Hey everybody! Welcome to the fifteenth Our Lady of Perpetual Sanctity, Solitude, and Chastity High School fair! Before we kick off the festivities—since it has been a problem in the past—a couple of ground rules about the dunk tank.

In case anyone doesn’t know, one of our brave teachers, Mrs. Heathridge, has volunteered to be your target. I say that as a joke, of course; the target is located above and to the left of Mrs. Heathridge’s face.

First rule: do not aim for Mrs. Heathridge’s face.

The dunk tank, like the rest of the fair, is a fundraiser, and balls are a dollar each. You may not use balls brought from home, whether they are similar to the ones sold, or, and I cannot believe I have to say this, bowling balls. Do not, under any circumstances, throw a bowling ball at Mrs. Heathridge. She is seventy-two and has been teaching for fifty years. She will die.

You may not throw live grenades that your father brought home “from the war.” This will not change if you specify the war, nor if you specify the make and model number of the grenades. We don’t care what terrible things your father saw or did in the war, as they are not excuses for your behavior. Mrs. Heathridge is seventy-two and has been teaching for fifty years. She will die.

Under no circumstances may you kiss the balls. This includes a peck, as if on the cheek or forehead, or, in some cases, “giving them the kind of sticky dad gave mom when he got home from the war.” Mrs. Heathridge is seventy-two and has been teaching for fifty years. She will die.

You may not deliver Hamlet’s “To be or not to be” soliloquy while pretending a ball is the skull. You may neither repeat the soliloquy upon finishing, nor invent an entire second part of the soliloquy where Hamlet “goes crazy mode all over his ancestors.” Mrs. Heathridge teaches English; she can smell Shakespeare from miles away. He has a specific bardly stench.

You will NOT tie a string to a ball and go “around the world” like a yo-yo. You may NOT draw a smiley face on the ball, take off your clothes, roll around in the dirt, and exclaim that you are “doing a Castaway.” You may NOT put two balls in your mouth, and when asked about it, tell people you are “saving them for winter.” You are not a chipmunk, and do not hibernate. You get out of bed and come to school, where we have to deal with you.

We hate all of you! We hate you! All these rules had to be made after last year’s fair. We haven’t even gotten to the rules we had to make because of the thirteen other fairs.

Why do we still do the dunk tank? Is that a question we’ve asked ourselves recently? Everyone treats the other attractions with respect! How many times do you all think the apple-bobbing tub was filled with razors instead of apples? How many times did someone piss into the cotton candy machine? Never!

But you all love the dunk tank. The numbers are in. Do you know how much money we made throughout the years from every attraction except for the dunk tank? Ten thousand dollars. Do you know how much money we made since this announcement from the dunk tank?

Sixty grand. Poor Mrs. Heathridge is already a pile of ash.

You know what? You’re all expelled. All of you. Parents too. Get off the premises. We don’t want you here anymore. Fair over. Fundraiser over. You’re all going to hell.