Y'see, we've had this lady from Stanford (Mrs. Hitchcock) who has been coming into our class for the past semester, doing some funny project on all of us. It's really screwed our English class up. -_- But, thankfully, she's gone now, much to everyone's relief.
We were writing our essays for her on short stories we'd read. Everyone was goofing off - no one wanted to do it.
Ms. B: Just do it, people! This is the last paper we have to do for Mrs. Hitchcock, and then she'll be gone forever! So make it good - then we'll be rid of her!
Petruchio: Ms. B, the mike's still on.
Ms. B had the most horrified expression on her face I'd ever seen. She whipped around, searching for the horrible object of doom.
Petruchio: Just kidding!
Ms. B looked at him like he was the spawn from hell. Everyone in the class was laughing. There was murder in her eyes. She took off after Petruchio, who leapt up from his chair and took for the door. I slid my chair into his way, but not fast enough. He was in the air and out the door before she could stop him.
Of course, once he was out there he couldn't come back in, because Ms. B was waiting at the door. Finally, he got too cold, and tried to sneak back in. Ms. B whammed him a good one with his jacket.
Petruchio, for scarin' Ms. B like that you are one bad boy.