An apple for teacher? A rotten one maybe
Dear kindergarten through 12th grade teachers:
Jesus Christ, you lying sack of dog-doo scumbags.
All those wasted years. Damn you.
All those hours I'll never get back.
Damn you, you freaking good-for-nothing government-sponsored habitual liars.
All those times you stood in front of me in my gullible, misguided youth and said, "Trust me, Lane, this is important to learn because this is something you'll use this later in your life."
Damn you damn you damn you.
I haven't used any of that crap.
Not the math or the science or the English or the gym or the social studies or the music or the art.
Not a thing. Well, maybe the lunch part. But other than that, not one stinking ounce of it has served any purpose in my life.
You liars with teaching certificates, you.
Day in and day out, you stood there. Lying through your teeth.
Cripes, I'm so old, I bet you don't even have teeth anymore.
Now, I bet you lie through your gums. Your old, rotten gums. Which used to house your lying, rotten teeth.
The ones you lied to me through. Every stinking day. For 22 stinking years.
So what if I wasted the formative years of my life listening to your drivel?
"Physics is important," you'd say.
"Hemingway is necessary," you'd tell me.
"You absolutely need to know how to cut a piece of wood at a 45-degree angle," you'd claim.
No, actually, I don't need to know how to cut a piece of wood at a 45-degree angle. That's why God invented the Amish.
You damn liars.
Why, I ask. Why? Did you do this simply for job security?
Do you realize the only way you truly impacted my life was by instilling the fear in me that I'd be a complete idiot in my old age if I didn't know what you said I needed to know?
This just in: I'm old. I learned everything you told me I needed to learn. And I'm still a complete idiot.
Thanks for wasting my time.
The truth is, liars, I didn't need any of that garbage you said I needed to get by. All that multiplying by fractions and isosceles triangles and grammar. I dun not be needin' any of that there crap there.
Then again, I may be jumping the gun.
I mean, I suppose it is possible in the next few days a random person will walk up to me and say:
"Hey Lane, how's the family? Good? Good. Listen, I am so glad I ran into you. Maybe you can help: If a perpendicular line was drawn directly from the bottom left hand corner of a trapezoid to the opposite corner and is equal to 133.7254258421, the hypotenuse of the new triangle can be found by using Pythagorean's Theorem. What was that formula again?"
Here's the bottom line:
In 41 years, no one's cared whether or not I knew the capital of the state of South Dakota. Except you.
No one's ever asked me about a rhombus. Except you.
No one's asked which part of my sentence was the subject and which part was the predicate. Except you.
Since we last spoke 20 years ago, I've had no use for a beaker.
Since I roamed your hallowed halls, not once have I thought, "Gosh darn it, a compass would sure come in handy right now. And a protractor. And an abacus. And a ruler. And a big pink eraser. And chalk. And a three-hole punch. And a bookmark. And a Garfield folder."
I've never been asked to name any President other than the one with the wooden teeth, the one with big black hat and the bullet in the back of his head, the guy in the wheelchair, and the one who did Joe DiMaggio's ex-wife.
Since the cap and gown came off, I've had less than one conversation about the War of 1812.
The forms of b have never been a topic of discussion during poker.
And I've never been asked to name any President other than the one with the wooden teeth, the one with big black hat and the bullet in the back of his head, the guy in the wheelchair, and the one who did Joe DiMaggio's ex-wife.
Lies, lies, lies, yeah.
I didn't really need to learn how to spell, because my computer has spell check.
I didn't really need to learn how to add, because my calculator has a + and = sign.
I didn't really need to learn manners, because rude people get what they want.
I didn't really need to learn how to tie my shoes, because my shoes have velcro.
I didn't really need to learn how to tell time, because I have a digital watch.
I didn't really need to learn that Russia is an impoverished country that lives under Communist rule because, Christ, any country that invented Anna Kournikova can't be all bad.
I didn't really need that whole gym and exercise thing, because my father-in-law is going to out live me and you and his workout routine consists of exactly three exercises:
Mouth open. Chew. Swallow.
Cripes, I didn't really even need to learn how to go to the bathroom, because someone invented Depends.
I didn't need any of that crap you said I needed.
Sorry kindergarten teacher: I can't even say that everything I needed to learn about life I learned in your class. Because that's not true, either.
Technically, everything I needed to learn about life I learned from my next-door neighbor, Billy.
Billy Lesson #1
Billy's parents had a tool shed. Billy hid Playboy's in the tool shed.
