Alright, you little pecker stains! Straighten your backs and turn on your thinking caps, because today we’re going to learn about some kind of mathematical wizardry concocted by some slanty-eyed Commies! Those who get the problems correct will get a shiny gold star that you can take home to your mommies so she can whip out her titty and reward you with your precious titty milk! But if you get one wrong, well, then we’re just gonna have to put you in the retard class with all the other mouth breathers, nose pickers, and those ones that think pooping their pants is an acceptable response to “What’s two-plus-two?”
When I’m done with you today you will be number crunching ministers of mathematical DOOM! You’ll be little tsunamis of arithmetic, ready to destroy the ocean-side village of some Commie primitives with your waves of addition; swirling winds of subtraction; pounding viciousness of multiplication; and the ability to wash ashore sharks that will eat people, like division.
In this class you will not be aided by calculators, watch calculators, cellular phone calculators, finger counting, writing numbers in the air with your fingers, and absolutely no abacuses! I will have no Commie fabricated mechanisms in my classroom, is that clear?!
I’m sorry, but I want you boys and girls to answer me the way you would after you balls have dropped and your vaginas have become fragrant with the smell of blossoming womanhood! So let’s try that again: have I made myself clear on all points thus far?!
WHO SAID THAT?!!? WHICH ONE OF YOU LITTLE ABORTION BABIES JUST INTERUPPTED THE SILENCE I WAS ABOUT TO FILL WITH MORE YELLING?!
You! Was it you that barged in on my sympathy of screams with some whiny little musing?! What’s your name, Student?!
Tommy? TOMMY?! WHAT KIND OF PUSSY NAME IS “TOMMY”?! I don’t like “Tommy.” It reminds me of an English teacher I knew back in ’68! My Tommy was a pervert! A queer! In fact, now that I look at you, I see a little bit of My Tommy in you. As I look down upon you I see worthless hunk of spineless queer bait! I see you and I want to rid the world of your presence, but since this country has barred me from murdering children that I feel will one day become a detriment to our glorious society, how would you like it if I simply gave you a new name to divert my attention from the fact that you were a wasted jizz-shot?! How about ASS BOIL?! Do you like that name, Ass Boil?! I sure hope you do, because if I get my way, you will one day be able to proudly walk the stage of your college graduation to receive your diploma once you hear the Dean of Student announce the name Ass Boil over the loud speakers! Your mommy will cry tears of patriotic joy as she knows that only in the great nation of America can her little Ass Boil one day be crawling out of her hairy crack, and the next, be receiving a degree from a prestigious educational institution!
So, tell me, Ass Boil, what was it that you felt was SOOOOO DAMN IMPORTANT THAT YOU HAD TO INTERRUPT MY ROUSING SPEECH?!
YOU HAVE TO GO MAKE NUMBER-TWO?! Did you hear that, class?! Little Tommy Ass Boil, here, wants to go number-two, because he’s full of shit! Let me ask you something, Ass Boil: Are your mommy and daddy as full of shit as you are?! So help me, if you answer “No,” I’ll rip off your head and shit down your neck so my shit can mingle with and get to know all the other shit you’re filled with!
DON’T YOU JUST SIT THERE AND STARE AT ME WITH TEARS RUNNING DOWN YOUR FACE AND AN EVER-INCREASING SNOT BUBBLE EXPANDING OUT OF YOUR NOSE! GIVE ME A DAMN ANSWER!
Outstanding! That’s just as I suspected! It appears that instead of filling your mommy with spunk, your daddy took a crap inside of that hog’s cooter, and nine-months later, there you were! A walking, talking, non-mental math computing, 3-foot tall pile of fecal matter! Well, let me tell you something, Ass Boil — I will allow you to walk the grand halls of Cherry Hill Elementary so you can embark on your epic quest to find a pot to shit it. But if you do not return within the next ten-minuets with your bowels thoroughly evacuated, your pecker drained of fluids, and your butthole sparkling like a Tiffany’s diamond, then you might as well leave the campus, find a crack den, pick up a pipe and get a leg-up on your inevitable future!
GO! GO! GO!
The hall pass is on the door handle.