We were having arts and crafts in our Kindergarten class the other day. Our teacher, who isn’t one to stifle the creativity of younglings such as us, gave us free reign and instructed us to build “whatever our hearts told us”. Unfortunately, she didn’t realize quite how black our hearts really are. Needless to say, she regretted the instructions the moment they lift her wrinkled lips. The lips she used to kiss the head-of-district that very morning. The lips we glued together after we saw that nasty act.
While the other students were building the pathetic projects that looked like any other 5-year-old’s work, we were hard at work on something much more important. While Dubba Tubba fetched the uranium stash we keep in our lockers, I (Tubbo) drew up the blue prints. What were we planning on building? A nuclear weapon.
Of course, the sound of electric fusions and the small explosions of the transplants would worry our dear teacher, so we spent most of the class inside the boys bathroom. After an hour of work, we came back into the class room with our heads held high carrying this:
We think we surpassed most of our fellow students “mommy-will-love-it” quality projects, don’t you? But unfortunately, our Teacher didn’t quite agree, as she called the coppers the minute she set eyes on it. Since then, all she does is sit in the corner of the room mumbling something about “Breach of International security” to no one in particular. We just don’t understand what the problem was- the missile worked and everything!! We even had the coordinates of the town we wanted to bomb (Tokyo. We never liked Japanese food.)! What wasn’t to love?
We haven’t even gotten to hold the missile since the coppers took it away, but we DID manage to get ourselves a week long suspension while Bill and the cops sort through the legal work. It was worth it.