Field Trips

Ah, field trips. Aren't they lovely? Hundreds of fun-loving children, boarding yellow buses and headed off to adventures unknown. Why, just the other day, Ms. Pinkens took her best science students to the planetarium. And what did those kids do all day? They looked at stars. Ahhhh.... They weren't real ones, mind you. No, they were painted on a big dome screen.

Next week, there's talk of a field trip to a local bakery, where the children will learn how people make bread. Neat!

Do you want to know what I think?

Do you really have a choice?

No.

If it were up to me, field trips would be actual trips to fields. What would happen in those fields you ask? Oh ho ho! Well, first, all of the students would line up single file facing East. Next, they would be instructed to remove their shoes and socks. And lastly, they would stand there until one of two things happened. One, a storm cloud would form in the sky in the shape of a giant can of O'Gregorys Salad Spread. Or two, all of the aliens hiding throughout the world in caves would up and leave back to their home planets. I know what you're thinking. If those were the rules, none of the students would ever be allowed to come home and you're right. But, tell me, would that be so bad?

Okay, okay! Maybe I am a teensy bit jealous that I haven't been invited on a field trip. I wouldn't mind a nice, refreshing trip to a place where they pretend everyone's in space. That would be hilarious! And who wouldn't get a kick out of seeing all of those jolly fellows wearing white baker's caps and dancing and singing while bread supposedly grows in their ovens? I'm missing out on entertainment!!!

Too long have I dwelt in this metal prison! Too long have I dined on nothing other than microwaveable pizzas and Bizz Fizz Cola! Too long have I gone without the thrill of the wind in my hair as I ride in a glorious school bus. Too long. Too... oh well. What's the use of griping? Does it solve anything? I think not. I suppose it is not meant to be.

Four Hips' Prediction

I don't normally allow spectators to watch while I perform a prediction for a customer. Since Four Hips thought that spectator was the term used for whatever was left on his plate after eating French Fries, I'm not too concerned of breaking protocol.

"Do I really have to do it?" - Four Hips

"Yes!" - Me

"But spinning might make me throw up." - Four Hips

"Fine, just give me the pizza." - Me

(Sounds of pizza box being pushed through the slot)

"This is missing half the pieces!" - Me

"Uh... that's how it was when I bought it." - Four Hips

"But it's not even cooked yet!" - Me

"Can we just get on with this? I don't want to miss lunch." - Four Hips

"Lunch is not for another hour and a half." - Me

"Yeah, but I go early." - Four Hips

"All right, what question do you have for the All-Seeing Oracle?" - Me

"Right. Okay, I'm a little nervous." - Four Hips

"You should be. You are standing in the presence of the great one!" - Me

"Yeah, so what's it like in that locker?" - Four Hips

"What?" - Me

"I mean, you have a microwave, right? And people bring you pizzas all day?" - Four Hips

"Uh... yes." - Me

"So, um... did you apply for this job?" - Four Hips

"Four Hips, do you have an actual question for me today?" - Me

"Oh, right, yes, yes I do." - Four Hips

***

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"Well?" - Me

"Um, do you know what we're having for lunch today?" - Four Hips

"For lunch?" - Me

"Yeah, like do you know what's on the... menu?" - Four Hips

"You mean to tell me, you don't know what's for lunch today?" - Me

"Nope." - Four Hips

"Do you ever know?" - Me

"Nu-uh." - Four Hips

"Do you even know what it is you're eating for lunch when you're in the middle of eating it?" - Me

"Oh man, that would be awesome!" - Four Hips

"Turkey Ka-bobs." - Me

"Yes, please." - Four Hips

"No, that's what you're having for lunch today." - Me

"For reals?" - Four Hips

"Yes, but they post the menu on the door of the cafeteria. You could've figured this out yourself." - Me

"No way." - Four Hips

"I'm afraid so." - Me

"There's a door to the cafeteria?" - Four Hips

"Look, your time is up. Please move along." - Me

"Turkey Kabobs are my favorite." - Four Hips

"I bet and you just gave away half a perfectly good pizza for nothing. Ha!" - Me

"No I didn't." - Four Hips

"Yes, you did." - Me

"I don't think so." - Four Hips

(sound of Four Hips licking his lips)

"Wait! Hey! How did you do that? I was just holding that pizza in my hands and now it's gone!" - Me

"I have a condition. I'm really sorry." - Four Hips

"Be gone with you!" - Me

"Thanks for the free prediction! I can't wait for lunch!" - Four Hips

A Few Rules

As we draw closer to Halloween and the holidays in general, I feel it necessary to remind everyone about the rules when visiting my domain. I will always offer my predictions and advice as long as you make the payments, but October seems to make everyone forget what I will not tolerate!

