Disclaimer: I do not own National Lampoon's Animal House and its characters.

Got another one for you.

As usual, I like best... anything I included with Boon and Otter. That shouldn't be a surprise; if you've been paying attention to the author's notes on any of my Animal House fics, you would have realized that I'm just obsessed with those two buggers! If I were to meet them, I would just pinch their cheeks and take cell phone videos of their best friend-y banter and... rip their shirts off. HA JUST KIDDING. Yeaaahh-up.


Because no one is reading these anyway!!

The Tutor

"You want to what?" Bluto asked Hoover to reiterate.

"I want to tutor everybody in this house!" Hoover repeated, eagerness leaking out every orifice in his overly tall body. He had tricked his housemates into coming down for a Delta meeting with promises of a new keg. The keg was there, but it was a lot like luring a dog to be locked outside for the night with a piece of meat. He wanted to talk about schoolwork. Ew, why did he think they were in college anyway? "We will keep this house, and we will raise our collective GPAs!"

"If you want to raise the GPA so much, why don't you get yourself an 'A' plus?" One of the Deltas, a dorky-looking guy named Snot said, getting himself a second beer.

"Yeah, you're not one to be tutoring us, Mr. D-average!" Mothball, one of the pledges, added.

"Studying takes up a lot of valuable time," Otter said, preparing himself for some major charisma. "But this isn't to say Hoover isn't on to something. We could actually have more fun if we get Dean Wormer off our backs a little bit. Girls like smart guys. We could go to school in the day and party at night. Besides…" His grin turned from one of enthusiastic encouragement to pure Otter evil as he turned his attention to Hoover. "Maybe it would be even better if there was something in it for us."

The was a brief pause of silence, then quiet chatter as the guys discussed the possibilities, liking the idea more and more.

Hoover was a little put off by the idea, but disguised his nervousness. "How about if we raise our average GPA one point by the end of the month, I buy the entire house expensive German beer? That sounds good, right?"

A few people cheered at the idea, but Boon spoke up. "No way! We could do that anytime by pooling our money or stealing some from another house. That's good, but there has to be more."

"Oh!" Hardbar shot up off the couch like he had the best idea ever. "Get the house a subscription to Sick Chicks with Sticks Monthly!"

Stork jumped up next. "An' dangerous chem'kuls!"

"I'm with you on the dangerous chemicals!" D-Day said.

"NO! No dangerous chemicals!" Hoover said. "Okay. How about… expensive German beer and subscriptions to three different porn magazines for the house?"

"Ohhhh…" Hardbar was getting aroused at the very thought of three free magazines. He needed to sit down.

"I feel like we need a third thing…" Otter said.

"What? Come on, Otter, I'm not made of money!" Hoover whined.

"Let us discuss it," Otter motioned for the house members to form a large huddle, Hoover excluded.

"No pledges allowed!" Bluto pushed the four or so freshmen out of the huddle and they all got tangled up and collapsed in a nerdy little freshman heap.

Hoover leaned forward from where he was standing six feet away, trying to hear what was going on. He only caught tidbits, such as "I hate reading!", "I'm allergic to byproducts!" and "Where am I?"

The huddle broke apart. The Deltas stood behind Otter with their hands clasped behind their back.

Otter nodded. "We want a house pet."

Hoover was caught off guard. "What kind of pet?"

"Nothing specific."

"…I mean like, a mammal? Or a reptile or bird or what? Something scary or cute and furry?"

"Surprise us."


Without another word, the other Deltas took a seat and looked up at Hoover.

"So how are we going to do this?" Hardbar asked Hoover.

"Well, first we have to get supplies…"


"Of all things to be stealing from the college, I didn't think I'd ever be stealing school supplies," Otter commented as he walked behind a trail of Deltas. He was whispering, since they were doing their campus plundering in the nighttime. Otter was acting quite indignant, because physical exertion was so not what he had signed up for. It was bad enough that what they were carrying was heavy, but they had to be quiet about it too.

He and Boon both were carrying large boxes of textbooks of different sizes. A freakishly oversized Delta named Mountain was lugging two desks with attached chairs over his shoulders. Hoover and Hardbar both held two ends of a chalkboard, on top of which they piled papers and books of poetry. A small gaggle of various Dletas carried more desks. In contrast to everyone's silence, Bluto dragged two desks behind him on the concrete sidewalk of the Faber College Courtyard, creating painful screeching noises.

