Fall in May

~10~ The Butcher of San Fall

"What the shit is this flock-shit?" The monster leatherhead next to me immediately snaps his head up and shakes the blonde Cossack forelock out of his glaring baleful eyes.

So it seems that I am not the only one that has taken a disliking to the little freakshow. Because I can feel the roiling rage rumble begin to emanate from the monster next to me now, as the evil little gnome begins to justify his existence.

"Welcome one and all, to English Literature. Clearly, I am not Miss Grant, I am Mr. Dyuvetter." His little boy beard twists into a malicious smirk. "And not quite unlike yourselves, I too am surprised to find myself here today. It would seem that due to unforeseen circumstances, of which I was only just informed of this very morning, Ms. Grant is going to be out on an extended maternity leave. So I will have the pleasure of filling in indefinitely for Mrs. Grant for at least the next six weeks ...and possibly much longer."

"Ohhh nooooo..." The long mourning moan resonates out from the entire flocking class. Based on the evil twisted little smirk on his face, I gather this negative reaction to his continued presence was not completely unexpected, nor unappreciated. 

"Oh yes." His twisted smirk widens into a sneer. I swear by the Sea, he looks positively gleeful at the prospect of being even more hated than he clearly already is. Thus confirming my suspicions about his schadenfreudian proclivities.

"Due to the aforementioned unfortunate circumstances, we are all required to adjust accordingly. Such is life." He shrugs off to his next topic of disinterest.

"To wit, a card will be passed around, for your thoughts and prayers for little Gary Grant's speedy recovery. Hence." He holds up a cheap ass looking "Get well soon!!!" card, with a sick sinister-looking balloon clown. Then he proceeds to drop it off with a theatrical flourish on the first desk in the front of the class. It is at that precise moment I vow never to use "Whence" or "Hence" or any of the other "ences" ever again for the rest of my life.

"Now with that said, I will require an assistant to volunteer take role whilst I hand out syllabi." Just the way he says "syllabi"  instead of syllabus, tells me that my earlier impression of him was clearly wrong. Because this little mini-man isn't just a grammar Nazi, he's the full-on Grammar Gestapo. And I really hate Nazi's...it's a thing.

"No one?" He smirks twistedly down to the poor Celestial girl with cat-eye librarian glasses, in the front center spot. "Congratulations for volunteering, Miss...?"

"Lee." The rather unhappy looking Celestial chick with cat eyes sighs sadly and takes the proffered roll sheet over to the tall podium in the corner to "volunteer".   

As she silently beings to fill in the roll sheet from memory, I get the initial impression that poor Miss Lee's lot in life is to be the eternal role monitor in every class she has. I'm thinking that it's the old-fashioned retro librarian cat glasses she is rocking that makes her appear super responsible. Or maybe she just has one of those faces that teachers immediately trust? Personally, I suspect that Miss Lee would probably make one hell of an assassin. Cause no one would ever suspect her until it was too late ...librarian glasses and all. 

"You will note on the syllabi being passed back, that the first assignment is to have a selection of Beowulf read by Friday. So by our next class, I fully expect that all students be prepared to discuss the introductory chapters of Beowulf at depth." His twisted smile wides excitedly for some strange reason. "So sorry to ruin your one hope of sliding by, but just knowing the story arc from watching the film version will not cut muster. Neither with myself, nor Beowulf's unknown Anglo-Saxon scribe."

"So if one was to come into this class, believing that the Grendel is some sort of Gollum? Or that main narrator of the ancient tale is a handsome and dashing young Arabian courtier? I will know you have not done the required reading assignment, and you will be in for a very long hour of failure. Not to mention the distinct probability of athletic ineligibility, for those of you who think you might be playing in the first home game in a Friday fortnight hence against Lincoln." He pauses long enough to bore his greedy glare directly towards the monster next to me in the corner. "Did you catch all that in the back, Mr. Barnes?"