Imagine, for me, you’re waltzing through the luxurious halls of Westmont High School. You, a decorated senior with one foot out the door (sadly, only figuratively), are wandering past the gate toward the inglorious refuge of your first-period class. Unknowingly, you’re being stalked, like a particularly stupid deer being prowled upon by a lion (I don’t understand geography). The predator sleuths ever closer to you, the hapless prey; you can’t even fathom the mundane danger you’re in. Without warning, the English Teacher encroaches within an inch of your personal bubble. You enter combat.
Dear reader, you must remember! English Teachers have a +5 Attack bonus–you’ll need to pass a Shakespeare skill check to subvert their initiative. Oh, Great Scott! The English Teacher strikes first! With blood drawn from a newly slashed chasm digging into your right shoulder, you recoil to the floor; you need to perform a barrel roll and prepare a counter strike to adequately evade further bombardment. You succeed in your evasion, the English Teacher is caught off guard. As a natural, visceral defense mechanism, the English Teacher starts quoting one of the following: Hamlet, Of Mice and Men, Brave New World, or Catcher in the Rye. That’s +10 psychological damage, a debilitating walloping. But, it’s not over, you’ve suffered this abuse before. Four years of penance, four years of unwavering absorption in the face of grueling grade after grade, exam after exam, essay after essay. You’ve been prepped for this.
Covering your ears to ease the psychological damage from the English Teacher’s lecturing, you charge forward, unloading a brief yet powerful barrage of jabs, tailed by a solid right hook to the English Teacher’s side. Faltering, the English Teacher stumbles. Pragmatic opportunist that you are, you jump into a descending roundhouse to the English Teacher’s cranium. Bedazzled with stimulation, the English Teacher’s shock is eclipsed by pride for you, a former student, applying your ingenuity in new and creative ways. Bellowing a bass-y laugh, the English Teacher congratulates you on your victory, stealing your left shoe to satisfy its hunger.
In the end, you are left with, in the deepest bowels of your abdomen through the lowest tip of your heart, an insatiable feeling of minor inconvenience.