Lance Bass Ruined My Life

Hola

So I am done training for my new job. I am just going to say that after working two shifts, I have found that calling this a job is an insult to jobs everywhere. It is like the easiest thing I have ever done. I actually slept through part of my shift and not only didn’t get in trouble for it, my coworkers told me that I could bring a pillow with me next time. And I get paid for it.

But now that I am not in training, I am back at school. The school I am at has actually locked me into a long term position in the same class. This is actually a good thing because it means I always have a job. The bad part of it is that it is a bilingual class. Now I am sure I have documented many times here that I don’t speak Spanish. It’s just this really weird setup that I don’t quite understand, but I am willing to put up with for a higher paycheck.

Now being in a bilingual class when you don’t speak Spanish is like being stuck in a really bad episode of Dora the Explorer. That seems a little redundant because every episode of Dora that I have ever watched (and by watched I mean fallen asleep with the television on and woken up to it playing) has been atrocious. And now that is my life, except it doesn’t have that little homo Diego in it.

The kicker is these kids totally speak English just fine. I’ve heard them do it. But when I come around it’s all No Hablo Ingles. Then what proceeds is a thoroughly unproductive lesson taught primarily in fucked up Spanglish that just leaves me more confused then when we started. The cycle just repeats itself until the kids finally get annoyed with me and start speaking English like they have miraculously received the gift of tongues.

But sadly, their gift doesn’t last very long because the next day it’s all No Hablo Ingles again. It’s like the battle between good and evil, except I don’t really know which side is which. All I know is the day usually ends with me slamming my head repeatedly into the board while the kids stare at me uncomprehendingly.

I’ve taken to smuggling a DVD player and my massive collection of Disney movies into school. It’s interesting how the kids claim to understand a single word I say, but they know every world of The Lion King. So yes, some days I say fuck it and let Disney be the teacher.

Besides, movie time give me a change to rest the giant bruise on my head. It’s getting pretty bad. I’m starting to look like one of those creatures out of Avatar.

More World Domination

I’ve decided that I am going about this the wrong way. I’ve been bitching about things that have been going on in the classroom that quite literally make me want to pull my hair out. And seeing as I am bald, that isn’t really a good thing. Because then I am just digging at skin and then I am going to look like one of those horror movie villains and that just won’t be good because I do not look good in a red and black stripped sweater and fedora.

But what I have not realized until this moment is that I have an untapped commodity here. What is the one thing that I have always wanted my entire life? Well, yes, Lance Bass in my bed, but that’s not what I am talking about here. I am talking about minions. I want an army of them. It is the one essential element that I need in my quest for world domination.

Don’t lie. You totally want to be in a world where I am in charge. I’m talking full on party, while all the people we don’t like are made to do all of the grunt work. And there would be no more problems with high gas prices because there would be no need for cars. Why the hell do we need cars when we are going to have muscular men carry us every where. Yes, it will take a little longer, but imagine how much fun it is going to be to watch them sweat.

Okay, a little off topic there. See none of that will come to pass until I get me some minions. And I have a classroom full of kids who are perfect for the job. I mean really, how skilled do you have to be when your main job requirement is to fetch me shit?

So now I just have formulate a plan to somehow get these children on my side. It shouldn’t be too hard since the kids actually seem to like for some unknown reason. I can’t figure it out myself because I actually have to be mean to them most of the time because they are pretty terrible in the classroom. But they do, so it should be too hard to mold them into a suitable army.

So be on the lookout for when my formidable army comes to your town. You will, of course have no defense against them because who is going to harm cute little kids, no one that’s who. We will be like the Borg. My army will be recruiting the kids in all of your elementary schools. And then we will be truly unstoppable.

If you were smart, you would join my side now. Some of the noises these kids make are considered a form of torture in 37 states. It’s a weapon of mass destruction that I am totally willing to use in my quest. I am, of course, always taking applications for minions. Join now or face my minions.

