Teaching: why?

Nothing is really what it seems. There is a reason for every other reason. What the hell made me think about this? Well, sitting in class today I started to wonder, Why would anyone ever want to be a teacher?

Teachers. They're not stupid and that's why I wonder what drives them. The profession of teaching sucks balls. The pay isn't that great; you only work for and get paid for half a year; students can always find a way to piss you off and make you miserable; you have to do your work at home, not just at your place of employment; before you can enjoy all these "benefits," you have to pay to put your ass through college. Sounds pretty shitty to me. The only conclusion I can come to is that teachers are selfish, narcissistic bastards. Teachers teach for the sense of superiority it gives them. Think about it (I know, thinking is a big thing for me to ask out of you but just do it this once), they must really love themselves. They're just like politicians: they stand around all day and shit out lackluster information and commentary that no one gives a damn about. They love to hear themselves talk. "Just look at all these dumb kids; sitting there silently while I preach my uninteresting nonsense. I'M in control!"

Pricks...think they're big shit. Always making fun of me because I don't learn well from their boring, mediocre teaching. Filthy whores. I ask a question, they give me a look and a smartass answer. "Oh don't worry class, what we're learning today is easy!" No shit? Of course it's easy for you, asshole. You learned this shit years ago in college and you teach it every damn day.

So if someone struggles, they're fearful of looking stupid since this crap is so "easy," and so they don't ask any questions, hence they don't learn anything. Way to go dipshit, you've failed. When teachers fail to teach, students fail to pass.

In essence, the success of a student is based on the luck of the draw. You reach your hand into the had and get either a) a delicious box of Wildberry Pop-Tarts (a good teacher) or b) a recently disturbed nest of pissed off hornets (a shitty teacher). Well I guess you could get c) a winning lottery or d) AIDS from being pricked by a contaminated needle. Either of the last two would make the kind of teacher you get irrelevant. If you're rich from the lottery, who gives a shit? And if you get AIDS, you're screwed unless someone finds a cure, and let's face it: we're too busy making tiny cell phones that you can take pictures with to come up with a cure for AIDS. Wasted technology is way more important than the AIDS crisis.

I got off subject didn't I? Oh well, at least I'm not French.

To sum it up: teachers teach to make themselves feel special, educational success hangs in the balance of what teachers you get, and I still hate cell phones.

How I like my women.

Since all the ladies out there have been crawling to my doorstep lately, begging to get crunk with the captain (that is, me, Captain Crunk), I figured I'd list some of the things I look for in a broad.

• I like my women like my peanut butter...light brown and chunky.
  
  
• I like my women like my chairs...with four legs and a comfortable frame to sit on.
  
  
• I also like my women like my peanut butter in another way...in a jar in the pantry.
  
  
• I like my women like my shoes...damp and smelly.
  
  
• I like my women like my evelvators...able to effortlessly carry me from floor to floor.
  
  
• I like my women like my restaurants...always ready and willing to serve me food.
  
  
• I like my women like my Slinky's...springy and fun to watch roll down the stairs.
  
  
• I like my women like my groceries...packed together in a plastic bag.
  
  
• I like my women like my computers...full of silicone and doing my work for me.
  
  
• I like my women like my French fries...deep fried and cheesy.
  
  
• I like my women like my pretzels...twisted and covered in chocolate.
  
  
• I like my women like my leather...tough, black, and produced by a cow.
  
  
• I like my women like my Jell-O...cold, green, and jiggly.
  
  
• I like my women like my belts...wrapped around my waist holding my pants up.
  
  
• I like my women like my ants...stepped on.
  
  
• I like my women like my sunflower seeds...roasted and salty.
  
  
• I like my women like my alcoholics...passed out on the couch.
  
  
• I like my women like my apples...dangling from a tree.
  
  
• I like my women like my Buddhists....oh wait, no one likes Buddhists.
  
  
• I like my women like with pizza....with a six-pack.
  
  
• I like my women like my ovens....hot and always in the kitchen.
  
  

So, any of you bitches think you fit the description? Let me know if you do because you're probably just full of shit, like all other women.
Hey, I'm not picky.

Note to self number three.

Hi once again,

Macbeth and Shakespeare suck so I’m going to write myself another note. English sucks. So does everything else for that matter. You know why? Who cares why? It just does and that’s all that matters. Nothing matters. Nothing I do today will have any kind of impact on any aspect of the rest of my life- which hopefully won’t take too long because I’m filled with negative feelings and thoughts and, more importantly, I’m getting bored with it all. Oh well. At least I’m not from the Middle East. JIHAD!!!!
If I actually were from the Middle East though, I’d be a crunk-ass gangsta/terrorist and they’d call me “Profit the Prophet.”

I wish I was a turtle ‘cuz then I’d have a shell and I could hide in it and tell people to piss off and get off my shit. Or when it’s snowy outside I’ll hop into my shell and go sled riding. But then I’d probably get hit by a car and my shell would break. Cars are heavy and move fast. I hate cars. It’d probably be a woman that ran me over because women can never drive without killing something. Then I’d use my super powers to change into a nail and flatten that bitches tire. I would laugh so hard. In fact, if I were human and not a robot I’d probably cry tears of laughter because it’d be hella-funny.

The Chizz is right- I am a cerebral assassin. I’m able to get into peoples’ heads even when I’m not trying to. It’s a shame really. Sometimes I feel bad about being able to control people if I want to. It’s good to be able to see through people’s bullshit though. That’ll come in handy some day when some deceitful ho tries to use me for something. Dumb bitch. No wonder I’ll always be single- there aren’t any girls who can get past my bullshit-radar. Oh well. At least I’m not pregnant.

Being pregnant would suck. Nine months from now a fetus would come crawling out of my vagina. Ouchies. Oh man, I was in the butt-loving drive-thru last night at work and some ho came through. She ordered some crap but her damn kids were being loud-mouthed brats. So I told her I couldn’t hear her in such a tone that she turned around and shut her kids up. I was so proud. Little shits. I should have spit on them when they came by.

I’m getting more and more tired and thus I’m getting my second wave of energy.

I’m done.

Miserably yours,
-Derek