Slap me in the throat and shriek, “Someone’s coming to get you!”
Tell the class about a great new job opportunity you just heard about. It involves standing quietly in the woods during the day and training with an adult a-capella group at night, but applicants must have strong thighs.
Say something about toxins. Anything. Say, “Parabens.” Say that we are all absolutely stuffed with parabens and must sweat them out immediately or else we’ll need a cane to walk soon, probably.
Place a fern on your head, then start gyrating and screaming, “Do you want to be an evil little succubus? Or do you want to not be?!”
Drop a large, locked box in the middle of the room and wipe your brow. There’s blood on your cheek. You’ve stolen the classified U.F.O. files from the Pentagon. And there’s something we need to know.
Buy me two pairs of clogs.
Say, “O.K., nobody panic, but I just got a news alert that says we have eighteen days until the grid goes down and it’s every man for himself.”
Release a small bird into the room. Pull out a bow and arrow. Shoot the bird. Watch the bird die. Ask, “Do you want to see more death today?”
Announce that we’re being filmed for an episode of the new Netflix reality-TV series “I’m Sort of in a Transitional Moment Right Now.”
Place a private-equity C.E.O. in the middle of the room, and instruct the class to pelt small metal balls at him while he says things, such as “Let’s crush Q2 with integrity and passion!” and “Here at the firm, we’re all pretty pumped to see what happens with A.I.” and “I’ve been getting into Rosicrucianism lately, and I’d like to briefly share what I’ve learned” and “As in any healthy cell, I’d like there to be a more porous membrane between business and editorial” and “I named my dog Daenerys—after Daenerys Targaryen.”
Dangle a mini pack of mixed-berry Fruit Snacks over your head and shout, “Whoever works out hardest gets these!”
Say, “Today is the last day we’re gonna feel helpless! Today is the last day we’re gonna let the story of our lives get written by someone else! Because I have a plan for how to sustainably cull the invasive earthworms that are slowly infesting the world’s boreal forests and releasing potentially catastrophic amounts of extra carbon into the atmosphere!”
Give me a squishy octopus toy from an aquarium gift shop. Let me squish it when I do a good job.
Bring in a middle-manager-type with kind eyes who isn’t hot, per se, but has messy hair, personal charisma, and once mentioned that he would like to move to Philadelphia. Instruct him to slowly and tantalizingly describe what he would plant in a back-yard garden should he ever be in the fortunate position to have one.
Promise me that everyone, at all times, is looking at and appraising my butt. Explain that, to many, many people, I am simply a walking butt—two legs jutting out of a headless mound—and that maybe I should consider how hard that is for them.
Bring in a vicious-looking warthog. Chain the warthog to a pole. Stand silently for a moment as the warthog grunts and yanks against his chain. Say that as long as we follow instructions, we’ve got nothing to worry about, re: the warthog.
Explain that women’s bodies hold infinite potential, then explode into a million tiny pieces of burnt paper.
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