I have a story to go along with this.
My 6th grade English teacher was insane. Like, certifiable, I’m fairly certain. She was nice enough, but she was crazy as shit.
One day, about February-ish, we come to school and she’s standing outside of her classroom (like she did every day between classes) wearing all black and sobbing into a kleenex.
Naturally we were worried.
I had her 3rd period, I think, and I remember all of the classes were sworn to secrecy about what the fuck was going on. When we got there, she had candles all over (against the school rules, but hey, who gives a flying fuck, right?), all the lights were out, and there was a tiny coffin up at the front of the room, right in front of the blackboard. (Yes, that classroom had a blackboard. Cower before my antiquity, younglings.)
Okay, so that ruled out any of her family members being dead.
Once we’d all gotten settled into our seats, she came striding in, still tearful and noisy, to announce:
“S-s-s-said is DEAD!”
What the ever-loving shit, Mrs. Hester. What the ever-loving shit.
The rest of class was a dramatized funeral (read: we had to write essays and read them in front of the class) and the announcement, heralded by these sheets, that we were not allowed to use the word “said” any more, as it had passed away.
Apparently she does this every year.