You remember that teacher Spang and I investigated in Future Tom Blog Force: The Riddle of the Whiny Students? Did you know I went over there and posted a comment with my blog link in it and she declined to publish it?
I mean, sure, there’s a good chance that was just out of total weirdness. You click on the link and suddenly there’s me and Spang and the Golden Voice guy riding a boxcar, etc. It was probably not easy to determine if I was really on her side or just being mystically ironic and hip. Or she could have for example thought, “Hey, this guy’s a moron. Why would I associate with this moron?”
Okay, fair enough. But, that’s all the help she’s getting from me. The next time I blog about her, she’d going to get an old-fashioned digital taunting. You mark my words.
I’ll tell you one thing I noticed is she redirected her blog to a swank new website, so that must be the plan. Roll this controversy up into a teaching blog and then a book deal. You parents sure taught her a lesson about blogging, didn’t you? Now she can blog all she likes about whatever she likes and she’ll still probably get a huge settlement when she sues the district back to the Stone Age.
Say, parents, after you finish paying teachers to blog instead of teach, make sure to oppose school levies. Remember, you want teachers to behave like flawless ideals and you wants them to do it cheap, like we’re talking Bangkok-cheap. You guys are making tons of sense.
Anyway, readers who were not teachers were simply impressed by the serpentine length of that post and my sudden, uncharacteristic use of the phrase “whiny little bitch.” You know, it’s okay because I was having a fictional version of one of my pals use it to describe me, right? It’s not like I was calling you a whiny little bitch or anything. Jeez.
On the other hand, I was absolutely shocked by how many people do not find venereal disease/Valentine’s Day jokes to be hilarious. I am afraid I have to plead ignorance on this one – I was absolutely positive that was pure hilarity, and in fact I even ran it by my wife, who said, “That’s some funny shit, TC.”
Ah, well. Live and learn. Blog on, as my old pappy used to say.
And then a startling reaction to yesterday’s post about a friend’s fridge. First of all, she has sent me a photograph of the outside of the fridge, and it’s now clear she has a serious mental problem, possibly a separate and distinct personality named Vicki. The person who cleans the inside of that fridge is not the same person who allows what has happened to the outside of it.
It’s all scribbled upon in some forgotten language, like a big slab of Stonehenge rock in a Hellraiser movie. I want everybody to stay the hell away from my Facebook friend Jessica until we get her figured out psychologically. It’s a long road she has ahead of her, and I’m sure she’ll appreciate a little privacy while she recovers.
Also, I was not aware that a lot of people don’t like the word “fridge,” which is tough shit. People shorten words, that’s how it goes. You notice you aren’t reading The Curse of Future Thomas?
Again, standing there talking to a guy no one calls Thomas. Shut up, frat guy. And you too, Bobo – that’s a fridge. Refrigerator is eleven percent less funny as far as words go, and anyway, that took forever to type. Since they both count as one word, and I’m trying to get to eight hundred right now, that’s how we’re going to play it.
You can type refrigerator out all you like on your own blog. As for me – fridge, fridge, fridge, fridge, fridge.
And, an update on the lost keys, they were found in the normal bin on the desk, which means one of these girls had them, realized she had them, and then figured she better lay low and slither the keys back into play at some point when I wasn’t looking.
Probably the right move – clever girls, and I’m proud of them. Watching them, but proud, yessir.
Now, if you don’t mind I will be going to watch eight or nine episodes of the BBC Being Human, and then I’ll compare them to the Syfy version. Already I can tell you the Brits are feeling much more free to have their characters fornicate all of the sudden right there on screen. No, not a lot of warning, let’s just blur out butt cracks and ship it. It’s fine.
That’s fine with me, but you know how that sort of thing happens and it’s like suddenly you can’t find the remote anywhere?
Sorry for the phone-in but it’s sleepy Sunday. See everybody tomorrow.