Who among us hasn’t drifted off during some important point in our lives and began doodling?
At one point in my life where I spent a LOT of time fooling myself with unwarranted delusions of grandeur I fancied myself an artist. A bad artist, but an artist nonetheless.
After two real art classes I realized what a rank amateur I turned out to be and started defacing property and little ripped bits of paper that were floating around. I think you can still see some of my handiwork in classroom 208 on some of the desks.
Old notebooks of mine recently floated to the surface and I found some silly stuff.
Sadly, this should have served as foreshadowing of things to come.
I have stacks of junky scrap paper creations accompanied by illegible captions that my friends and I penned during what seem to be drug addled stints in our classes.
I recently unearthed one of our high school death and dying teacher holding hands with our dour math instructor. This would be okay except we depicted them as a clueless bespectacled hamburger and a pack of fries with an angry scowl and a love of the Pythagorean theorem. We titled it “Klaitchbuger and Weirfries”
I’ll have to scan it for you so you can behold the wonder.
Notice we didn’t dare draw a nun picture.