Looking good today, Teach-o. Nice and fresh. You take a shower? So did I. This morning. When was yours? Morning or night? Ha! What am I saying? Don’t answer that. Sorry. Still it would be cool if we were on the same shower schedule.

So about the homework. Here’s the thing. Well, it’s nothing. I did it. I did the homework. Yes. The actual homework itself? Completed. Yes, yes, yes. Did it last night. Took a while too, it was hard. You threw me. It was not easy, I was like huh? What the heck? But then I remembered the lesson, yes, the lesson! The totally amazing lesson you gave. By the way, thanks for teaching that. It really helped. And, so, I looked over my notes from your lesson and I figured it out. Boom. Just like that. Did it. Done. I proofread it, named it, kissed it, and then my dog ate it.

No joke. Sarge ate it. That’s his name, Sergeant Timmy Tummy. After the famous military leader. Jumped up and ate it. He did. No lie. Saw it with my own two eyes. Jump. Gulp. Walked away. Like nothing happened. Didn’t even chew. No big deal to him. Super massive giant big deal to me. I said that’s 10% of my grade. He said nothing. No explanation. I said no explanation? He said no. I said what? And Sarge said nothing. To me!

But hold on. That’s not all. This is the best part. He walks off. I follow. We go over to the living room where there’s a huge Ayahuasca ceremony. All the guys were there. Big steaming pot. I said who let you in here? They said something but I don’t know. Language barrier. And they ladled something into a dog bowl and Sarge drank it. Like?! Excuse me!? Rude!

First you come into my house unannounced. You set up an Ayahuasca ceremony in my living room. And then you give it to my dog? So I see red and it’s not the new burgundy curtains I bought for the bay window. I’m angry. I scream. I yell. But they don’t do squat. One guy’s got a flute. So I dial a nine and a one and before I can get to the second one, Sarge pukes up my homework! You know, from the Ayahuasca! Hurls it all up! In one undamaged, wet wad of paper! A miracle!

I say good boy! Good Sergeant Timmy Tummy! And he looks pretty out of it but I guess that’s normal. So I turn around and thank these Ayahuasca guys. They saved the day! My homework is out. Ten percent of my grade is restored. My dog healed his internalized puppy mill trauma. We’re dancing around. Life is good. Job well done. Success, right?

Wrong! ‘Cus just as I’m offering these guys bus fare, we turn around and my dog is eating my homework again along with the rest of the Ayahuasca puke! Reintroducing the problem. Zero regard for what’s at stake. Dragging the whole ordeal out further and, frankly, being a selfish asshole.

I say bad boy! Bad Sergeant Timmy Tummy! But it’s too late. He’s high all over again! So they start up with the flute music, the chanting, and I’m about ready to go to prison for life with six dead Peruvians on my hands. But I think to myself, Johnathan, don’t get mad at the Peruvians. Get even. The fate of 15 night school credits depend on it.

So I pull out a sword, you know, to get them out quick, right? It works. They leave. I lay a trashbag underneath Sarge for the rest of the Ayahuasca puke so he’s not stuck in a never-ending drug trip. So he’s not just eat-high-puke, eat-high-puke, eat-high-puke-ing for the rest of his life. I sheath the sword to prevent rust. Everything’s covered. Everything’s set up. Everything’s ready. And he’s not puking.

I grab him. I hold him up. He looks bad. I rock him. I say come on buddy. I shake him. I beg. Finally, his stomach grumbles. Worst sound I ever heard. I say yes! And before I can react, he projectile vomits into my open mouth! From way downtown. Bullseye. Game, set, match.

I ate my homework. Don’t ask how it happened. It just did. My mouth must’ve dropped open in shock and swallowed it clean in continual shock. The shock persisted, see. Among an impeccable set of circumstances. Against all odds.

I think. Okay. Cool. I set the dog down. I check the clock. I get my jacket. Get in the car. I drive calmly to the hospital. I park. I pay. I walk in casually. Approach the desk. I say excuse me Madam. I am here to see about the possibility of extending my expiration date. I smile. She doesn’t. She says this is a hotel, put clothes on, et cetera. Gives me a hard time. I say 日本は島国です and poop on the floor.

There’s shouting. A fight breaks out. Stop! I shout. Please! I can explain! A hush falls over. I tell them what happened. They listen. They question. I answer. They nod. They understand. I apologize and eventually so do they. They give me a towel to cover up and as I’m walking out saying goodbye and wishing them the best on their life journey, I vomit in the poop.

More shouting. Another fight breaks out. I slip around naked through the poop puke searching for my homework assignment but it’s not there. Noticing the mess I made for the hotel staff, I attempt a friendly hug. And that’s when everything goes dark.

Next thing I remember is a doctor mumbling about something, showing me an X-ray. But not just any X-ray. This X-ray, in my hand! A $458, out-of-network, stomach X-ray showing the absolute completion of my homework assignment due today! Here. See for yourself. Maybe you could use the overhead projector to grade it? Can we do that? Let’s do that.

By the way, did I mention how I love what you’ve done with your hair? I’m surprised I haven’t. Tied up in my story, I guess. It’s radiant. Okay so now that it’s on the projector you’ll grade it in front of the whole class? Oh WOW. Really putting me on the spot. That’s okay, that’s okay. Go ahead. I might narrate as you go. Nervous habit.

All right, here we go. Question one? Wrong. Two? Wrong. Three? Wrong. Four? Wrong. Five? Wrong. Six? Wrong. Seven? Wrong. Eight? Correct! Nice. What’s left? Nine? Wrong. Ten? Wrong. Eleven? Wrong. Twelve? Wrong. Thirteen? Wrong. Fourteen? Wrong. Fifteen? Wrong.

Fourteen wrong. One right. Interesting. Yeah.

That settles it, I’m officially demoting Sergeant Timmy Tummy to Corporal.