When we last left off, Mr. Midkiff and Mrs. LaGraize had both been eliminated from the competition, condemning them both to Pre-Freshman lunch duty. Coach Pierre had taken refuge in Sarge’s lair and was about to encounter another coach out for blood.
As Coach Pierre rested on a mound of spare textbooks, a loud, thunder-like knock came from the door. Without a moment to spare, Coach Pierre took out his handy, dandy squirt bottle and squirted a puddle of water at the foot of the door. When the bottle was empty, he reached into his pocket and from it hurled a golf-ball-sized chunk of potassium toward the puddle, causing an explosion which obliterated the door. Smoke soon filled the hallway.
As the smoke cleared, all was silent. Coach Pierre, eager to see whom he had terminated, left his lair. As he walked around the hallway, a figure appeared. Still unnoticed, the figure dealt Coach Pierre a karate-chop to the shoulder, in an attempt to dislocate it. Little did this stealthy teacher know, Coach Pierre’s shoulders were too muscular to dislocate. Coach Pierre responded with a back crescent kick, only to miss his aggressor completely.
“There’s only one man alive with such cat-like reflexes…Coach Simpson!”
” Very good, Coach Pierre, but you and your muscles are no match for me!” exclaimed Coach Simpson, as he proceeded to beat Coach Pierre with his brick-filled satchel. The beating stopped however, when Coach Simpson’s satchel met with the palm of Coach Pierre’s herculean hand. Without flinching, Coach Pierre squeezed and shattered the bricks within Coach Simpson’s satchel, then proceeded to rip the poor bag in half.
“No! Not my satchel! It’s my life force!” shouted coach Simpson, as he faded away into the main-frame of the St. Paul’s Matrix, dooming himself to serve with his fallen coworkers in Pre-Freshman lunch duty.