This was posted by Chris Barnhart (aka TechnoPup) on alt.callahans.

Pup, who mistakenly walks up to Soozeq, Pernicious and Barnstead while they are telling their tales, is struck dumb (well, dumber, then) by the outrageous punning going on. Rather than running from the room, screaming, or sitting in a corner to babble and drool (something he can do at home at any time), he counters with this story……

I remember that in high scool I suffered from an accute fear of mathematics. Most specifically, this manifested during my first geometry course. I just couldn’t bring myself to get with the program. Until mid-terms, I was pretty much able to bluff it. Some friends of mine formed a support group for me and we would meet after school in an attempt to overcome my fears. Coming up on the big test though, I knew I was in trouble.

Usually, I like to consider myself a fairly honest person. But the distinction between honesty and it’s evil counterpart blurred that semester when an acquaintance who shall remain nameless handed me the very geometry test I was supposed to take the next day…..with all the answers.

That night, in the (dis)comfort of my room, I pondered . What should I do? I probably should just take the lumps and suffer through the humiliation of a bad grade. But fear of parental retribution and a huge drop in my grade point average managed to convince me that, although that is what I *should* do, it is decidedly not what I *would* do.

I settled for a happy medium. I would look at the answers (purely as a study guide, you understand) the next day during classes, but would not take them to the test with me. Feeling that strange rush of a moral dilemna solved on the somewhat hazy side of honesty, I decided to study the notes that night, as well.

I went to the kitchen to fix myself a snack and laid the answer sheet out on the counter, next to the cookbooks. With the previously described energy burst, I knew that no simple snack would do, so I rummaged in the cupboards…. ah. Jell-O ™ desserts. I hate that jiggly stuff though. Let’s go with tapioca. I laid the pouch down next to the cookbooks, while I got out the requisite utensils.

It was the best tapioca I have ever tasted. Creamy, smooth, a thumbs up effort to be sure. Satisfied, and with all else forgotten, I went to bed.

The next day, I arrived at school feeling somewhat chipper. My first class was German, where I was the teacher’s assistant. This consisted largely of sitting in the back of the room and looking aloof when the other students had questions. A perfect opportunity for study. I rummaged through my book bag looking for the answer sheet. Hmmm… I found my math book. Pencils. Various scraps of paper with “to do” lists on them. Oh no! It wasn’t there. What was I going to do?

I retraced my steps in my mind, trying to figure out where I could have left it. Let’s see, the last time I had it out, where was I? Suddenly, it occurred to me. I could only bury my head in my hands and sob. The last time I had seen that sheet was last night in the kitchen, but it wasn’t there this morning. That could only mean one thing. The proofs were in the pudding.