Meanwhile, Chip Diller was out for a healthy evening walk. Doing at least twenty minutes of exercise just a few times a week, such as a nice brisk walk, has been proven to lower your risk of heart disease. Chip Diller's heart was healthy. He exercised multiple times a week. And he ate right – fruits and vegetables and whole grain carbohydrates are to be eaten frequently. Fats and oils are to be eaten sparingly. He would live long and well. Not like those damned Deltas. They'll die at thirty-five of cirrhosis of the liver, and Chip Diller will laugh at the obituaries, laugh hard-

Good lord, what is that horrible noise? Hey, wait a minute! Is that… that looks like some of those damned Deltas! Chip hid behind a tall birch tree and watched as they stumbled across the lawn and towards fraternity row. It looks like they're stealing something! Again! Go figure! He ducked low and quietly crept a couple trees closer. He realized… they were stealing desks, and books, and a chalkboard! They're stealing Faber school supplies and furniture!

Chip Diller turned around and went the long way around to fraternity row, waiting until he was far enough away to break out into a run.



"Welcome to Robert Hoover's first ever nighttime studying session!" Hoover proudly wrote Welcome! on the poorly propped-up chalkboard. A few desks had been set up in rows in the basement, but there were only twelve or so. The freshmen were seated on the floor. "We won't be going in any particular order of subjects, since most of you are failing everything. Right now we're focusing on creative writing. Now, before I came up here I told you all to take a few minutes and wrote about whatever was on your mind, in whatever form you felt most comfortable in, be it poetry or prose."

Bluto looked up. "What if it's neither?"

"… I think that's all writing comes in, Bluto. It's probably one or the other."

"I don't know what this is."

"Can I see it?"

"You wouldn't understand it." Bluto curled up protectively around his piece of paper.

"Why not?"

"It's in my own language!"

Hoover had no answer to that. "Well, as I was saying before, you just wrote whatever you were thinking or feeling. I think now might be a nice time to share some of what we have written and maybe get some input back on it. Do we have any volunteers?"

"I'll go!" Otter offered.

Hoover raised one eyebrow. "Hang on, Otter, let me see what you've written." He took the piece of paper, glanced at it for what couldn't have been even a full second and handed it back to Otter. "That's inappropriate for my classroom. Is there anyone else?" Hoover looked around for a show of hands, ignoring Otter's best indignant face. "Stork, maybe?"

Stork hesitated and looked scared, but stood up. "I drew this cartoon," he held it out for all to see. "It's a stick figger with a big head and he's eatin' a fat blob man."

The others leaned forward to see it with fascination. Some of them cheered softly. "It's beautiful!" Bluto said.

Hoover sighed. "That's very nice, Stork, but I asked for writing. Please, did anyone write anything…" Hardbar began to get up. "Anything appropriate? Come on, guys, don't be shy. Boon, you were very intently writing something before, how about you share."

Boon looked utterly disinterested as the other Deltas encouraged him rather loudly. "Uh, okay. Let's see. It's sorta like… a story. It's told from a made-up character's point of view."

Hoover nodded. "A story! How nice! I had no idea, coming from you, Boon."

Boon shrugged. "It's nothing really. It gets the job done. Okay. I didn't understand it. How was he still alive? I had separated his top half from his bottom half, yet he lies here staring at me with twitching eyes, as wide as they can go. If he could find his voice he would beg me to put an end to it, the pathetic piece of crap! Beg like the lower-form he is and spends his life trying to deny! He keeps knocking me down to try to make himself feel better. But I am the bigger man today. I, with my father's blood split across his hateful little room and on my hands and in my mouth, am victorious. I, with these severed entrails at my feet, am superior! My dog comes in, my faithful dog, the only one I love, and laps at the blood pooling out, just as I have taught him before. I let him, he looks up at me with his canine teeth and tongue stained bright red. He next uses the small intestine as his new chew toy – he'll be carrying it around everywhere, and it'll become gray and damp with dirt. I have trained him so well. I look down, the vertebrae…! Whoa! What about vertebrae? Sorry, this was only supposed to be a few sentences. Then I kinda got… carried away." He sat down, making the only noise in the now silent basement. He stared at his desk, deliberately not looking at everyone staring at him. The silence continued. Boon fiddled with his fingers. "We should read Otter's. It's really gross."



