Call this a public service announcement. Lionel Horner from the tech club rigged every television in the school so this broadcast could be made possible. (Muffled words are exchanged off-camera.) Excuse me, an unnamed member of the tech club rigged every television in the school so this broadcast could be made possible. Let me start by declaring my patriotism. I am a patriot. Dare I say, one of the five or ten greatest patriots of my generation. I am such a patriot that when a small electrical fire ignited the very flag behind me, I risked my life to put it out. I burnt my jeans in the process. But I digress. My fellow students, I’ve watched CNN and Fox News. I’ve seen those terrorist training videos on YouTube. I understand the prevailing threats that threaten to threaten the wellbeing of this country and this school. Yesterday was a wake-up call. Our so-called “terrorism safety drill” is a joke, and in the case of a real terrorist attack we’d all be French toast. Hiding under our desks? Please. I am officially announcing the formation of the Mulberry Valley High School Anti-Terror Fellowship, and nominating myself to act as both fellowship president and chief terrorist hunter. My credentials? I have, in the past, on several occasions, slain orcs, werewolves, basilisks, vampires, Romulans, and Decepticons. I own my own chain mail battle armor. I am an orange belt in goju ryu karate. This sword, the guy who sold it to me said it may or may not have once belonged to the noble Sir Lancelot. I will dedicate myself to protecting this school and everyone inside of it, students and faculty alike. What do I ask in return? My demands are nominal. I will need a first lady, an Amazonian to fight beside me. Daphne Warner, I suppose, should suffice. (Muffled words are exchanged off-camera.) Also, the rest of the fellowship will need terror-prevention partners of the opposite gender. Girls. Furthermore, I will need the gym for a few hours after school each day and a few brave, selfless men to practice our combat techniques on. Trey Bowles and his cronies, possibly. For anyone wishing to join my fellowship of valiant warriors, look for me in the back of the cafeteria, past the vending machines and the trash cans, the empty table with the rickety chairs, the station with napkins and silverware and condiments. If you squint, you should be able to see me.