Mitchell's Preschool Pandemonium

Zeke, a former skater with tattoos and a past of radical street performances, now found himself teaching preschool—a battlefield far more intense than any skateboard park he'd ever conquered.

Mitchell sat at his tiny table, a toddler terrorist ready to launch his daily assault on educational norms. His workbook lay before him, a canvas of attempted learning that would soon become a testament to infant destruction.

Zeke's eyes narrowed as he graded Mitchell's work. The page was a battlefield of scribbles, half-formed letters, and what could generously be called "artistic interpretation." A bold, unapologetic "F" marked the page—a declaration of academic warfare.

In the corner, Mitchell's tiny body began to tell its own story. A moment of pure toddler concentration descended. His face scrunched with that look of pure determination that would make grown men tremble.

A thunderous sound erupted—loud enough to make the classroom windows rattle. Mitchell, completely unbothered, continued his performance.

Later, in the living room, the purple dinosaur danced across the television screen. Barney became Mitchell's stage, his personal battlefield of toddler expression.

Mitchell found his rhythm. A dance that defied all known laws of physics and decorum. His body moved with the confidence of a tiny dictator. Twerking became an art form. Each bounce threatened the structural integrity of his already-compromised situation.

Another sound. Loud. Proud.

Mitchell continued, singing in his own toddler language—part battle cry, part musical rebellion. Each movement a declaration of pure infant power.

Mitchell: Unbothered. Victorious.

Zeke watched from the doorway, a mix of horror and fascination. This was no ordinary toddler. This was Mitchell: Chaos Incarnate.

Another day in the life of preschool survival.