"Math is my worst subject," Hoover stared at the chalk meaningfully before sighing and beginning to write an equation on the board. "I'm going to start out with some algebraic equations. Technically we're at the level for calculus, but you guys probably don't even remember algebra, or maybe arithmetic for that matter so I think I should brush up on the basics." He began writing some formulas for finding variables or some crap like that on the board.

"We do too know arithmetic," Flounder said, crossing his arms, looking very hurt.

A tall Delta with a shaved head named BB looked at him. "Arithmetic? I thought we were studying math."

"That's not right!" Stork shouted in regards to Hoover's math.

Hoover looked at him, surprised at the outburst. "Stork, please try to keep it down. I'm trying to teach."

"But you're not doing it right!!"

"He's really good at math," Hardbar said. "Really, really good. And you said math is your worst subject."

"Guys, if you think something I write is wrong, just wait a minute and we'll discuss it afterwards."

All was quiet, except for schoolboy-reminiscent whispering and note-passing. That was, until Stork piped up again, squealing somewhat like a pig in frustration. He shot up. "STOP! You're doing it wrong!"

"Stork! Your behavior is getting out of hand! I told you to be patient!"

"But it is wrong."

"Well, dammit, if you're so good, you come up here and do it!"

Stork got up and stomped to the front of the classroom. Hoover had three equations written up for different mathematical processes, and Stork made three neat little strikes through all of them. Then he took thirty seconds to scribble some intricate numbers, signs, letters, arrows, and the rest of the dregs of math. Finally he threw the chalk down. "That there formuler explains why you're such an idiot."


"But you've got to believe me!" Chip Diller followed around Neidermeyer, whose contorting face was slowly expressing more and more disgust. "I saw them and even heard them! They weren't very stealthy!"

"Oh for… would you shut up?" Neidermeyer finally stopped pacing in his futile effort to lose the pledge in the pristine Omega living room. He took a seat in the expensive armchair and took out his old-fashioned pipe. It was kind of weird-looking next to his full military uniform, boots and badges included. Gregg Marmalard, who was reading the Daily Faberian in the couch across from them, raised an eyebrow at their noise. "I believe you already! They were stealing from the school. I'd be surprised if they weren't vandalizing or doing something else criminal every night. I just don't feel like giving them the satisfaction of luring me out of the comfort of this house to chase them around."

"But it's wrong!" Chip wasn't giving up. He plunked himself down next to Marmalard. "You agree with me, don't you?"

Marmalard sighed, folded up his paper, put in his lap, and crossed his legs. Between that and the blazer, he looked liked he was preparing for a fatherly lecture. "Now, Chip, I don't think the matter is whether or not we agree." He snapped his newspaper out again. "We just don't care." But then he looked up. "What were they stealing?"

"Desks and books!"

"Wait, you just said they were stealing furniture when you talked to me," Neidermeyer said. "You don't mean to say the Deltas were stealing things with the intent to learn?" He laughed.

Now Marmalard looked a bit bothered. "Chip…"

"I'm not joking! This is serious! We have to do something for Faber College!"

"Do what? They probably haven't looked at a book in so long… the stress will be too much… either their hearts or brains will explode!" Neidermeyer laughed again, probably at the thought of many painful deaths.

Chip took a minute to realize that this was the first time he had ever seen Neidermeyer laugh more than once. Actually, it was the first time he had ever seen the ROTC commander laugh at all. It was really creeping him out.

Marmalard started up again. "Chip, when you're in this household, it's okay to say you just want to beat the shit out of some Delta for no reason. The practice is encouraged. But please don't make up excuses – it's not dignified."

Chip was about to argue his case, but it was no use. "I understand. Thank you for having this discussion with me. I feel much better and richer for the experience." He got up and went upstairs. But instead of heading towards his own room, he headed towards Neidermeyer's…



"Let's see… Civil War…" Hoover tossed a few papers with a lesson plan he had prepared over his shoulder. "History was my second worst subject. Let's skip it."

"No, I can teach history!" Bluto offered.

"Bluto, you're not Stork. You think the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor."

"They didn't? Oh. Well, Mr. Smartass, who did?"

Hoover opened his mouth and put his hands on his hips in an of-course-I-know-I'm-better way but paused. "Um… the… Asians." He was actually somewhat thankful that Pinto raised his hand. "Yes, Pinto?"

"May I go to the bathroom?"

"No. Go between classes."

Pinto knitted his eyebrows like he was going to argue, but just thought better of it and crossed his legs on the floor.