Does No One Look At The School Supply List Anymore

Dear sweet baby Popeye’s Biscuit, I am so glad that it is Spring Break. While I am usually not so much about school vacations because I don’t get paid during them. And we all know how much I like the money. It helps me with so many things, namely the acquisition of more Popeye’s Biscuits. But I really needed a vacation from the little ones. Now I know why there are so many vacations during the school year. Prolonged exposure to children will increase the time needed in a padded cell, so they give the teachers numerous vacations to keep them from having a nervous breakdown and start giving everyone they walk by F’s. (That’s so the way I’m going to go.)

But I would like to use this opportunity to hopefully change some things about the way things are going at school. I mean this could be a chance to change my attitude but really what are the chances of that happening anytime soon. Instead, I am going to work very hard at changing the shit that goes on in the classroom.

The one thing that I really don’t fucking understand is how the kids are just physically incapable of having a pencil with them. No a single one. And if some miracle the kids come to school with a pencil, the damn thing doesn’t have an eraser because they apparently thought it would be a good idea to bite the motherfucking thing off. No, not chew it up. Bite the thing completely off. I mean I know the cafeteria food sucks ass, but come on it’s got to taste moderately better then an eraser.

So that is what my days have been like for the past couple of weeks. Basically filled with classrooms full of kids who don’t have a fucking pencil. But here’s the kicker. They don’t bother to tell me that they don’t have a pencil until after I have gone through all the trouble to explain what their assignment is. Then it’s all, “I have no pencil.” “Well, then what the hell have you been doing for the past twenty minutes while I’ve been talking?” “I didn’t have a pencil, so I just sat there.” And then I go sit down and proceed to bang my head into the teacher’s desk for the next hour and the kids don’t have to do the assignment. I think that was the plan all along.

Or then there are the times when the teacher is all prepared for such an eventuality and have a million spare pencils lying around the room. But then comes the problem that the kids have no idea how to actually use a pencil without breaking it after writing one letter. Then comes the hour long ritual of sharpening the pencil. Do you know that children do not know how the fuck to work a crank sharpener? It’s just completely beyond their capabilities. And don’t even think about having an electric pencil sharpener. It will be broken within five seconds. These kids can break shit in ways that the inventor never imagined that things could be broken.

This would explain why I have a huge blister on my finger. Because I had to stand there for 20 minutes sharpening pencils. And yes, I am extremely bitter about this. (Among other things.) Because now, my students’ incompetence is leaving marks on my skin.

So parents, I beg of you. Send your kids to school with a fucking pencil. It’s on the goddamn school supply list.

And since a great deal of the kids I sub for are Hispanic, I am going to send this message out in Spanish as well. Sendo your kidsos to schoolo witho ao fuckingo pencilo. Shito.

If I Only Had A Window

Has you life ever been taken over by a small, wailing child and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it? And the sad thing is you could totally do something about it, but parents seriously frown upon throwing their children out of a window. Though in some cases it would probably be a serious improvement on their attitudes. And as an added bonus, my day would be a hell of a lot more livable.

The problem with this is that I should really not know the horror of a small thing sending my life into a whirlpool of what the fuck. The fact that I was born without that deathtrap called the uterus, combined with my strong preference for the hee hee instead of the hoo haa, should have insured a brat free existence. I mean there is always the possibility of adopting, but really no. As each day goes by it seems less and less likely that Lance Bass is going to show up on that white horse (Is the problem that you can’t find a white horse, Lance, because I’m sure you can find one on Amazon. And if worse comes to worse, it doesn’t have to be a white horse. I mean it might mess up the fantasy a bit because who the fuck ever heard of riding in on a brown horse, but if you must, Lance.) and he’s the only one who I would want to raise a Madagascar Hissing Baby with.

Anyway, I’ve kind of gotten off track. That tends to happen when I’m discussing Lancey Poo or bitching. Or shiny things come into my life of vision. This whole line of thinking was brought about by one of my sub assignments. (Yes. Yes. I know you are asking why the hell am I a sub if this is my attitude? We’ll I’ll tell you. Deep down inside, I’m sort of a marshmallow. If you repeat that to anyone, I will, of course, destroy you I the worst possible way ever, namely forcing you to listen to hours of Tyra Banks talking about herself. (You know she has a ton of free time now that her show is off the air and I am sure her stuffed animals need a break from her.))

