Larry Sanders sat dutifully in his seat during Ms. DeJong’s 7th grade social studies class. They had just completed the unit on the history of Mesopotamia, and were now moving on to world geography. The large roll-down world map was hanging in front of the blackboard. The school-district had had an unexpected budget surplus; one of the perks was updated maps for the classrooms. Even Timor Leste was represented.
“Would anyone like to show me where Italy is on this map? Larry, how about you?”
Larry struggled out of his already-too-small seat and loped up to the front of the class. He knew Italy was in Europe somewhere. But where was Europe? He closely studied South America and Asia before finding the large letters denoting the continent.
“Italy, hmmm, is that the boot shaped one? I don’t see any boots, wait…”
Something had jumped out to him out of the corner of his eye. He froze, his eyes now focused on the Balkans.
Suddenly, without warning, he began punching the section of the map where Albania was. His rage was uncontrolled.
“Larry, Larry, what are you doing? Stop! Stop!” His teacher tried to drag him away, but she was no match for the unnaturally tall middle-schooler. She ran over to the door and frantically mashed the “emergency call” button.
By this point Larry had now pulled the entire map apparatus from the wall, and was stomping on Albania with his foot. Deciding that this was not enough, he produced a Champagne bottle out of nowhere, and broke it against the defenseless sovereign nation. His rage now satiated, he returned to his seat and sat down like nothing happened.
“I hate Albania”