"I may as well give history an attempt, I suppose," Hoover turned to the blackboard but was again interrupted, this time by laughter from the back of the "classroom". Hoover turned to his class with his best disciplinarian face and had little trouble pinpointing the source. "Boon, Otter, mind telling me what is so funny?"

"You wouldn't get it," Otter said.

"Try me."

Boon smiled and said, "We were talking about what an asshole you are."

"Boon! Do not use that language in my classroom!"

"What? Asshole? You've used it before."

"I want you two to come to the front of the classroom. Right now."

They came up, still exchanging looks that were mixtures of amusement, sarcasm, and fear.

Hoover rummaged around his desk (which probably belonged to some poor teacher) and came up with some object. "You know, I had to buy soap because there's none in this house!" He held up the little pink bar.

Boon looked at it. It smelled girlish. "What are you going to do with soap?"

Bluto said, "Why use soap when you can just change your clothes?"

"AGAHPLGH!!" Boon tried to wrestle away from Hoover, who was stuffing the soap bar in his mouth.

"There! That'll teach you to swear in my classroom!" Hoover stepped away to admire his art. Boon was slightly sudsy and extremely pissed off. Otter would have been next, but funny thing was, Flounder was standing in his place.

"Hi, Hoover."

"Hello, Flounder. Where did Otter go?"

"I think he went to the bathroom."

"What?!" Pinto shouted. "I'm going to piss my pants and he gets to go without asking?"

D-Day walked into the room. "Are you doing that studying thing now?"

"YES!" Hoover said. "You didn't know that? Where have you been?"

"Preparing a lesson plan. I'm teaching your science class. You said I could because you said science was your third worst subject."

"I was joking…!"

Otter burst back in. "I brought beer!"

Everybody but Hoover, Pinto, and Boon cheered. Pinto was beginning to look strained.

"No beer in my classroom!"

"Wait, he gets to teach science, but I can't teach history?!" Bluto got up out ofhis seat. "That's an outrage!!"

Boon glared at Hoover. "I'm going to write a story about you…" He threatened through a mouth full of suds.

Stork also got up, just to add to the noise. "I stepped on a nail and it's been there for two days!"


Gregg put his newspaper down, after finally finishing it. He stood up from the comfortable couch. I feel like punching something.


Chip Diller crept across Fraternity Row along the backyards. He had camouflage face paint and backpack full of supplies lifted from Neidermeyer's room. Chip took out a pair of binoculars, and looked through them toward Delta House. Delta House was ten feet away. Even their brickwork is shoddy, Chip thought to himself with some degree of satisfaction. He crept up to the house, analyzing it. The house's upper windows were mostly dark, and it was somewhat quieter than usual. What noise there was came from the basement, so Chip concluded that's where most of them were – no doubt getting ready to massively vandalize Faber property! Diller decided that if they were in the basement, the chimney would be a safe mode of entry. I'll be just like Santa Claus, punishing the bad with my fists of coal! Diller paused briefly to shudder, remembering when he was young and naughty and often got the Fists of Coal on Christmas Eve, then brought out a grappling hook.

How the hell am I supposed to use this? He fiddled with it, and shot it through a window. Oh well. Their window. He didn't know how to bring it back by fiddling with it again, so he dragged it back. But it got stuck on the window sill. He jerked it, and it took off a chunk of wall. But it came back! So it was still pretty much a success.

Chip shot the hook again, and this time it clipped onto the side of their chimney. He pulled on it once, and then again, and it didn't come back. Satisfied, he began to climb up – and the instant he put his whole weight on it, it came back, causing Chip's back to drop four feet to the ground. Growling, he let the rope out of the gun, and swung it in a high arc, causing the hook to wrap around the chimney. This time he was actually able to get it to stay long enough to scale the side of the house. He saw a single Delta in the kitchen grabbing more beer, but they didn't see him, and he didn't see anybody in their rooms.

Finally, somewhat winded, Diller pulled himself up to the roof, and stuck one leg in the chimney. He paused, and a sadistic grin like that of a Jack-o-Lantern slowly split his face. Retrieving Neidermeyer's grappling hook, he quietly muttered, "Ho ho ho, you blackguards," and used the rope to slide gently down the chimney. Halfway down, he wondered, what's that chittering noise? briefly until the family of chipmunks attacked.



"But we already learned history," Hardbar said, adjusting his position in his seat by putting his feet up on his desk.

"History and geography are two very different things, Hardbar," Hoover said. "Now, can somebody tell me the five themes of geography?"

