Case jacked in.

Speaking of William Gibson, please enjoy this excerpt from his lesser-known masterpiece Kickballmmancer, written during his early, formative years.

Kickballmancer
William Gibson, age 12

The sky over the playground was the color of a television, tuned to a dead channel. "It's not like I'm using," Case heard someone say as he shouldered his way past the line around the ladder of the slide. "It's just that my body has developed this massive candy deficiency." It was a 6th grader voice and a 6th grader joke.

Case was 12. At 11 he had been a kickball cowboy, one of the best in the school. He'd been trained by the best, by McCoy Bally and Bobby Kicks, the best in the biz. Diving in and out of the kickball court, wining kickball games for trading cards. But then he'd made the classic mistake, something he'd sworn he'd never do. He threw a game.

They had found him, of course, and made sure he'd never play again. For 12 hours he had hallucinated in a darkened classroom while his body developed shinsplints.
The damage was minute, subtle, and ruthlessly effective. He'd never play kickball again.

He glanced down at the action figure he had been hired to fence. It smelled of long-chain polymers.

Classic! Taken from Something Awful.com

(History fanatics should also take note of the School Code of Conduct by a young Sun Tzu on page 3.):

When in line for the swings, stand to the side of both.

If the swing is in use, dare the enemy to jump.

If you find yourself on the swing, make sure to look for another place to play when you jump.

So much for swings.

When the milk and nap are required, sleep away from the one who smells. Milk will make him worse.

If one will knock down your blocks, you are to throw mud at him.

If one will throw mud at you, you will kick him in the shins.

If you are kicked in the shins you will kick back.

The kicking shall continue until one cries.

When the class is tired, you have occasion to secure the red crayon.