Saturday, November 22, 2008

Advanced Babysitting: A One-Act Play

Setting: My classroom. No windows. No light. No hope.


Mr. Teacher: Carefree and blithe to enter danger; reserved and recalcitrant in the face of AYP

Cheryl Muffinhead: For the past five class periods, she’s been hunting in her bag for her cellphone, which she has forgotten that I confiscated some ten minutes before.

Stan Dupp: Aspiring Hollywood actor. Practicing his delivery skills from the second row.

Act 1, Scene 1.

House lights come on. an empty room, which gradually fills up with students. Mr. Teacher walks in last, carrying a billyclub and wearing mirrored sunglasses.

TEACHER: Good morning, my troubled little losers. You all failed yesterday’s exam.

CM: (interrupts her searching in her purse) I thought you said that test didn’t count! I thought you said you just wanted to see how we’d do! How we were progressing!

TEACHER: Yeah, well, tough. (twirling billyclub)

SD: Hey, look at the tough guy. “Eeeuw, look at me, I’m all tough.” “Eeeuw, look at me, I’ve got a billyclub--“

TEACHER: (brandishes billyclub threateningly)

SD: You can’t touch me, tough guy. I’ll have you busted.

TEACHER: (smacks self repeatedly with billyclub. Blood starts to flow. Chipped teeth fly in several directions.) Ow! Ow! Help he’s killing me!

Big men with walkie talkies burst into the room and haul Stan away. One big man with a walkie talkie sees Cheryl, decides her behavior is sufficiently suspicious, and takes her away too. Mr. Teacher picks up the phone.

TEACHER: Ok, I’m done here. Have the bus pick me up in ten minutes. We’re headed for the nudie bar.

House lights dim; half the audience files out in disgust.

The End

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

The Boss is In: Failure Fantasies

It's that time of year, with finals around the corner and adolescents' knees a-quakin'. And this is as close to the executive board room as I'll ever get.
Me: Johnson! Get up here!
Kid: Yes, teacher?
Me: You know why you don't fail this class?
Kid: Um...
Me: Me neither. You fail.

Me: Simmons! I got a riddle for you.
Kid: Yes, sir? I just love your class...
Me: Two people are in this room right now, and one of them didn't fail.
Kid: Well...that's not really a riddle...
Me: That's right! You fail.

Kid: Why do we have to read this dumb book?
Me: Because to not read it is to fail.
Kid: Okay, I'll read it.
Me: Too late. You fail.

Me: Simmons! I got another riddle for you!
Kid: You already failed me, sir. Remember?
Me: Okay, you don't fail. Now listen to this one: What's the difference between you and a kid who failed my class?
Kid: I give up.
Me: Nothing! You fail.

Me: Richardson! I want to talk to you.
Kid: You're an ass.
Me: (pause) Damn you. You win this round, Richardson.

Me: Get up here, kid. I want to fail you some more.
Aide: There's no one left. You failed them all.
Me: I did?
Aide: They're all in a study hall now.
Me: Okay, then you fail.
Aide: You're an ass.
Me: Woo. I want to go home. Somebody fire me.

Saturday, November 08, 2008

Reasons Tso is an Idiot

File #1718

CARY--Twenty text-messages to that bastard. "Hey, Styx is in town!" "Come on, man, I only put it in a little!" "Oh come on, quit playing like you don't know the score."

Then I realize he's on a cruise with his loser family and loser friends. More importantly, he didn't invite me. Or send me a postcard. Or call the doctor about those tests we said we wouldn't tell anyone about.

He knows what I'm talking about.

So does Dewey, who only corralled me here tonight to transfer his wife's shitty music into a new laptop computer. The drink he gave me tastes suspiciously like chloroform, and there's a lot of rope and lubricant under the couch as I type this. I fear for my life. I fear I won't want to leave tomorrow morning.

Wednesday, November 05, 2008

VIA E-MAIL--It's a damn good thing I didn't enter Congressional fantasy elections this year. I would have gotten killed.

I would have bet on Obama, but...Ohio? Indiana?

Fucking Florida?

And the Dems picked up those seats in the Senate?

I'm giddy.