At this moment in my pitiful, somewhat disoriented and random life, I was reminded of how much I hated mock-up aristocrats.

“A-HEM!” Professor Buttercup cleared his throat, adjusted his prune-purple bow tie, and started to speak, “Now that you appreciate how much Senior Principal Burrito has done for our school, I will reinforce it with punishment. I know how much you would like to do some math equations for me, but that’s too light!”

(I gasped on the inside. Who knew what horrors lingered in Professor Buttercup’s mind?)

“Instead,” he continued, obliviously unawares of my internal gasp, “I’ll have you clean my whiteboards.”

At first I just stood there, shocked into standing still. (Clean Whiteboards > Math Equations! (I had spent too much time in the math cell already!))

I quickly grabbed the cleaning fluid and some paper towel, and was done in five minutes flat.

As soon as I was done, I whipped out (Literally whipped out. I was probably going faster than sound) of Professor Buttercup’s torture cell.