Pinto raised his hand. "Location is one. That's all I know."

"Good! Glad to see some of us were paying attention, at least a little bit."

"Can I go to the bathroom now?"

"I SAID HOLD IT. There's location, and I'll give you one – movement. Since I know none of you are going to voluntarily be helpful, I'm just going to go around each row, and everybody is going to give it their best shot."

"Which way are you going?" Otter asked from where he was sitting in the back of the middle row.

"Horizontally. Starting in this corner with Pinto."

"I already said one. Can I please go?" Pinto tried, twitching out of a need to relieve himself.

Hoover gave him a nasty look (very uncharacteristic of Hoover). Pinto shrank back. "Hold it."

The poor little pledge was shaking. "Yes sir!" His voice cracked.

Otter ignored that whole little scene. "Well, good, if you go that way, then you won't reach me for a while."

"Then we'll start with you and work our way clockwise."


"Otter, try to name one of the five themes of geography."

Otter sighed and gave it a bit of thought. "My ass."

Hoover stomped over to Otter. When Hoover reached over to him, Otter began to scoot away (he didn't want his mouth to be washed out with girly soap). But Hoover grabbed him and ripped off the tan jacket he was wearing. "You just lost your blazer privileges, mister."

Boon looked from Otter to Hoover. "Hey, why don't you wash his mouth out?"

"You're not wearing a blazer," Hoover was back at his desk.

"What the hell!"

"Boon, please grow up. Roach, why don't you give the five themes a try?"

The plain-looking vest-clad Delta tried, "Igneous?"

"That's… geology, not geography. Einswine?"


"Guys, it's not rocks. Boon?"

"Screw you."

"If you can tell me one, I'll wash Otter's mouth out with soap."

"Human-environment interactions."

Hoover smiled and took out his soap after writing it on the board. "Thank you, Boon!"

Otter was making little noises of disbelief and put on what must have been his third indignant face that day.

Bluto looked next to him, where Flounder had fallen asleep in class. Flounder was probably next to get called on. Bluto tapped him on the shoulder. "Flounder. You're gonna get called on. Hey, Flounder. Wake up. You're next." He paused and observed him to see if there was any sign of movement. He tapped him a bit harder. "Flounder! You're gonna get called on next. Hey, Flounder. FLOUNDER!!" He whacked him hard upside the head.

"Owwwww!" Flounder cried and grabbed his head. "That really hurt."

Now Hoover had a large ruler. "I know something that's going to hurt a lot more!"

Bluto gave him a look of horror. "You're the worst teacher ever!!"

"It's true. I should stage my takeover now." D-Day said.


Now past the chipmunks and possibly infected with rabies, Chip Diller wormed his way down the chimney. To say it was dirty was quite the understatement. But he honestly didn't expect it would be clean.

He squirmed down, slipping halfway there and falling on his butt in a pile of ash and beer cans. He checked his backpack to make sure nothing was broken. With gusto, Chip jumped out of the fireplace and into the living room.

"Whoa!" Hardbar was upstairs, getting more beer.

Chip whipped out a tranquilizer gun and shot him with it. "Damn interruptions." He made his way across the room and stepped over Hardbar's unmoving body to an empty keg. He punched two holes in the top with his pocket knife and climbed in, flipping it over so the top seemed closed (but it was actually the bottom), and the real top was on the bottom where his feet stuck out for movement. Awesome idea! Go me! He shuffled around in it, making his way over to the middle of the room. But he stopped short when Hoover bounded up the steps from the basement.

He muttered to himself and looked around frantically. Someone knocked at the door. "Hold on, please! Dammit… can't let D-Day show them how to make a bomb… HEY GUYS! THERE'S A FRESH KEG UP HERE!"

Gregg Marmalard, with two other Omegas known by the Deltas as Guy From Philadelphia and Guy Who Nods Whenever Marmalard or Neidermeyer Talk, came into the house without waiting for someone to open the door. "Aha! Kegs! I knew there was a good reason for me to come over here!"

There was a small uproar downstairs. Bluto came roaring up, screaming his head off, and grabbed the keg of Chip over his shoulder.

"What the… Bluto! Stop! There's someone in that keg!!" Hoover said

Bluto stopped and face Hoover. "What?"

Hoover gestured to the flailing legs off the top of it. "And there are eyeholes too! And Hardbar's unconscious over there! And good, now you're distracted from D-Day's classes!"

"Eyeholes? How is it not leaking?"

