Professor Quentin Quibble, a man whose tweed jacket held more chalk dust than actual tweed, was known for two things: his encyclopedic knowledge of obscure historical butter churns and his utter inability to operate modern technology. Today, however, it wasn’t a butter churn that was giving him trouble. It was the chalkboard.
“Right then, class!” he boomed, grabbing a piece of chalk the size of a small carrot. “Today, we shall delve into the socio-economic ramifications… wait, where’s the board?”
The chalkboard, usually a steadfast fixture at the front of the room, had mysteriously vanished. A collective giggle rippled through the students. Timmy, a known prankster, cleared his throat. “Uh, Professor? I think… I think it’s running away?”
Professor Quibble squinted. And indeed, the chalkboard, perched precariously on its wheeled stand, was slowly trundling towards the door. A small, battery-powered toy car, taped discreetly to the back of the board, was the culprit.
“Good heavens!” he exclaimed, aghast. “Stop that infernal contraption!” He waddled after the rogue chalkboard, brandishing his carrot-sized chalk like a tiny, scholarly sword. “Halt, I say! Socio-economic ramifications demand your presence!”
The chalkboard, heedless of academic demands, rolled faster. Professor Quibble, now huffing and puffing, was gaining ground. He reached out, grabbed the edge of the board… and promptly pulled the whole thing down on top of himself.
He emerged, covered head-to-toe in chalk dust, looking like a particularly erudite snowman. He blinked, then coughed, spitting out a mouthful of chalk. Looking around at the bewildered faces of his class, he managed a weak smile.
“Well,” he wheezed, brushing himself off, “I suppose this proves one thing… that even inanimate objects find my lectures absolutely… choke … board-ing!”
