You decide that Mr. Schlotzski, your old shop teacher, has caused you a lifetime of suffering. Had you not taken 8th grade shop, you wouldn’t have had such a crushing blow struck to your self-esteem. You might have even been confident enough to follow your dreams and become a professional musician. You could have played the blues, or far-out exciting jazz. But instead, you took Mr. Schlotzski’s shop class, and he made you be a creep. Why, you could have been a star!

Clearly, Schlotzski needs to die. You quickly book a flight for the following morning to your home town.

* * *

After getting off the plane, you take a cab to your old junior high school. Just walking through its corridors makes you sneer as the memories flood your brain. All the times getting stuffed into lockers, or having your head flushed in the toilet, or having signs taped to your back. But the worst memories of all feature that smug, condescending jerk, Mr. Schlotzski.

You head straight for the wood shop classroom and kick in the door, drawing your handgun. “Time to die, you fat sack of crap!” you scream.

Looking around the room, you notice a sea of dumbstruck faces. And the shop teacher is definitely not Mr. Schlotzski. It is, in fact, a large, burly woman.

“You looking for any particular fat sack of crap?” she asks you.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I was looking for Mr. Schlotzski.”

“Oh, him. He’s not here anymore. But I’ll tell you where to find him.”

* * *

You go to the cemetery and stand before Mr. Schlotzski’s grave. It reads:

James Ezekiel Schlotzski
The fattest sack of crap
to ever teach 8th grade shop.
1956-2008

Damn it! One of his other students has already killed him. How will you exact your revenge now?

• Do you desecrate the grave?
• Do you sit and mope?