As Mrs. Thompson finally enters the classroom, you have an idle thought about a fail that controls her intellect suddenly you notice a peculiar dial on your desk appear out of nowhere, its needle pointing at 'MAX'. You glance around, but no one else seems to have one. The teacher starts her lesson on the Civil War, but her words are already sounding muddled. You cautiously turn the dial down a notch.
“Now, class” she begins “we're talking about the... uh... big war. The one with the... you know, the... South and the... North.”
She squints at her notes, confusion etched on her face. You turn the dial down another notch. Mrs. Thompson blinks rapidly, her eyes glazing over.
“The... uh... president? Yes, the president. Lincoln... or was it Washington?” She giggles nervously, running a hand through her hair.
The class starts to murmur, noticing their teacher's strange behavior. You turn the dial down further. Mrs. Thompson's voice takes on a valley girl twang.
“Oh my gosh, like, I can't even remember what we were talking about. Was it, like, history or something?”
You lean back in your chair, watching the spectacle unfold. The dial is now at its halfway point. Mrs. Thompson starts fidgeting with her blouse, popping open a button.
“It's just so hot in here, right?”
She fans herself, her cheeks flushed. The class is in an uproar now, but Mrs. Thompson seems oblivious, her mind too fogged to notice the commotion. You turn the dial down another notch. Her speech becomes more slurred, fragmented.
“Like... the war... was about... states' rights... or something? I can't... remember...”
You glance at the girl next to you, who mouths, What did you do? You just shrug, turning the dial down further. Mrs. Thompson's eyes roll back slightly as she starts fingering herself under her desk, a low moan escaping her lips. The class is silent now, shocked into submission. You turn the dial to its lowest setting. Mrs. Thompson's body jerks upright, her eyes wide and glassy.
“Nat... likes... hugs...”
she slurs, standing up and starting to twerk.
“Nat... wants... to know... if she's... hot enough... for you... “
She reaches out, grabbing your hand and placing it on her hip.
“ Is Nat's... ass... fat enough?” You stare at her, fully and speechless. The dial has reduced your teacher's brain to a giggling bowl of jelly, her body now a vessel for primal urges and fragmented thoughts.