Just Ratburn Things

Everyone attempts to awkwardly pose for a photo after Mr. Ratburn, self-proclaimed “Grill Expert,” burns down Arthur’s home, leaving him completely desolate.

Johnny Depp savagely shakes off his secret lover, Ratburn, who attempted and failed to publicly propose, embarrassing both himself and his entire family.

As a part of his new hilarious prank show, Mr. Ratburn brutally murders his neighbor, pinning the blame on Arthur’s father, then live streams his execution.

Mr. Ratburn, his own toughest critic, anxiously prepares to show his students his newest home movie entitled: Arthur’s All Night Colonoscopy.

Behind a mask of cool composure, Mr. Ratburn is actually dying inside as he realizes that his Filipino child groom has left him at the alter in order to pursue a life of not slavery.

With a song in his heart and nips of steel, Mr. Ratburn works tirelessly to complete his gimp suit in time for the Leather Ball.

After being permanently banned from Grindr, Mr. Ratburn does a couple lines to loosen up and then uses the classroom as his own personal dating app.

The school workroom became a real wood shop when Mr. Ratburn caught Maria completely isolated after class.

Mr. Ratburn throws a party to celebrate his court case being settled after he plead not guilty by reason of insanity.

To his students' surprise, the skin flute isn’t the only instrument Mr. Ratburn plays.

As if he simply couldn’t get any more erect, Mr. Ratburn is lulled into an erotic, trance-like state by Brain’s fat ass.

Whatever it was that Buster laced Mr. Ratburn’s weed with was a hallucinogen.

Mr. Ratburn uses a #2 pencil to brag about the length, girth, and sharpness of his own personal writing utensil.

It wasn’t until Mr. Ratburn saw the back of Principal Haney’s head, that he recognized him from a passionate night spent at the truck stop off Route 5.

Suddenly unable to achieve orgasm, Mr. Ratburn’s sexual fantasies must become increasingly elaborate.

Mr. Ratburn happily revises his suicide note.

What strange, dark thoughts of malice and evil slither around in the head of this beady-eyed sadist, one may never know. You recall his face from your nightmares, and as he stares you down with unwavering composure, all you find your self able to do is gaze back at him with salty tears blurring your vision and streaming down your cheeks. As if he picks up the piquant scent of your fear, the predatory abomination before you smiles with twisting lips and whispers, “Spell ‘sarsaparilla’”