Fresh meat. Regularly scheduled teachers eventually figured out my M.O. and foiled attempts at clever class clownery. But a substitute! Every item in my bag of tricks comes out, every tool on my Swiss bastard knife unlatched.

I would always give them one shot at prooving they were down. Hell, if they were an actual cool person, I'd want a repeat performance. Don't want to drive away the dope ones. I'd even defend them against lesser class miscreants. Couldn't stand purile and subpar class antics anyway. Fucking amatuers.

When they blew it though, they got their name etched in stone. Permenant list of marks. Free and clear targets. Fully sanctioned victims of spanky freak brain attacks.

I could convince a substitute out of half the days preprogrammed studies. We already took that quiz. Teacher usually lets us play boardgames after we read a chapter. Rosey cheeks and sinful dimples. I was a stinker in angel's clothing.

My favorite nerve shatterer was the leaky drip. I can make a sound with my mouth that sounds exactly like water dripping into puddle. Also, and I've never figured out the mechanics of it, the noise seemed to project away from me. Bouncing off the walls they had no idea where it was coming from. Lecturing at the chalkboard, freezing in their tracks as they are haunted by the echoing drip. Awesome.

Also, items normally secured by the absent teach, were subject to my recapture. Substitute needs to take a leak. Fish out my comicbooks, air rifle pellets, and Wacky Packages stickers out of the now unlocked desk. Have to leave some prisoners behind so it seems like the confiscated pile hasn't been touched. I remember my fourth grade teacher at the end of the year cornered me. She was gonna give me all my stuff back, and discovered that none of it was there. I told her she should inform the principal that there is a thief about, and I was upset that some stranger was fingering my things. She gave me a free sneer.

You gotta know the boundaries, the edge of a teacher's tolerance, and just surf that line. Don't want to be spending any time on the bench outside the principal's office. That's anti-chill. You gotta show precocious nature and potential talent, and they will forgive you much. They'll mark it up to a smart young boy being misguided. They always wanted to be my buddy. Christ I learned to be a devious little shit early.

I remember at parent/teacher conferences, sitting there, listening to the teacher give my folks a report on my behavior. Always said I was charming. Always said I had unused gifts. Course, I would be smirking behind my hands, trying to not clue ma and pop in on my record of naughty actions. And the teachers, for the most part, played their role. I mean they stoked the oven. When they caught me in the act, they would scold me. But in front of my folks they made it sound like I was a misunderstood wunderkind. It rocked.

Come to think of it, I became very skilled in not getting caught. Homies in high school were always getting nabbed for the same thing I walked away unscathed from. Like a drunk stumbling out of the car they just totalled without a scrape. Holy fucknut did they hate that shit. Also didn't help that I did as little homework and studying as them and still maintained a respectable grade average. Homework sucks anyway. They may own my ass during the day, but the nights are mine.

I wonder if this is the reason most of my bosses seem to like keeping me around. Feh, dunno, the class clown seems to have transformed into an ascerbic grouch. And I'm not trying to sneak Hustler magazines into my operating manuals. Although I do get away with what I can whenever I can. Long live the clown! Viva clown!