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December 7, 2008

Just to give some sort of story to you folks, I was remided recently of a fun game we used to play in high school shop class at The Wall.

The game began when out-and-out throwing clay at each other was banned by our teacher, and we needed other ways of causing mayhem in class less likely to be caught by the teacher.

Thus, Claybombs was born.

We didn’t want to give up on our intial goal of bombarding each other with bits of clay, we just had to get more devious.  We tried any number of things, all of which were either easily noticable or too impractical to make useful methods.  Up until Musubi started pitching bits of clay at the ceiling.

They stuck.

No biggie, until they dried a little and un-stuck.  And on their way down, one fell on Ekebia’s head.

A new game, Dear Internet, was born.  We’d toss clay at the ceiling in an attempt to have it eventually fall off and hit someone.  There was rather an art to it, even – tossed too hard, too wet, too small; it’d be there for days – not tossed hard enough, too dry, or too big; it’d just bounce off and come down immediately.

We worked out the perfect ball for a 10 minute span when we had another idea.  Why not leave a few for the next class?  That amused us for a while, we’d hear about it in the halls later – someone was throwing clay in class, no one knew who it was.  We’d all giggle a little.

The game grew still larger, and turned into one-upsmanship of the highest degree.  Who could get the biggest chunk stuck the longest?

Jikoku destroyed us all, putting a nearly half-pound brick up on the ceiling and having it stay for almost a day.  Man, did that ever mysify the shop class the next morning.

That half pound block was the harbinger of the end of our game, though.

Things really got out of hang when Jikoku put a nearly one-pound block on the ceiling at the end of class.  It looked pretty precarious, but we figured it would be hilarious when tomorrow’s class turned up to this massive hunk of clay, mysteriously hanging out in the middle of the otherwise immaculate shop.

The next morning, however, we were all rounded up and brought before a spectacularly irate shop teacher.  “…Who throw this there?” he started us off, pointing at the brick sitting on the edge of the table next to him.  Jiroku and Musubi stepped in with protestations of deepest innocence.  “What?  How?  Not us!  We were at hom-”  Shit.  It was all I could do to not facepalm in the middle of the classroom.  He’d never said when it’d been thrown.


I was excused on the basis that I couldn’t have thrown something that large that high and with that much force.  Hurray, puny childhood.  Jiroku and Musubi and a couple of the other, larger, guys all refused to cave.  No one got suspended or tossed from the class, which was the original threat, but all of them were banned from any clay assignments, and just given straight zeroes on any and all remaining clay assignments for the year.

And so ended claybombs.

Next up: woodworking & crossbows.  You’d think administration would learn, wouldn’t you?

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