And when that gets boring, we'll then spend a lot of the time imagining getting really good at something we don't actually do, like karate or gun-karate or basically any type of dude-wasting activity. Which is a little juvenile, sure, although a necessary step to set up our next fantasy.

But here, in the theater of the mind, where we're all masters of the three-section staff, which we carry with us at all times in the flowing sleeves of our coats, we're able to lay this fat-faced f**k low every time he sticks it in our narrow, classically proportioned faces. "Oh God, I was so wrong to attack you!" the bully laments, but we can't hear him, so deafening is the applause and fainting from the crowd.

And because we love dwelling on our failings, it's often the case that our brains only manage to think up the perfect thing to say hours after it will do any good. And because it's hard getting everyone present at the time to all reassemble, these perfect things to say have to dwell in the land of make-believe.

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"How is the weather. I am having the weather. Your hair is the weather. Can I eat your hair. Hello."

I'm honestly not sure what the appeal of this fantasy is, though can certainly report having had it many times myself. It's some combination of self-pity and self-congratulation at how great we are for putting up with it, I guess. But where most of the other fantasies on this list are harmless, there's a possibility for real harm to be done by this one. In the right frame of mind, this one can feel so plausible and convince us we're blameless for all the bad things that happen in our lives. Which won't always be the case. So, if you do find yourself falling prey to it, just remember, the world doesn't hate you. At worst, it just doesn't know you exist.

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Don't worry: These get a lot less depressing from here on out.

And because us teenage boys are the only ones in the school with the common sense to watch these instructional videos, it's up to us to incapacitate one terrorist with our karate and/or rhetoric, then pick off every remaining one while crawling around in the elevator shaft, the natural habitat of all terrorists. In a way, this is actually quite similar to fantasizing about being a martyr, except instead of being a hero unappreciated by those around him, we get to be one of the good kinds of hero, appreciated by everyone because of how awesome we are.

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"You're way better than that brooding loser! BUCHOLZ, BUCHOLZ, BUCHOLZ!"

And I doubt I'm alone when I say that most of my contact with girls was of the purely imaginary variety, often winning their favor (that's how I thought of it) after kicking a terrorist in half. In my case, the actual content of these fantasies was shockingly tame, often involving nothing more than swooning. At the very most I would be given "second base," which at the time I understood to be a firm handshake.

But I'm not embarrassed by this, and neither should you be. This is totally healthy behavior, fellas, and if you once missed eight stops on the bus while daydreaming about wearing soft, fancy clothes, you are more normal than you will ever know.

It's well-known that all teenage boys have a fascination with horses and their taut, muscular bodies, so it's definitely not a weird problem just I had. What's not to love? The firm horseflesh rippling under their silky skin, and their glorious manes, and the fury and power of their urine streams. Every boy wants to be a horse and will spend upwards of seven hours every day locked in a room, imagining a world where it could be.

It's weird how this happens to all of us, isn't it? Struggling to make it through a single 10th grade math class without being sent to the principal's office for the disturbing clomping sounds we're making. Just one of those typical growing-up experiences we all have to go through.

So it's only natural for a young man to imagine himself applying ancient equine martial techniques (he's still imagining himself as a horse for previously discussed, totally natural reasons) to defend his school against these oppressors. Galloping through air ducts and elevator shafts and giving terror girls pretty nasty bites, while ... someone ... swoons. Not the girls. They're terrorists.

Hmmm.

Maybe ...

And so, after ridding the school of hateful, whispering girls with kicks from your powerful hind legs, your bully clambers atop your back and rides around on you and strokes your glorious mane while the crowd cheers. The appeal of this fantasy is so obvious, it's no wonder every normal teenage boy has it.