Get out. Get out. You don't belong in here before the bell. Leave me alone. Go make some friends. You still have a year and three weeks until you graduate. Now is the time. Make those friends immediately!
Are you freakin' high? Because you act like a ferret on crack with a sudden-onset case of ADHD who just happened to drink a keg of Red Bull.
Yes. Show your disdain for the Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's Classroom Premiere of Avatar by putting your head down on your desk and sighing about eleventy-thousand times. No skin off my big fat butt.
Oh, stop it. That snide whispering and soundless snickering makes you look OH SO IMMATURE. Just because you can't monopolize this helpy class by talking out loud for 50 minutes so no one can get a thought into his own brain edgewise, much less do any productive work, you don't have to get your nose out of joint over the loss of your usual captive audience. An audience which is MY audience, by cracky, for the Avatar premiere! If you ain't blue, you ain't poo.
Stop it! Stop staring at me! I have a right to eat lunch unmolested. You are unwrapping my food with your eyes. Don't pretend you're not. Can we move you to another lunch shift next year? Because even though you remember your duty for at least three days out of the week, we still are highly annoyed by your visible visual longing for our food. We need an inservice on Good Look, Bad Look.
Oh, my gravy! You look absolutely ridiculous. Stop clutching that jacket around your torso. Nobody cares that you dumped lunch all over yourself. Not your lunch shift, not ours. What's a little boob soup amongst friends? How exactly did you do that, anyway? I know we didn't have soup on the menu. Supposing you brought it from home, what kind of trough did you swill it from? Don't tell me you had a large flat bowl like a fancy restaurant, with a circular soup spoon to dip carefully away from your body. Sweet Gummi Mary! Did you flop your t*t into the soup trough, or what?
Stop. Calling. Me. When. I. Am. In. The. Hall. Doing. Duty. PERIOD! There is no excuse. Can you not hear the chime that marks the beginning and end of class? During that 4-minute interlude, I AM IN THE HALL.
Hey! What are you eating? This is the teacher workroom. I do not see any food strewn about willy-nilly. You have no snack machine wrapper. Yet you are clearly chewing on some form of sustenance. Have you been into the fridge again? It seems like only last year that you foraged the BBQ on Tuesday that was left from the parent conference day on the previous Thursday. Those leftovers were a bit long in the tooth for us anti-ptomaine-anites.
For cryin' out loud, what is wrong with you people? Do you not get enough calcium? Do you not get enough Vitamin D? It's in milk, you know. The milk you do not take on your free lunch tray, but replace with sweet, sweet Gatorade from the machine in a room separate from the cafeteria. And your body can manufacture Big D with just a few minutes of sunlight per day, if you would only stop emulating those Twilight characters. Do you all have SpongeBob Syndrome? Because you appear to be all squooshy. Note-to-self, junior peeps: the human body is designed to function against the force of gravitational pull. You have an endoskeleton with muscles attached to the bones by tendons, for maximum leverage. There should be no need to prop your legs on chairs or inside the desks or sprawl face-down like a limp dishrag.
Can we stop that infernal racket in the hall right outside my room? For two cents, I'd come out there and put my two cents in. That's because I'm Even Steven, you know. It's a good thing we're not trying to learn something in here today, because that cacophonous hubbub is quite distracting to my very special ferrets.