That's where I learned about sex.
"And there you have it," said Billy. "That's how sex works."
"For real?" I said. "In her eyeball?"
Billy Lesson #2
One day Billy got mad, ran into his garage, came out with a pitchfork and tried to throw it at me.
This is where I learned about anger.
This is where I also learned it's very difficult to throw a pitchfork from 50 yards away with any degree of accuracy.
Sex and violence. These are the things I learned from Billy. What else does anyone need to know?
You lying teacher liars.
Since I left your classroom, I've never had a need for pi, let alone the square root of pi, let alone how many pieces of pie you'd have to cut if 11 people came over for 42 minutes and 17 seconds and each ate an average of 1.34 pieces of pie per hour.
Since leaving your House of Myths, no one's asked me to discuss the role Edgar Alan Poe plays in American society.
Or Joan of Arc.
Unless you mean Dana Plato. I've talked about her a lot.
STUPID IMPRESSION LEFT ON ME #351
One of you dumb teachers once told me that even if I get the wrong answer, if my method of getting there is right, I would get nearly full credit.
Thanks. That was certainly a useful life lesson.
Um, remember when I asked you to turn off the lights in the plant the other night?
Yes sir boss. I took care of it just like you asked.
You didn't turn off the lights, though. You turned on the nuclear reactor.
Gosh darn it. I thought I followed your instructions to a tee. I guess at the last minute I must've accidentally flipped the wrong switch. Oh well, I did everything right except until the very end. So that's pretty good though, right boss?
Look into my eyes.
The two regular ones, or the one in the middle of your forehead?
I've got a bad feeling about this.
Let me walk you to the door.
Y'know, I never noticed your two extra legs.
Yes, in spite of what you liars claimed to be important, I've never had to compare and contrast solids, liquids and gasses.
I've never thought about protons, neutrons, electrons.
I am very familiar with Enron, LeBron James and Ron Jeremy, however.
I've never had anyone ask me to count to one hundred in Spanish.
In fact, out of all the days I ever spent in school, there was only one day that was truly worthwhile, educational and informative:
I've never thought about protons, neutrons, electrons. I am very familiar with Enron, LeBron James and Ron Jeremy, however.
The day we learned about the female reproductive system.
That day, I'll give you.
Every other one, you owe me, big-time.
Which leads to this question:
What was the point of all this?
Were you bored?
Do you all belong to some sort of sick club that preys upon the young and naïve?
Did you all get together and think it would be "one really funny joke?"
Was this one of those things where you all said, "Dammit, we fell for it when we were kids. Now it's their turn."
Thanks for wasting the most productive years of my life.
I sat there and listened for absolutely no reason. Now I know.
I mean, I've talked with my mouth full and people have still understood me.
I've run in the halls at my office and there's yet to be a fatal collision.
You told me to have heroes. I chose O.J. Simpson. My back-up hero was Pete Townshend.
I appreciate the advice, you teaching-lying-big-piles of-scrotal-lying teacher liars.
Since I've left the "school environment," I've never used long division, quadratic equations, rhetorical questions, the Periodic table of elements or a pencil.
I haven't finger-painted or played a musical instrument. I haven't tried to convert miles into kilometers, Fahrenheit into Celsius, quarts into liters. Or my Catholic friends into Jews.
I haven't tried to figure out how old an 83-year-old person is in dog years.
I haven't talked about frog intestines or been asked to write a 250 word essay on the Zuni Indians.
I haven't said, "Et tu, Brutus?", I haven't felt the need to inspire my family by shouting, "Remember the Alamo!" And I can count on one finger the number of times "E Pluribus Unum" has come up during our weekly viewing of professional wrestling.
All of these things, all of these "remarkably important things" in my life, have been of no use to me.
You worthless sacks of pud.
They say teaching is a noble profession.
I say you're nothing but a bunch of glorified con artists perpetrating a scam on America's youth.
You've done me a great disservice and I will never forget. In fact, I will do anything and everything in my power to prevent this from happening to another generation.
Thanks for nothing, teachers. You've wasted my life. I hope you're happy. Because I'm not.
Hey dad, can you help me?
Sure, son. I'm just finishing up a letter. What's up?
Mom said I have to do my math homework before I can play in the basement? Do I really have to? Do I?
Absolutely, son. Math is a very, very important subject in school and it's something you'll need to know a lot about when you grow up. No matter what you do.
Really dad? This isn't just some sort of parent thing, is it?
Son, son, son. Would I lie to you?