I have a little pistol named Brytonn in my 7/8th period class. He's darker than night, sharper than a katana blade, and hilarious. We've developed quite the working relationship. One day, a teacher from another school was watching me to see if he wanted to teach 7 or 8th grade science next year. I think I scandalized him.
Me: Brytonn, give me the Sharpie.
Brytonn: Awwww, c'mon, Miss J.
Me: (rolling eyes) Hand it over. You know they're not allowed. Too many dufuses tagging in the bathroom.
Brytonn: But... but what if I want to write a note on MYSELF later?
Me: Aww, come on Brytonn. You know you won't be able to see that anyway.
Class: BUUUUUURN!
Brytonn: You're racist.
Me: Oh yeah. Big time. Obviously. Without a doubt. Totally racist. Still gotta gimme the Sharpie though.
Brytonn: Shoot.
Today, some of the kids were teaching, and I was being a student (and ooooooh boy was THAT fun. I played tic-tac-toe, wrote notes, slept.... heh heh heh) and tried to figure Brytonn out once more.
Brytonn: Mbbbbrrrzzzzttt!
Me: What.... was that?
Brytonn: Oh. Miss J. I mean, Brittany. Since you're a student now and all. I didn't see you there.
Me: Uh huh. What's with the noise?
Brytonn: (looking mock confused) Oh. That? Yeah. I was receiving transmission.
Me: From?
Brytonn: Mars. Obviously.
Me: Obviously. I didn't know you were a Martian. I thought you were just from Africa.
Brytonn: Oh no. I'm from Mars, planet beyond the stars, we drive space cars. You can come and visit-- it's not that far. We have all sorts of galaxy games, I'm better than lil' Wayne. Don't got Chris Brown, we got Chris Get-Outta-Town. Don't got Lil' Waybe, we got Lil' Pain. Hooray for today on Mars. You can come visit me, I'll lend you my space car. I can rhyme all the time, its not a crime... on Mars. I'm a Martian monkey, kinda funky, my tail looks like an extra hand but it's not, send me up your best astronaut. Hooray for today on Mars.
Brtzzzzzzzzt! Oh oh! Time to go home. I'm OUT, Miss J.
Me: Have fun on the red planet.
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