So there’s this one particular class that I’ve sort of fallen in love with. It’s a kindergarten class and they are just adorable. There is only a small underlying evil. Well, the school knows how much I like this class so they keep me sticking me in it. At first, it was all rainbows and sausages, but after a while it got a little old. Namely because the class got a little used to me and that small underlying evil became a big ball of pure crazy.

I mean, I guess it must be nice when the worst thing in your life is someone cutting in front of you in line (And I use the term line in the loosest possible sense because these kindergarteners think a line is some screwed up Harry Potter lightening bolt zig zag.), but is it necessary to break down when it happens? And I’m not talking just crying, I’m talking full on hysterics. Sobbing. Snot. High pitched whining. Fucking hysterics. From the level of hysteria this girl has, you would think someone just told her that they had gang raped the Easter Bunny.

After the fourth time this girl pulled this shit, I just had to sit down and ask myself a very important question. “Am I really going to let this little dictator-tot run my life like this?” Sadly, the answer is yes. Because, quite frankly, I am just a giant whore for a paycheck. And it’s not so much that I’m a whore, it’s that I need money or they are going to threaten to take my car away again. Not only that, but I will no longer be able to afford books anymore. Then I will be sentenced to a life of reading the Twilight Saga over and over again, which for a nerd like me is a death sentence. And if that were to happen and I start quoting lines of Bella’s dialogue, therefore causing myself to yank my brain out through my ear, I will blame a screeching child. And then I will be extremely bitter. Okay, I am already extremely bitter, but I will be even more bitter than that.

Yes, it is possible.  

Don't Give Us Your Tired

Okay, so I have reached a time in this life that I have decided to do something that I don’t normally do because it’s like against my code of ethics or religion or something. I am taking a stand on an issue that has recently become very near and dear to my cold, shriveled, blackened excuse for a heart. And really this should be a cause that everyone takes up. I am of course talking about the scourge presented by old people.

Look, I have nothing against old people. If it weren’t for old people we wouldn’t have wonderful inventions for me to take advantage of, like the early bird special or handicapped parking. (Oh lighten up. It was only one time at a McDonald’s and I really needed to pee. I left right after.) I’m just saying that sometimes old people should be banned from certain activities. Like fucking up my day.

Now don’t get me wrong. I am all for everyone having a job and being all empowered and full of Geezer Pride, but all I’m trying to say is that once you have reached the age of, say, four hundred, perhaps substitute teaching is something that you might want to consider not doing anymore.

There was a sub just like this at school yesterday. She’s been there a bunch of times, so I’ve seen her there before, but I’ve never quite understood what the fuck she is there for. And I’m not sure what her name is because everyone just refers to her as Ms. Old Lady. Well, I don’t know who’s brilliant idea it was to let this woman take this one particular class, but whoever it was should be slapped a couple times. Sadly, the class I am talking about was a pre K class. This isn’t just your ordinary, everyday pre K class. This is like the super crazy, borderline violent pre K class. (Yeah. They are really scary.)

Well apparently someone wasn’t as drunk as someone else because they sent me to the class to make sure that kids did not destroy this woman. Though the people who watched me walking to the class later told me that I looked like I was being sent to my death from the look on my face. Stepping in the class, I was a little shocked because I had never seen the class so well behaved before. It took me a minute to realize they were only well behaved because they were scared shitless because of the specter of death sitting in front of them. (Look, I’m not trying to be mean, but she kind of looked like the Crypt Keeper.)

Well, let’s just say that fear was not a deterrent for very long. The kids went nuts not long after. I mean there was screaming, hair pulling, hitting, and in some manner that I am not sure of, but I am 100% sure that I don’t want to know, a pair of panties ended up on the floor, which of course, she didn’t bother to pick up at the end of the day. Yeah, ew.

Well, I escaped for most of the day, but they sent me back at the end of the day to help her with dismissal. Really, if they are going to ask me to do things like this, I wish they would at least provide a bullet that I could bite and then shoot myself with later. I get there and the only thing that can describe the room is a clusterfuck of crazy. At some point, one the kids shredded an entire roll of toilet paper. Several of them were crying. And two of them were still asleep from naptime. Not a scene I wanted to see when I have a line of angry ass parents who want to know where the fuck there little brats are.

