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The children weren't only ignoring my American history teachings, I was being openly mocked from all sides. I couldn't turn around to write on the blackboard, because I'd just be hit with another spitball, or even a full can of Coca Cola, which had happened to the substitute teacher the day before.

These youngsters were certainly old enough to know better than to behave so rudely. I was starting to get quite frustrated with this job, but I was also still attracted to the prospect of improving their voracious minds. Of expanding their horizons. They were still like sponges at this age. They could absorb information, and I knew that despite the rowdiness I saw before me, these little people just needed to get over the hump. I needed to make a breakthrough of some sort. But how?

I tried once again to return to the curriculum. I'd paint a vivid picture for them. Bear in mind that I'm a 91-year-old British expatriot, so I didn't think the following sentence would create such pandemonium:

"Now, the roaring 20's were much gayer times. I even remember fondly asking for fags when seated indoors from a young member of the waitstaff who had just been making love to his best girl over in the corner."

The kids exploded with laughter. In a moment of anger, and perhaps senility (in fact, I am surprised I can even remember all these details), I hastily released my childish tallywhacker into the recycled classroom air.

Now, I say childish, and not childlike, because it really is childish. It's impetuous, naive, and even twitches uncontrollably during the theme song for Reading Rainbow, indifferent to the show's non-threatening Afro-American host, LeVond Bertram. In appearance, it resembles an aging veteran of foreign wars, or perhaps a cornish hen: distracted, dishevelled, and more than a little interested in meat pies.

Where was I? Oh. What??

Date Written: February 10, 2005
Author: Turgid
Average Vote: 3

02/25/2005 The Rid: No so good. Not so bad.
02/25/2005 Streifenbeuteldachs (3): The punchline para (four) showed some real promise, but the rest of the short read like a non-sequitur (prequitur). And come on, author, you're the narrator's a 91 year old British expat: he says negro, not Afro-American! Anyway, this one was decent, but didn't excel.
02/25/2005 qualcomm (3):
02/25/2005 Litcube: My tiny thoughts: decent story telling, mildly interesting, semi-funny, I need Tim Horton's, ultimately aimless, anti-climatic.
02/25/2005 Litcube (3): (My tiny vote)
02/25/2005 Litcube: (Seriously, I'm only 17 cm tall)
02/25/2005 TheBuyer (2): too much for too little.
02/25/2005 Mr. Pony (3):
02/25/2005 Jon Matza (4): I'm giving extra points for the author's willingness to go to extreme lengths to carry out an exceptionally unpromising premise. (Writing's semi-Trix, too.)
02/26/2005 Phony Millions (3): It's got some funny moments, but I have the feeling that the non-sequitor aspect that someone mentioned came about because author didn't know how to wrap this up or where it was going. The ending tries to sort of highlight that and make it a joke maybe, but it doesn't completely work.