I will not pretend to recharge a ball of energy during class.

I will not counter everything the student teacher says with a loving gaze.

I will not ask the student teacher if I can pet him.

I will not tell the student teacher how deliciously fluffy his hair looks.

I will not throw imaginary balls at the drum majors and ask if they can give it back.

I will not write inappropriate love letters and send them to the drum majors.

I will not tell the only male drum major how beautiful he is.

I will not take my pants off during rehearsals.

I will not get my section to stare at the other director in his office during class.

I will not attempt to mate with the freshmen's instruments.

I will not draw inappropriate pictures of the drum majors doing things to gloves.

I will not like it when a drum major molests my face with her gloves.

I will not turn math-help sessions with a drum major into a sexual legacy when speaking with freshmen.

I will not skip to Oz with people at competitions.

I will not buy my band director candy at competitions and tell him that I love him.

I will not tell everybody to call my band director "Daddy" on band trips.

I will not play "bumper chairs" in kindergarten classrooms during band camp.

I will not repeatedly ask the student teacher if he can fix my broken-beyond-repair neckstrap and watch him struggle for 15 minutes each time.

I will not call my section leader a velociraptor just because he's 6'5'' and has to crouch down to drink out of water fountains.

I will not create such things as the "Rhombus of Death" at the mention of the Circle of Life.

I will not do an oompa-loompa dance with everybody who happens to be in the same circle formation as me during rehearsals.

I will not mouth words at a drum major during a 21 measure rest my section has.

I will not be offended when my stand partner asks me to put my mouth piece cover on before our instruments mate.

I will not tell the student teacher that he sounds like Squidward when he laughs.

I will not walk up to a drum major while she is macing.

I will not show off the dent in my sax that I got from being hit with a mace.

I will not, while in the gym after a pep rally, tell people that it looks like Big Bird ejaculated. (Colored feathers ALL OVER THE PLACE)

I will not find the roof access door at whatever school we may be at.

I will not tell my section to "fuck this shit up" as a motivational speech.

.I will not trick-or-treat at my band directors house and sit on his porch when he doesn't answer.

I will not arrange the music of popular songs for my section to play during warm-ups.

I will not pretend to be an octopus.

I will not try to explain physics to a drum major until she tells me to "go over there and shut up."

I will not attempt to fly until a drum major tells me to put my wings down.

This next one is from a time at a marching band rehearsal when my enthusiastic band director told us that we'd be so good at the first football game, our parents would have a heart attack.

I will not ask my band director if he wants our PARENTS to DIE.

I will not put imaginary balls of energy into other peoples' instruments.

I will not make up a saxophone language and start cussing people out in it.

I will not strike a sexy pose when the male drum major walks by.

I will not encourage another member of my section to go up to that drum major and hump him.

I will not take credit for that incident.

I will not get a cut-out of Snape and bring it to pep band with me.

I will not show off the Snape card one of the drum majors got me when she visited the Harry Potter exhibit.

I will not tell my friend that the head director is a sex-crazed pirate.

I will not tell my old science teacher about only the strange parts of marching band, such as the fact that to become a magical penguin who can fly, you must lay an egg. He can't lay an egg, he says. Riiight.