Today I took nine cans and hid them all around Kathy’s classroom while she was doing lunch duty. Each can had a word taped to it; assembled, they reproduced the Bard’s vengeful cry from the pages of ‘Julius Caesar’:
After I finished my covert operation, I crept stealthily away and spent what was left of my lunch break at Wendy’s, giggling into my chili. People stared, but I didn’t know them, so it was okay.
I expected it to take Kathy a while to find all the cans, but a mere hour later, an odd processional presented itself in my office. At the head of it, my friend, Amelia, wearing her secondhand army jacket, somberly presented me with the slain corpses of my little tin soldiers. They had not fared very well on the battlefield:
I didn’t know I was going up against Kathy the Impaler (a distant descendant of Vlad, perhaps?). I don’t think even a stirring St. Crispin’s Day speech would have helped in this situation.
While I mourn these fallen warriors, like any good general, I think it’s time to turn my thoughts to the next volley.
How much do you think it would cost to build a fully operational Diet Coke Can Death Star?