Deadliest Teacher: THE TEACHERNATOR Part IV: The “Solve For X”-Men


Mrs. Air Jordan "pumps up" her lightning blast.
Mrs. Air Jordan “pumps up” her lightning blast.

The Deadlest Teacher tournament was always an interesting time for the Math Department.

They were always a very tightly knit group; they ate together, went to the movie theater together, went to concerts together, and slept together every night in the attic of LaSalle Hall.

But when the tournament rolled around, the claws came out.

The more experienced faculty members knew to give the second floor of LaSalle Hall a wide berth towards the beginning. Occasionally a hotshot rookie would attempt to venture up the stairs into the forbidden zone, but the cannon would inevitably sound off seconds after they would enter through the door. Rumor has it that the math teachers wait by the doors for their next victim, like tarantulas in their web-covered dens.

Only those who worked in the Math Department knew what really went down.

In truth, it was a bloodbath. From the moment they materialized inside the Matrix, they were at each other’s throats, thrashing and slashing with their yardstick swords. They had to do all the damage they could before he showed up. Most of the less seasoned fighters were usually eliminated within seconds, with a few unlucky brawlers getting caught in crossfire.

Soon after Mr. Glorioso single-handedly eliminated Mrs. Pool, he noticed someone walking calmly through the quarrel, observing the carnage passively. Somehow, no one else had noticed him yet.

“He’s here!!!” Mr. Glorioso yelled, curling up in a ball with his Super Circumference Power and plowing through the nearest classroom door like a bowling ball.

The whole squabble shot their heads up like flamingoes, frantically scoping out the danger. They quickly found it.

There, in the dead orthocenter of the group, was 2004 Deadliest Teacher Champion Richard Pichon.

Mathneto effortlessly vanquishes his foes.
Mathneto effortlessly vanquishes his foes.

The Math Department scattered like mice.

Mr. Pichon reacted quickly, shooting his hands in the air and flicking them towards his retreating coworkers.

The Windows were reduced to powder as six cars from the parking lot barrelled through the building. Mrs. LaGraize and Mr. Gherardini were eliminated instantaneously.

Mr. Pichon cracked a sly smile and swayed his hands from side to side, utilizing his power over scrap metal to plow the cars through a brick wall and eliminate Mr. Boudreaux.

Satisfied, Pichon fluttered his handsagain, disassembling the automobiles and constructing a wall in front of his classroom, sealing himself inside. This was what he did every year; he built a bomb shelter and rode out the storm.

Unfortunately, it didn’t always work.

Mrs. Jordan peeked out from behind her desk at her classroom door. The windows were frosted by boiling clouds of smoke from outside. She had been hiding there for hours, waiting for the carnage to die down. Her view of the hallway was obscured by the marble-gray debris smoke.

She snuck over to the door and and opened it a crack. The smoke parted, revealing an empty and heavily damaged hall. Half of it was completely obliterated, leaving a jagged hole that exposed the Math Lounge.

Mrs. Jordan stepped out, sheepishly scanning the environment for danger. She drew her yardstick-saber from its sheath and brandished it cautiously. Glass crunched under her feet as she crept through the debris.

Suddenly, the wall to her left crumbled as Mr. Glorioso plowed through it with his Super Circumference Power. Mrs. Jordan barely dodged the human wrecking ball as it shot past her and raced to the end of the hall.

Mr. Glorioso unfolded from his ball form at the end of the hall and whipped out his yardstick. With a deafening banshee-like screech, he flailed his sword and charged toward Mrs. Jordan.

An artist's recreation of a wild Glorioso in its Super Circumference form.
An artist’s recreation of a wild Glorioso in its Super Circumference form.

Mrs. Jordan drew her second ruler-sword and prepared for combat.

They clashed in the center of the hall, wildly swiping their weapons. Mr. Glorioso was an even match for Mrs. Jordan, and he quickly followed up every sword strike with a counter-strike. The battle raged on for hours as the fighters remained in a stalemate. Finally, Mrs. Jordan had an idea.

“Hey John! Twenty-eight!” she said.

John Glorioso, knowing very well that twenty-eight was a multiple of seven, dropped his sword and brought his hands up to clap.

But this wasn’t a game of Crazy Sevens.

Mrs. Jordan eliminated him effortlessly with one swipe of her sword.

One down, one to go, the Algebra I teacher thought.

She turned to face the wall of junk at the end of the hall.

Mr. Pichon rested behind his desk, chilling out to the Ramones radio station on Pandora and constructing a complex roof structure out of balsa wood. It was a latticed half-sphere with a three-foot diameter, and it would be his greatest architectural creation once it was finished. He only had to glue one last piece on, and it would be complete. He leaned in to carefully place the last rafter–


Mrs. Jordan penetrated the junk barrier and tumbled into the room, tossing a grenade at Mr. Pichon in a perfect ⅓-sloped parabola. Pichon gestured his hand to pull the grenade away, but it was too late; it detonated, leaving him unharmed. His project, however, was reduced to toothpicks.

Pichon jumped to his feet in rage.

“You destroyed my roof,” he said in annoyance, which was the closest thing to anger he could muster.

“That’s too bad,” Mrs. Jordan retorted, keeping her weapons primed for combat.

“Do you even care?” Mr. Pichon was becoming more annoyed now.

“Not really,” Jordan responded apathetically.

With a cry of piqued aggravation, Mr. Pichon magnetically tore three metal beams from the wall and hurled them at his foe. Mrs. Jordan, being a master of Math-Fu, easily evaded the beams and rebounded by throwing her sword directly toward Mr. Pichon’s head.

The metal ruler-sword halted inches from Pichon’s nose. He sighed, smirking at his inferior foe’s efforts.

“What makes you think that you have won, when the battle has only just begun?” Mr. Pichon whipped the sword around and sent it straight for Mrs. Jordan.

She barely had time to react.

The wall exploded into a cloud of cinder block as Mrs. Jordan crunch through, flying a distance of x if x= 46(254y+1/8z). She crashed into the tennis court, forming a crater and crumpling the tarmac like an unmade bed. She was knocked out immediately. As her near-lifeless body lay on the green concrete, a mysterious figure approached. It cast a long shadow over her. The figure stood over her. It breathed an exasperated sigh.

“Great. Another one.”


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