fightingofthespirit: (. . . Eeps.)

Right. Completely forgot about this in all the excitement. Can't really blame a fellow, you know. . . . Have classes ended yet? No? Well, then, I'll be in first thing tomorrow. You haven't all been coming and waiting for me to show up everyday, have you?

Anyway, your final exam projects were due . . . about three weeks ago, I believe.  No more extensions for anyone else who forgot; I think you've all had plenty of time. Since I haven't seen any cookie sheets placed conveniently outside my doorway, I assume none of you went in for the obvious approach.

On a separate note, has Professor Itoshiki taken ill lately?


Apr. 29th, 2009 08:53 pm
fightingofthespirit: (#@%!!)
Final exams?   Now?  

It's not even May!  What sort of terrible curriculum is this?  Summer vacation for a whole three months -- Preposterous!  How am I supposed to make anything without any students?!  In my day, we got a single day off to celebrate the creation of the world.  Maybe a holiday on the side for the founding of your city if you were lucky.  Heck, this hardly even counts as summer; the temperature barely goes above 75 every now and then.  Real summer comes around when it gets so hot that a minute out in the sun will knock you out and send you straight to the healers.  Then maybe we move classes under the shade of a tree.

What?  Stop complaining?  Why should I?  Do I still get paid over the summer? . . . . . . . . . . . ...........

Ehh.  Students, though you may have learned almost as much as this class as you did in gym, your final exam will not be waived.  In the spirit of home economics, it will be a hands-on project.  As for the specifics . . . Surprise me.  Bake me cookies.  Paint my room a different color.  Make me a uniform made of blue and red. 

You have two weeks.

Bonus points if you somehow manage to include some of our discussion upon magic theory into the project. 
fightingofthespirit: (Yatta!)
A-At long last! I have nearly completed my goal!

Now behold! The fusion of supreme intelligence, craftsmanship, and art -- The Magic Cannon!

Here goes no --




fightingofthespirit: (. . . Eeps.)
Bloody heck. Someone cast an 'absolute zero' spell or something? There goes any chance of working this week on the cann -- err. The fireworks machine. Hey, maybe I ought to go find that fireball slinging loon. Couldn't hurt to warm up a bit.

Class, your assignment is to stay indoors and get yourselves a mug of hot chocolate. Automatic F if you don't put in any marshmallows.
fightingofthespirit: (Resolute)

In light of recent events that may or may not have happened, in addition to complaints I may or may not be receiving, we will be changing the focus of our class temporarily to self-defense! These classes will be optional. If you feel you are capable of looking after yourself, I shall not hold you to attendance, though I request that you prove it to me in some way or another.

A pre-lesson, if you will: if you ever find yourself in a dangerous position, you must use any and all resources you have. For instance -- a pencil! Your backpack! Or even, a heavy book! Bring an item you believe may be used as a weapon to the next class!
fightingofthespirit: (#@%!!)
Odin's beard!  Hundreds of books or so here, and you'd think at least one of them would say something about this ridiculous island.  I spent hours flipping through the most asinine reading material -- But nope!  Nothing.  Nada.  Zilch.  So all I've got, in the end, is the name.  Pfah.  Memento Eden.  'Memento', meaning remembrance, and 'Eden' in reference to original paradise.  Does that sound about right?  So, what -- it takes our memories and keeps us bound here to this 'Eden' with endless ocean in place of flaming seraphim and sword?  The name doesn't even make any bloody sense.  Sounds like a retirement home where the aged go off and die.

I suppose I managed to accomplish my secondary objective.  To the young lady who inquired as to whether or not I was a mage, the answer is a resounding no.  Which correlates precisely with the observation that every single one of my tomes is, in fact, a book of magic, because clearly, nothing in this place can ever make sense or else it would spontaneously implode.  The only positive that's come out of this so far are the half-dozen magic theory texts currently sitting in my bedroom waiting to be read.

In the meantime, I've signed myself up for a job.  What sort of appalling education system allows any random stranger off the street to be qualified to mold the minds of the children?  Worked out in my favor, though.  I should probably find out what Home Economics is before class starts tomorrow; hold on.

. . . Ah.  Here we are.  'A field of formal study including such topics as consumer education, institutional management, interior design, home furnishing, cleaning, handicrafts, sewing, clothing and textiles, cooking, nutrition, food preservation, hygiene, child development, and family relationships.'  . . . What?  . . . Nutrition?  We don't get a choice here!  Interior design, cleaning; child de -- I refuse to teach sex ed. 

This is ludicrous.  I never had to learn any of this in school.

. . .

Listen up, class!  We meet in the front of the library tomorrow; it's warm enough.  Bring a table saw if you have one.  We'll be working on the 'handicrafts' section of this subject from now until . . . I resign, I suppose.  Or I die.  Don't worry, kids; I'm expecting high blood pressure to kick in any time now.


fightingofthespirit: (Default)
Klarth F. Lester

January 2010

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