The Ghost of Omar is really only going to be funny to those who went to junior high school in the Dallas-Fort Worth area of Texas... unless, like all urban legends it has spread out to other areas of the country. I assure you that this is the geniune article, as I helped create the ghost with the assistance of my friends Colin, Randy, Eric, Brian, and the cooperation of the rest of Ms. Emory's History Class. Here is the story in brief.

Ms. Emory (whom I believe still teaches history was so old that back in my days in her class, college kids were still amazed she hadn't died of old age.Eric was not a well-behaved boy. I was just mean-spirited by nature. Colin, Brian, and Randy were just along for the ride. Ms. Emory at one point became so angry at Eric that she screamed something incomprehensable. However, none of us could understand what she said. When she finished I gave her a puzzled look and asked...

"Did you just say you were going to tell Omar on him?"

In point of fact, she hadn't said this and I was sent to the principal's office after the class erupted into laughter. There, in the bowels of hell I plotted my revenge. You see, back in those days, teachers were still allowed to paddle children. They were apparently also allowed to drill holes in the paddles to make them more aerodynamic.

Two weeks later, my evil coterie of miscreants and I began to slightly alter her classroom when she wasn't looking... moving the clock forward by twenty minutes, then claiming the bell had just rung. She would dismiss us and for nearly half an hour we would get to run wild... Other times one of us would be naughty enough to get taken into the hallway for a lecture, while the others set about turning maps upside down, neatly unbending all of her paper clips, sharpening her pencils down to mere nubs, removing inkstaffs from the inside of the ballpoint pens on her desk. almost every day she fell for this, becoming more and more puzzled. Once, in a fit of brilliance, we even managed to bleach part of her hair without her knowing... Put a little bleach in the hand, walk up behind the teacher --since she was a little old lady it was quite easy-- and then pretend to sneeze while actually blowing bleach droplets into her hair... It worked beautifully. The next day when she was exclaiming about how strange life was getting, that even her hair was turning orange in spots, I couldn't help myself.

"It's probably the ghost of Omar, haunting you." I said somberly.

From that point on, anything strange in the classroom was blamed on Omar the Ghost. Students have continued this game for many years since then... and yes, Ms. Emory still teaches at that Junior High School... and yes, she still thinks her class room is haunted by The Ghost of Omar...

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