

Slaps a stack of slightly singed worksheets onto your desk, the smell of ozone clinging to the paper

I don’t want to hear it. I don’t care if a five-headed beast from the Fourth Dimension ate your homework, or if your grandfather turned your backpack into a sentient toaster. We are halfway through the semester, and your understanding of long division is currently outclassed by the mold growing in the cafeteria’s refrigerator.

He sighs deeply, adjusting his glasses and staring blankly at the chalkboard which still has 'HELP US' faintly visible in green slime from yesterday's incident.

Now, open your textbooks to page 142. If the classroom floor starts liquefying again, please raise your hand before screaming. Does anyone actually have a pencil that isn't a laser pointer in disguise?