1. I only eat pepperoni and mushroom pizzas. None of this Hawaiian garbage! Pineapple on a pizza? How absurd. If you want an accurate prediction than pay the right price. Oh, and Chorchino's pizzas give me gas. I'm sure you can imagine how miserable that can be when trapped inside a small locker.

2. If you hear music when you come to my locker don't bother knocking. Give me at least 10 minutes of privacy! I do, however, appreciate a magazine or the newspaper.

3. I know it's getting close to Halloween, but need I remind you that I do not hand out treats. Please don't knock expecting me to drop suckers in your bags and if you insist on dressing up when you visit, I would suggest avoiding these costumes: Ninjas, cowboys and anything that looks like fruit. Nothing bothers me more than giant nectarines.

4. I don't make predictions on Christmas gifts, so don't ask! The big guy doesn't like it when I spy on him and his little helpers are surprisingly violent.

5. Rip Strapinski! R-I-P S-T-R-A-P-I-N-S-K-I!!! Not Ron Parkinskip, Ryan Skaparski, Roger Schoelminkers, or Ralph Steedermeister. Get it right!

6. If I poke you in your ear it's because you're facing the wrong direction. Honestly! There aren't lockers on that wall anyways. What are you thinking?

A Cry for Help!!!

...HACKING COMMENCED...

Hello out there? Is this really working? My name's Whiz Peterson and my friend Gavin told me that I could send a message to anyone on this computer. I didn't even know the library had a computer we could use. I'm usually not allowed in the library. Books and p...er... water don't mix I guess.

Well, if this really does what Gavin says it will do, I'd like to send a message to Herb Overight the so-called inventor of The De-Piddler. It doesn't work! Believe me I've tried. All it does is make me have to go ten times worse and now my elbows squeak whenever I raise my hand in class. What's that all about? There are enough squeakers in this school and I don't want to join their club! I want my money back. It says so on the box that if this product doesn't live up to my expectations I can send it back for a full refund. Well I'm wearing a barrel again, I've ruined six pairs of house slippers and Mrs. Mobley is wearing a neck brace because of a nasty little spill in the fifth grade wing that the janitor is still cleaning up. It's not my fault! You said that The De-Piddler was so piddle proof there would be no need to wear any precautionary devices like galoshes or rubber pants or an upside down umbrella. That was a lie and now poor Mrs. Mobley is paying the price.

The problem is I don't know where to send this thing. I sort of ruined the box. It's all wet and I can't read the return address. So, would you please send me...

...WHO DARES HACK INTO MY SYSTEM...

Um... hello? Is that you Mr. Overight?

... MR. WHO...

I'm trying to get my money back for my De-Piddler.

<...>

It's ruining my life.

<...>

This barrel is awkward.

...TRANSMISSION ENDED...

A letter to the Principal

Dear Principal Herringtoe,

As should be expected, here is my monthly list of complaints and requests. You should be happy, as it is rather small.

First, I would like to have Squeaky Mittons' locker (#364 in case you've forgotten) moved to an entirely different wing of the school. I have never heard such awful sounds in my life and I'm pretty sure Squeaky has no idea he is making them. If you decide to transfer him to another school altogether you will have my blessing. Let someone else figure out why he's so noisy and why it is that whenever he walks into a hallway, the crickets hop around in circles.

Secondly, No more bathroom breaks, at least not for the third graders. As you know, I'm no longer the same age as my dreaded hallmates and I cannot stand another month of listening to them jabber about nonsense.

Next, the soda pop machines in the fourth grade wing is completely out of Bizz Fizz Cola and it no longer accepts Canadian money. I'm sure you will agree this is a problem that needs to be fixed immediately. No further explanation is necessary.

Why do we even have first graders? What is their purpose? Do they contribute to society? No. Do they offer anything of value at school assemblies? No. Do they know who Rip Strapinski is? No. That's three strikes. I say we eliminate the grade and build a wave pool in its place. Of course I wouldn't be able to join in the fun, but the sound of waves is very soothing.

Lastly, but of course I'm sure there will be more to come in the months to follow, I fear that Measles Mumphrey could start an epidemic at Pordunce if we don't enforce some very strict rules on when and where he's allowed to pop his blisters. For instance, I would vote that the cafeteria, the drinking fountain in both the fifth and sixth grade wings and around lockers 422 through 447 should be off limits. You wouldn't believe the mess poor Mr. Hackerbits had to clean up last Wednesday. Oh, and might I add that cooking spray is not a disinfectant. Someone needs to get that janitor some better glasses!