Needless to say I just started grabbing kids, sleeping or not, and just started dragging them out to cars. I had to be quite rude to some parents who were quite curious as to why their child did not have his backpack and/or was unconscious. Which I just had to answer, “I don’t care. I’m not your kid’s teacher. It’s cold. Peace out.”

See this is the kind of shit that happens when you let old people have free reign over their employment. It’s not cool because it starts to affect my shit. I’m not saying that all of them should, but a good amount could be set adrift and it would be alright. Perhaps the world would be better for it.

But until that time, I wish old people would stick to the jobs that were created for them, like Walmart door greeter or coffin model. I’m just saying. Don’t shoot the messenger.

There Is No Kung Fu Move To Protect Against This

I know you might be thinking I am beating a dead horse with this issue, and to that I say, tough shit. This is my website and I will beat a dead horse, a dead cow, and a dead emu if I feel like it, dammit. And really, since I quite the hotel and have been deprived of the ignorant masses to make fun of, I really tend to harp on the smallest thing that crosses my path. Like children hitting adults and thinking that is kosher.

As sad as it is to say, I am not even talking about the first grader who punched me. I am talking about another student. Don’t worry, they are both at the same school, so at least some of the crazy is contained inside the walls of one fucked up institution. This time it was even worse than a first grader. It was a pre-kindergartener. Like what the fuck is up with that. I would have totally expected it to be a fourth grader or something. Because back in the day, there were a great many times that I wanted to slap the living shit out of my teacher. In my defense, she was a complete bitch and could have benefitted from a good punch to the face. And really, my fat 4^th grade self would have been the perfect person to give it to her.

And seeing exactly how crazy kids are these days, you would expect that from a 4^th or 5^th grader. (Moving up into the higher grades, you tend to expect more of the shanking and selling into white slavery.) But a pre kindergartener, not so much. Because really how fucking hard is a pre kindergartener’s life? I mean, you come in. You color. You eat lunch. You go to recess. You take a nap. You have a snack. You go home. The only thing you are really expected to do is learn to write your name. Fuck. Life is sweet. Enjoy that shit while you can.

But luckily, I was not the one who got slapped by a pre kindergartener. It happened to a woman who is a lot better than me. Because if it had been me, that little girl would be transported home via some sort of giant sling shot. She would just be gone. There would be no mystery as to what happened. She took it a lot better than me and just transported this little monster to the office, where she was promptly suspended for two days.

Yeah, she got off a little light in my opinion, but they obviously didn’t ask for my opinion in this matter. The sooner people would realize I know exactly what to do in these matters, the better off these people would be. I mean they didn’t invent expulsion for no reason.

So can anyone guess what the mother’s reaction to her evil little daughter’s suspension was? Oh yeah, she was pissed. She proceeded to bitch and moan for like 20 minutes about how it was unfair that her daughter was being suspended. And of course this is done in full view of half the school, like a true classy person. So after the big white trash tirade, the little girl was still suspended. Well, the mother did the unthinkable. She pulled her daughter out of the school.

Okay, bad parents of the world, here’s a little inside information for you. If your child is evil and you feel that their suspension is unfair so you pull that evil child out of school, you didn’t punish anyone. In fact, the second you left all the teachers had a little party in the lounge. There was cake. It was delicious.

So I hope that woman is having fun with her little demon spawn at home because the whole school is treating this as a holiday. I can’t speak for everyone, but it is nice to know that I don’t have to wear protective armor into a pre K class.

There Is No Witty Title That Will Do This Travesty Justice, So I Am Just Not Even Trying To Find One

I got punched by a first grader. Yeah, you read that right. I got punched by a first grader. A fucking first grader. Seriously. I am still in fucking shock over this. I mean let’s break this down…a…fucking…first…grader…fucking…punched…me…fuck!

