Private School Chronicles: Fonts! Letters Home! Kids Masturbating in Public!

Every document at this school is written in Calibri. There are words and tones that sometimes do not fit the bill of this clean, neat font. Such as voicing concerns to one childs parent that his constant...er, playing with his junk should be addressed at home, and is causing a ruccus amongst the masses. Certainly amongst me, while he sits in the office and wiggles his pickle around through his gym shorts.

As I penned, selected all, and went dutifully through the selection of fonts in Word, the notion that perhaps no font can mask the embarrasment that the affluent parents of this naughty, naughty little boy will undoubtedly feel.

The prescribed course of action-- A letter home in clean neat Calibri to expose a dirty habit. BUT, little boys will be little boys. Shaming a child for natural, inherent curiosity; all apart of the American brand of sexuality (subtle! embarrasing! oh the shame! dark! and perverse!). How easily I could delete the words and save little Alexander from the dark path of cross dressing fetishes and
asphyxiation masturbation which will inevitably be the end of him. Mummy and daddy wouldn't have to send him to therapy for a perfectly normal curiosity.

Orders are orders, and I am the office bitch so I do as I'm told. Clean, neat, crisp Calibri. I dutifully hand the letter to the little tyke.

"Am I going to be in real bad trouble?" He looks up at me with woeful, bambi eyes. The poor bastard.

"Just do it in the bathroom next time buddy..."

Who says you can't change the world a little bit everyday?

Private School Chronicles: "Is it lunchtime yet?"

Clementine Stewarts*, age 9, awaited her mothers arrival in the office at her elementary school. She had ingested Thai Noodles, which in her young mind didn't raise any flagrant flags, and it had tasted wonderful. The offending ingredient, peanut sauce, that velvety blanket of creamy nutty variety, the very type that caused a moderate allergic reaction. Clementine was lucky to not have the closing of throat and emminent death sort of allergy, but unlucky because her face ballooned so that she appeared a mythical creature, perhaps a troll or an ogre. Red and swollen, the child walked, nay, ran out of the clusterfuck that was the jury of her peers.

"what a freeeeak"

-----------------------

So children, dont eat Thai Noodles with Peanut Sauce if you are allergic to PEANUTS. Or do because it's kind of funny what your face does.

And, WTF, they serve Thai Noodles with Peanut Sauce for lunch? Yesterday they had Tandoori Chicken. Ugh, how can a nigga get a lunch?

*name changed solely because hers was dull.

ANYWAY

tyranny

oppression. self-made oppression.


what i'm saying is that sometimes you're blind and sometimes your aware and sometimes you still make silly decisions because some queer romantic notion has got a hold of you.


but that's not me.


i think, that after months of careful deliberation and insanity, even though it's hard, I'm going to make the rightest choice i've ever made: to let go of things that do not make me happy, are not worth my thoughts, and compel mindless waste.


ALAS POOR YORRICK

phantom pains

i'm sitting in a mental disorders class and i cannot help but ruminate on the obvious tangent: mental illness. and me. well anyway.

he seems to be lecturing once again on phantom limbs, and the phantom pain associated with them. another tangent, my phantom pain. (baby)

so: ryan brennan always talks about the unnaturalness of love. i suppose i'm understanding that a bit. how unnatural it is to love one person, in a way that even animals cannot do. its not entirely necessary to define the basic survival need to copulate and grow, to define it as love is simply overreaching. in this world that has become so sexed up and so without the bounds of morality (also a made up human notion, much to my chagrin) where does the romantic go to hide? in the scar tissue of my severed arm. i am without appendage, helpless and here i feel a pain. in an arm that no longer is there. but once was. oh stupid brain, now i know why i am so ill equipped.