It was a gloomy day in Springfield, the type of dark-skied day where clouds swirled around like phantoms and the wind gusted in a crazed frenzy. The weather was threatening rain, and Lisa Simpson, despite being a very precocious eight-year-old and very resourceful, had, in a haste to catch the school bus, forgotten to bring her rain slicker. As she trudged home in the dim shadow of the September afternoon, she recounted the day's mundane events in her frustrated mind.
Mrs. Krabappel had, as usual, spent most of class trying to teach basic addition to resident idiot Ralph Wiggum, spending science class hitting on Principal Skinner in the janitor's closet, and letting identical purple-haired twins Sherri and Terri Mackleberry browse their own Twitter feeds during silent reading. "God forbid anybody actually bring a real book," grumbled Lisa under her breath. Her bright orange shoes thudded against the cement sidewalk, a singular, rather depressing sound which made her feel even more anno