Look, I know I shouldn’t because it tends to piss people off, but I am so going to tell people how to raise their children. Granted, I haven’t been too particular about who I piss off because well, I just don’t give a shit. That’s the total bonus of being me.

So here’s my first piece of advice. Stop fucking up your kids. There is something seriously wrong with your kid if he thinks it’s okay to punch a teacher, even if it is just a substitute. And then what is even less helpful is when you come to pick up your kid and find out that he has been suspended, you throw a hissy fit and want your kid’s suspension taken away. Yeah, well, bitch, I want a lot of things that aren’t going to happen. So get the fuck over it. I understand that your kid being home for three whole days is going to interfere with your busy life of crack whoring, but we all must come to terms.

And here’s another piece of advice. If you are fucking moron, don’t procreate. And if you must, and clearly you do, don’t find another fucking moron to do it with. I mean I get that your options are limited with the low IQ and all but fucking hell. What you get when you do this is a little fucking moron who punches teachers.

By the way, I am not sure if you can tell, but I am fucking bitter as hell about this. And it’s not just because I got punched. By a first grader, in case you have forgotten. But it’s more that when I brought this up to the office, their response was, “Yeah, that happens.” Um..really? Like that’s just cool with them.

At the risk of sounding old and shit, but what the fuck is up with kids in school. I would say that they have lost their minds, but I really don’t think they have minds to begin with. I remember how boring school was when I was stuck there, but these aren’t bored stares that I am getting when I am talking.

They are just completely vacant stares that tell me nothing is going on in there. And I just look at them and realize that this will be what leads the world someday. It makes me want to build a bomb shelter and burrow myself in there with a lifetime supply of Popeye’s Biscuits and toaster waffles and hope for it all to end.

Speaking of which, I am hearing the siren call of the toaster waffles right now. If you will excuse me I am going to go toast me some waffle goodness and try to forget the existence of this evil first grader.

Did I mention he fucking punched me?

This Is The Reason I Come Home And Just Pass Out

Yes, I know I have been absent for a while, but my life has been one big jumble of what the fuck that I have not had a whole lot of time for bitchy introspection. So let me fill you in a little of what has been going on.

I have been extremely busy with the substitute teaching thing. I’ve pretty much been going to the same school for a while now. This is sort of fun because I have become known as something of a tyrant to these kids and as I work my way through all the classes word starts getting around. This strikes fear into the hearts of kids, which as anyone can tell you has been one of my life long dreams.

It’s just that being at the same school gives me a little more power than going to different schools. The school actually trusts me with a bit more of the discipline. I’m just saying, my classes have been known to be dragged outside and forced to walk a straight line for thirty minutes. It teaches them how to walk in a line like they are supposed to and it wears them out so they can’t misbehave. It’s really a win win.

But there is a downside to this. The more I have been going there, I find that they keep sending me to the same classes over and over again. Mostly kindergarten classes. There is nothing in life that will make you lose your mind faster than a kindergarten class. These kids have the attention span of...well of kindergartens. Have you ever tried to get a five year old kid to pay attention to something? Now imagine trying to get 20 of them to pay attention at the same time. It’s not fun. Because sure enough, just when you think you’ve got there undivided attention, one of them will decide it will be a good idea to throw a crayon at someone, or just punch the kid next to her for no apparent reason whatsoever. And then it all breaks down and turns into a massive hurricane of laughing and crying and “He touched me!” and “She hit me!” and “He’s looking at me!” and you are just wishing school was over so you could go get a drink.

But I keep getting put in these classes because this school apparently thinks I am the Kindergarten Whisperer because one time I got lucky and somehow I got those kids to line up and be quiet just as the Principal walked by. So this is what my life has become.

Do you know what the average five year old’s favorite thing to do is? Grab your hand and tug on it so that you will pay attention to them just so they can tell you that they just went to the bathroom and didn’t wash their hands after. And they tell you like it is the most fascinating thing they have ever done and not possibly giving me E coli or cooties.

You know I have never imagined that I would die under a pile of five year olds who don’t understand the concept of personal space who want to play their other favorite game “Let’s climb on the teacher and if he gets kicked in the process oh fucking well”.

