20 January

What’s up, diary?

Now I’m going to tell you the tragic story of what happened when my class had their history test on World War II. 

Yesterday I studied like a real pro. 
I read through 83 pages in 16 ½ seconds.
“Are you finished with your homework already?” Mom asked.
“Sure,” I said, “because I have such a strong foundation in History.”
“Good,” Mom said, and quizzed me for two hours. 
During the two hours, I had two heart attacks, one stroke and was transformed into Milton the Caveman somewhere around 14 times. 
By the time I went to bed, I knew everything there is to know about World War II. 
By the time I woke up, I didn’t know a thing. 
My brain had collapsed during the night. 
I think doctors call it a brain-fart.
“Mom! Mom! I had a brain-fart!” I screamed out from my bed.
“Nonsense! Get up and eat,” Mom said.

Before school, the poor children of class 7A were nervous. 
Everyone bit their nails, except for Arnold who bit his knee-caps.
“It’s bad hygiene to bite your nails,” he said.
Benny tried to cheat. 
He wrote down all the important dates on his palm. 
Unfortunately for Benny, he’s an extra nervous kind of guy. 
His hands got so sweaty that all the numbers disappeared. Now Benny has a new nick-name. Sweaty-Benny.
I was standing there wishing intensively that I knew what the questions were going to be. 
Then I got a hyper-smart idea. 
I snuck into the classroom and dug through the files until I found last year’s test on World War II. 
I wrote down all the questions. 
Then I ran back outside and looked up all the answers in our history book. 
After that, I knew World War II inside and out. 
The test went super-great ... until I looked at the first page. 
It said: “History Test. World War I.”
 I died.

Bye, bye,
 wrong war pie!