Teachers Start Gambling Ring at FWCD

Benjamin Hoppe, Online Editor

In a photo taken by one of Linguini’s several 1080p spy cameras, Cube is seen demanding money from his students in order to pay off Toby “Dry Ice” Cool’s multi million dollar contract. (Benjamin Hoppe ’24-via spy camera)

Three weeks ago, solar panels were spotted on top of the rickety tennis shed filled with half-dead tennis balls, dead crickets (shocker), and the ghost of Mitchy Crawfish, haunting the FWCD tennis courts in search of William O’Callagan’s neck. After questioning the world-renowned Middle School Boys B team volleyball coach, Enrico Linguini, about this seemingly ridiculous use of the school’s money, not much was learned.

“I didn’t even know people’s grandparents were hopping the fence at midnight to play a sport named after a vinegar soaked cucumber, let alone the school purchasing oversized chrome mirrors,” Linguini said. “The school’s top priorities are, and always will be, repaving the roads on campus and cramming five to 18 year olds in colorful t-shirts into the same space at the same time.”

The only useful piece of information from the interview was that Linguini suggested speaking with part-time English teacher, Leslie Cube, about these shiny new rectangles. Throughout the whole conversation, Cube seemed nervous, constantly talking about how he legally convinced Toby “Dry Ice” Cool to come to FWCD. Again, this interview was not very helpful, but as I was heading out from his office, I ran into a man that seems to always appear out of nowhere and at the strangest of times, and no, I am not talking about Joey “Fire it up” Loverboy ‘78. Instead it was Coach Wario Fountain, FWCD’s very own candy man. He didn’t say anything to me, but as I passed by him, I heard him mumbling to himself about stealing money from a Wordle Gambling Ring and using it to buy solar panels to grow poisoned munchies to give to the tennis team. 

This wasn’t the strangest thing I had heard Fountain say, especially considering the opinionated comments he has made in the past. These comments have seemed to be a common trend with FWCD tennis coaches, excluding Silvester Holly Bushes, New York Times Bestselling author. However, the specificity of a Wordle Gambling Ring was intriguing. After some digging, it appeared that faculty and staff at FWCD had started a gambling ring based on their performance on the Wordle of the day. When this was discovered, tens of thousands of dollars had already been put into this “competition.” After talking with some teachers, no one knew who started the gambling ring, but they all provided reasons for why they joined in.

“My students are constantly plotting my demise and stealing my protractors,” Hattie Tranquility, an expert on Hippo orgasms, said. “With the money, I thought I could instead plot my students’ demise before they could finish plotting mine.”

I also talked to Mr. Uncle Stanly Pehigh about his reasons for joining the gambling ring.

“I wanted to get enough money so I could leave this school and join Hans McKing at his RV in Albuquerque, New Mexico,” Pehigh said.

Their reasons seemed legitimate, but it was still unclear who started the whole shabang. But who could it be? Who out of the Upper School faculty would be most likely to start a gambling ring? Lala Nydle, Wordle enthusiast, was a prime suspect, especially with her staying out of the public eye in her 90-degree room hidden in the corner of the Upper School behind a giant pole. There is also Sally Teaparty, sponsor of the Honor Council, but maybe that’s just a coverup for her misdeeds.

After countless hours of procrastinating completing a nine-hour outline for APUSH, it hit me. Leslie Cube was the one who started the gambling ring. He obviously felt very confident in his word-playing abilities after scoring a 194-point word in Scrabble, so winning the Wordle competition would be an easy way for him to make money, and more importantly, pay off Toby “Dry Ice” Cool’s three million dollar contract to coach FWCD’s football team.

As Cube was being taken over to the Pegginator’s office to receive his punishment of being paddled, bringing back memories from his time in high school, he became frantic, and started incoherently quoting professional artist Jonathan Cordial, leaving everyone pondering a Mitchy-esque comment.

“Always blame the victim,” Cube said.