"There's no beer in it!"

"THEN WHAT GOOD IS IT?" Bluto kicked the keg over and it went rolling downstairs.

The keg burst at the bottom, and Chip, looking quite worse for wear, jumped up to see a bunch of Deltas staring back at him. There was an uncomfortable silence until Boon shouted, "Holy shit!"

Chip Diller whipped out the tranquilizer gun, and all the Deltas jumped and shouted, thinking it was a real gun. Chip shot it, but only a clicking noise came out. "Oh, shoot. What good is this if it's only loaded for one person?!" He threw it at Boon instead.

"AGH-! What the hell! I'm going to write a fucking novel tonight!"

Meanwhile, the Omegas, Bluto, and Hoover, were watching the scene up top. Gregg turned to Hoover. "Aha! You kidnapped one of our pledges! There's a real reason to beat you up!" He hit Hoover once hard in the face.

Hoover stumbled against the wall. "Ouch! You Omegas are terrible, terrible people!!"

"We're terrible people? You kidnapped one of our impressionable, innocent freshmen!"


"And he defaced our beer!!" Bluto added, stomping up to face Marmalard. "That's SICK!"

"I don't care if you're suspicious of us, you can't break into our house!" Hoover said.

Bluto eagerly nodded. "It's illegal."

"It's barely a house…" said Guy From Philadelphia.

If Bluto had been placated at all before, it was worthless, because that started him up again. "And now you're insulting us! Maybe that's why we stole your pledge!"

Hoover shoved Bluto away. "Stop talking!! You're making it worse!"


Marmalard shoved past Hoover and Bluto, leading his groupies downstairs. "I don't believe it! You did steal from the college! I can't imagine… that's it! I'm going to Dean Wormer!"

"How can I teach with all this noise?!" D-Day brandished about a dead rat and nitroglycerin in a beaker, waving them wildly.

"You have some explaining to do!" Marmalard crossed his arms. "Wait until Dean Wormer hears this! You're all dead meat!"
Guy Who Nods Whenever Marmalard or Neidermeyer Talk was nodding, naturally.

"Yeah!" D-Day said. "Maybe you should take one of us to explain things to him! Then we can tell him all about your stupid crap too!"

"Wait a minute, all of you!" Otter stepped forward, inserting himself in the conversation. "I'm not talking! I wanna be involved!"

For once, nobody listened to him. Marmalard just kept going. "How is confirming our suspicions, albeit in a somewhat intrusive way, comparable to you stealing from Faber College and abducting one of our pledges? Probably with the intent to teach him all of your horrible habits… or maybe even to molest him!"

"EWWW!" Three random Deltas called out.

Boon laughed. He wiggled his fingers at Chip. "Grope. Grope. Grope. Come here, little boy!"

"STOP THAT!" Hoover's voice reached a volume he had never known he was capable of.

"Let's go, you ruffians! We're taking you to Wormer's office!"

"Take Hoover!" Bluto shoved Hoover towards him.

"What?! But… guys!"

"Bye, Hoover!" Boon waved. "We'll pick you up someday! Good luck!"

The Omegas grabbed Hoover's arms and led him up the stairs. He attempted to drag his feet. "Nooo! I'm gonna die!"

They had all left, but Chip Diller remained.

"Go away!" Stork ordered.

Chip twitched his way slowly up the stairs. "You're all on my shit list. Do you hear me? Every one of you. Even if you get away with it this time. I'm writing your names down! HA!" He slammed the basement door behind him. They could sort of hear the sounds of him running across the living room, tripping and falling, then running again until he was out the door.

"That was scary!" Flounder said.

"What an odd little man!" D-Day rubbed his moustache in thought. "Puts me to shame… so who wants to finish up learning how to make dynamite?!"

The Deltas cheered. They barely noticed as a groggy Hardbar opened the basement door and looked inside. "Oh! Cool, I didn't miss anything important! Hey guys! I brought beer! Now let's make bombs!" He stumbled down the stairs.


Professor Jennings rubbed his tired eyes as he made his way down the hall at eight AM. Coffee did nothing for him on mornings like these. As he opened the door, he realized how thankful he was that least he didn't have any morning classes that day. He could just sleep at his desk until...

"What the hell?" There were no desks, bookshelves, or chairs in his classroom. Nothing. It was totally empty. His own desk and even the chalkboard were gone. He blinked a few times to see if the image would change. "That must have been some of the best weed I've had in a long time."