Congratulations Sexy Math Teacher!

Being a math teacher isn’t all that awesome for most people. It’s a lot of lonely nights surrounded by a lot of really boring textbooks. Unless you spice it up.

Which is what makes you such an exceptional human specimen. You’ve embraced the math teacher persona, growing a pervy mustache and dressing like a mentally handicapped man from the nineteen eighties whenever you’re in public. You’ve spent years cultivating an unbelievably awkward public image of a man who can barely carry on a conversation, let alone a relationship. And today you’re going to unleash that persona on the world so that you can ride on a flooding tide of pity sex that America hasn’t seen the like of since Franklin “Oops My Legs Don’t Work” Delano Roosevelt was president of the United States of Fuck.

You’re going to walk into a bar and order a Tom Collins and just wait there at the bar, sipping it and occasionally adjusting your glasses. After a few minutes the most gorgeous woman in the entire place will step up to you and slide her hand across your shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she’ll whisper into your ear. “Are you a math teacher?”

You’ll nod. “Yes’m, suppose I am.”

She’ll slither the rest of her body around yours and start purring.

“I loooooove fractions and low-level instructional proofs. Let’s get back to my place.”

You’ll give her a too-toothy smile. “Well, that just sounds lovely. Barkeep! My check!”

You’ll return to her apartment and fuck her, her roommate, and her roommate’s sister, who is visiting from Seattle for the weekend and wanted to get her freak on.

This pattern will repeat itself every other night for the next three weeks in what some experts will come to call “the most successful pick-up strategy ever seen.” Other people will call it “a sad commentary on the nature of our society.”

You can decide which you find more appropriate from the top of pussy mountain in the weeks to come.

Congratulations Sexy Math Teacher!

Congratulations Mathemagician!

Math is pretty cool, we’re not gonna lie. Whenever a fly ass honey shows us equations on a board we’re like “daaaamn” and then we all try to fuck her because we all know on a Freudian level that sleeping with a woman destroys her a little and gives the man fucking her some of her strength. But as cool as that math is it is nothing compared to the kind of math you’re going to showcase for us this evening.

Tonight you’re going to bust out with some math that would make Hawking’s head spin. You’re going to do more than just solve equations: you’re going to create equations that will change the very fabric of the world.

It’ll start as it always does in a classroom, in front of a blackboard. A group of puzzled students will look up at you like they’ve never seen a teacher dressed in wizard robes before.

“Sup with the robes?” they’ll collectively ask. You’ll ignore them, picking up your chalk and making a line, the most basic of symbols on the board.

Suddenly the room will explode in color and sound: the introduction of the most basic component of maths, the number one, will shiver throughout the classroom and your students will be knocked flat on their asses.

“Hold on you little shits,” you’ll mutter at them as you continue to scribble various numbers and letters and occasionally reference a proof on the board. You’ll work intently for fifteen minutes before all is done, before you place that final X at the end of your equation and the dragon materializes before you and your students.

He’ll be small for a dragon, only twenty feet long, but he’ll be pretty awesome looking with rainbow scales and smoke curling from his nostrils. You’ll leap upon his back, robes billowing out as you do so, and pat him on the neck.

“MATH, BITCHES!” you’ll shout as the dragon exhales a fireball into the wall and it shatters outward, opening your way forward and allowing you out into the world.

Congratulations Mathemagician!