There Isn't Enough Febreeze In The World

This is a message to all the parents out there. I am about to do something that I probably shouldn’t do and has the potential to piss you off. Well, that’s just how I roll. I am going to dish out some parenting advice. Let’s face it. Some of you are doing an okay job in teaching your kids how to act. And I’m pretty sure everyone thinks they are doing a wonderful job, but just know, that if you aren’t, then the rest of the world is talking about your kids behind your back. So just keep that in mind.

But what I want to talk to you about it something that kids should be taught at an early age. There should be some sort of discussion with the parents at some point in a child’s formative years to prepare them for later in life when this will become an issue. I am talking about farting.

What the fuck is up with kids these days who have no control over their gas? Do parents just not fucking tell their kids that is rude to fart right out there in public where there is an entire class within smelling range. Especially in a classroom with ventilation that hasn’t been updated in about 20 years. That shit has nowhere to go but up our nostrils.

And I really want to know what these kids are eating in the cafeteria that is making that horrific smell come from inside their bodies. I mean it seriously smells like part of them has died and has been decomposing for quite some time. If the paint on the walls wasn’t already mostly chipped away, it would be peeling.

Now at the same time, I think it is also important to sit down with your kids and tell them that when a child in your class farts, it is not the same thing as a terrorist gas threat. There is no need to fucking freak out like the world is coming to an end. Yes, their nose may be burning and their eyes may be watering, but they are not going to die. There will be no need to evacuate the building and bring in hazmat suits. Tell your children to chill the fuck out.

Now I have to admit, there have been quite a few children in my classes that have severely gotten on my nerves. And I won’t lie, to get back at them I have totally crop dusted their desk just to see their face distort into the mask of fart terror. But like I tell all the kids in my class, if someone farting is the worst thing that has ever happened to you, then you are never going to make it in the real world.

So the lesson here is, that it’s just fucking gas. Get the fuck over it. But at the same time, stop fucking farting. No one wants to smell your rotting insides.

And as a bonus lesson, one of the benefits of being a teacher, or at least a substitute, is that you can be a complete hypocrite and the kids can’t do shit about it.

Vengence Is Mine

So I have finally lived every substitute teacher’s dream. I have gotten the ultimate revenge on one of my students. No, I didn’t kill him or anything. What kind of person do you think I am? (If you value your life, you will not answer that question.)

The other day I picked up a 4^th grade class at a school in a neighborhood that I liked. I figured it can’t be too bad at all. One of the only good things about subbing is that it gives you a chance to go to different schools and different grades to see where you like going and where you will never step foot in again. Like I’ve learned that I will cut off my own head and shove it up my ass before I ever pick up another high school class. (After getting into an argument with an 18 year old freshman, I pretty much just called it quits on that.) And now 4^th grade may have to be added to this list.

In actuality, they weren’t that bad. I’ve been in much worse situations. But the one thing that always surprises me is that no matter what, the kids always just assume that the sub is stupid. Like I’m not going to pick up the picture I caught one of them drawing of me getting punched in the face. Because it was so likely that I was just going to let that slide.

But I had this one kid in class who could not behave to save his life. He would not shut up. It was like he was physically incapable of closing his mouth. At one point I bet him five dollars that he couldn’t be quiet for five minutes. It’s a really good thing he lost that bet because I totally didn’t have five dollars.

This is not to mention that I had to actually threaten to glue his ass to his chair because he couldn’t sit down. Or that he just didn’t know what a line was. Or what it means to not run in the hallway. Or that it is just not okay to bang his drumsticks against his desk in the middle of class. (This ain’t band practice, bitch!)

And of course this worked up the rest of the class into trying to stage a mutiny. Well that’s just not going to happen because if I’ve learned one thing in my time as a sub it is that if you want the class to behave (or at least not act like complete donkeys) you have to take down the class clown.

So when I had to send the Devil Child away to go to band class, I had a little talk with the rest of the class. All I did was tell them that when I was walking down the hall, I overheard him telling someone that he totally luuuuuuvs Justin Beiber. And there may have been something about Beiber posters on his wall.

You mess with the bull, 4^th grader.