Tag Archives: teacher

1224. Testosterone

It was Fredericka’s first year of teaching at a High School. In fact, it was her first day. The principal had told her to “dress modestly”. Dress modestly! What an old-fashioned concept! What an old-fashioned expression! She would dress tastefully! Fashionably! Appropriately!

Fredericka chose to wear a loose white blouse with the top buttons undone. It was, after all, still hot from the dying summer. And she chose a “modest” brown skirt with a slit up to the lower thigh that was both cooling and feminine.

Well! The testosterone in the class of sixteen year old boys! Fredericka could smell it. It was overbearing.

“Boys! Boys! Open the windows! It’s stuffy in here!”

The excitement when Fredericka reached up to open a high window.

“Boys! Boys! Let us have less tomfoolery!”

That did it. That took the cake. Fredericka would not change the way she dressed. She wouldn’t change because of a classroom of chauvinistic sex-ridden boys. It’s the boys that needed to change. They needed to learn to produce less testosterone. Tomorrow she would begin such a lesson. She would wear the shortest skirt she could find, and God help any boy who misbehaved.

1205. Humbug!


Regan was a school teacher. She taught “the littlies”! It was Christmas Eve.

Little Johnny brought his teacher some flowers. “Happy Christmas, Miss,” said Little Johnny.

“How dare you, you brain-washed son of bigots. If I was a male you wouldn’t give me flowers. You’re giving me flowers because I’m a woman, and that’s sexist. I won’t accept your dumb flowers, and besides I don’t celebrate Christmas. I thought I’d taught you to ignore all this silly superstitious stuff and live in reality. Dismissed!”

Regan was clearly in a bad mood. She and her sister, Goneril, were to go to a ball that very evening. The Handsome Prince was insisting that their other sister, Cinderella, was to come too.

Humbug! Happy Christmas everyone!

1124. Something dear

Ann sat in class hidden away like a little snail in a garden of noisy cabbages. Everyone took part in the class discussions, but Ann was too shy. She rarely spoke, and when she did the teacher would always say, “Speak up.”

The class were given a writing assignment: Write about something dear to you.

Ann’s grandmother had just died. Ann had not told a soul at school, but she thought for her assignment she would write about her grandmother.

She did that.

“This” said the teacher “is full of sloppy sentiment. I didn’t believe a word of it. You should’ve written about something dear to you in real life and not pretended to be writing a mawkish load of nonsense for a cheap romance. I’m giving it a FAIL because the person you described comes across as a slushy mushy figure of idiocy.”

Ann smiled and continued to hate school.

(Footnote: I have the flu so will be lying low for the next couple of days. Of course, being male, I feel it so much worse).

1113. News from Hickton-in-Sticks

It’s been a month now, perhaps six weeks, since the town of Hickton-in-Sticks got broadband. Mrs Myrtle Beech said it was a great disappointment. She had waited months, even years, to start a blog and thus far nothing had gone viral.

“Nothing has gone viral,” said Myrtle. “The whole thing’s a scam.”

Mr Bristol Port agreed.

“I’d looked forward to broadband excitedly,” said Bristol. “But once you’ve seen one porn site you’ve seen the lot. In fact I get a great deal more satisfaction looking into the mirror. It’s blown way out of proportion.”

Ms Savannah Field thought the whole thing was marvellous. She was the town’s school teacher and the online computer games at least got the kids off their phones.

“It’s great for me as a teacher,” said Savannah. “The kids log on first thing in the morning and by the end of the day they’re reluctant to go home. Computer games are certainly a great boon for a teacher, and getting broadband in Hickton-in-Sticks has improved the quality of education the kids are getting.”

“It’s a scam,” said Myrtle.

“It’s blown out of proportion,” said Bristol.

“Put it this way,” said Savannah. “Things have changed for the better since we’ve got broadband. In the last month only five people from Hickton-in-Sticks have committed suicide.”

1089. Cultural clash

(First, a housekeeping notice! From now on there will be no daily story posted on the days there is a music or a poetry posting. All I’m really trying to say is: there will be only one posting a day! The music is posted on a Wednesday (New Zealand time) and the poem(s) on the first of the month and then at whim throughout the month. This is to prevent a gluttonous overkill! Thanks – Bruce)

(* By way of explanation for today’s story:
In parts of Polynesian it is insulting to stand higher than a person of greater status.
In parts of Polynesia it is insulting to look at a person in authority when being spoken to.
The list could go on… and on…)

European Teacher (seated): Makafalani ’Oto’ota, stand up. Look at me when you’re being spoken to. Look me in the eye like a man. I said stand up. I never told you that you could sit down again. LOOK AT ME. You’ll never get on in the world with that attitude. STAND UP AND LOOK AT ME. Oh God! You’re on detention. You’re utterly, utterly disrespectful. It’s impossibly trying to teach common courtesy to some people.

1061. Teach her

Dare Mister an misses Sniff

I am righting this let her two let U no that you’re door terse spelling is terror able.

As her teach her I phaal response able.

I have tolled her new mere rush thymes hour two tern the spell chequer on but she wont lessen. Theirs know re son four her not two yous it. I have mien on currant lea.


858. He brushed passed


Mr Sonny Hickmott was a pretty good teacher of Mathematics. Most of his high school students achieved well. Trena however, hated his guts. She hated Mathematics, and extended the hatred to Mr Sonny Hickmott.

Trena wished to see the school counsellor. “Twice Mr Hickmott has brushed passed me. It is most uncomfortable. He stands in the aisle between the rows of tables so I have to squeeze past him to get out. He stands at the classroom door and I have to wiggle through.”

Trena wished to see the school principal. “Twice Mr Hickmott touched me. He leans over my shoulder and pretends to be helping me with my work. But he’s touching me. And once he brushed passed and touched my breast.”

These days Mr Sonny Hickmott is out of work. No one will employ him. Trena has dropped Mathematics altogether. She’s feeling pretty pleased with herself. Except, she doesn’t like History, and hates her History teacher’s guts.