CHAPTER FOUR
Another substitute was on hand for Bart's class. The young Simpson prayed that this particular one hadn't been informed of the homework to be handed in.
It wasn't that he had nothing to give, he did, he had taken a draft that he hadn't exactly proof-read, and it would have quite a hefty amount of spelling errors. He did have an online proof-reader for that, but there was no chance of corresponding with that person at the moment.
He looked over at the empty class desk next to him. He knew Milhouse was out of town on an exchange program, and that meant the Bongo-licensed Krusty comics stored within his desk were ripe for picking by Nelson. He had to secure the desk, and if the substitute wasn't aware of the arrangements of seats, he could get away with securing Milhouse's stash from any prying eyes.
With the exclusion of his own of course.
"Now class, I've been informed you all have some essays to read out to class today" said the substitute.
"Informed? Get real, you're not supposed to read them out, you're just trying to fill the hours up so you can have a stress free day keeping the stables clean, well just wait 'till I get up there, I'll read my whole spiel out, gaffs and all, you want time? I'll waste time"
So the students began to express themselves, their homework had proven more of a unique attraction for them. They were to pick a personal project and share what they thought of that interest.
Some took the easy way out, writing short piece profiles of video game characters, complete with barely detailed or identifiable illustrations, and would have to point out what part of the body formed an arm or a head. Some tripped up over their own words even when they were spelt correctly due to nerves acting up. Some repeated sentences, not because they had lost their place, but because they had actually written the sentences twice.
Bart checked his own essay. A good fourteen pages. He took notes of his fellow classmates and their own unremarkable efforts and mentally prepared a plan of action, or rather inaction, working out how long to stall over the course of a minute, trip over a sentence, make sure his posture presented the illusion of careful concentration so as to hypnotize the audience and lull them into a false sense of preparation for the next part of the presentation, only to then reel back and "forget" where he was, eventually forcing him to start all over again, and when he would commence that, he would kick it off in a disinterested and defeatist tone of voice, to signify just how droll and pointless even indulging in passion projects proved to be.
He knew, he had tried a similar essay on a website devoted to blogs on things he was interested in. For some reason, outside of maybe one reviewer, who in the end always turned out to be Milhouse, he just couldn't command that much of an audience in his ideas. It wasn't worth a million hits.
He wanted to associate this with his fading star as a child celebrity, but he wasn't sure anymore if a year or many more had passed since his days as Krusty's sidekick who had kids in his palm with his catchphrase of "I didn't do it".
He thought back to the last time the Simpsons had bought a calendar/planner that was synched up with the present day. Homer always liked to recycle them.
Nevertheless, he had his day planned out. He was going to make this session of class, from morning to lunch break, a chore for anyone listening.
All of that changed as soon as Martin Price presented his piece, entitled "Why I think Krusaders is a bad show with the intent of providing bad things"
Bart's priorities shifted. This had his undivided attention.