Posts published in March 2018

The following is a transcript of a meeting that may take place between President Donald Trump and North Korean leader Kim Jong-un.  While the world hopes the unpredictable and mercurial individuals will chart a new course toward peace, most regard the meeting as akin to a pair of gasoline-soaked men engaging in a wood-burning contest.  For that reason, the United Nations made the parties agree to a single interpreter, loyal to the U.N. and not the two leaders, who can use his “creative” skills to temper the conversation and avoid a catastrophe.

TRUMP:  It’s wonderful to finally meet the famous “Rocket Man” face-to-face.  Can I call you “Rocket” for short?  Short?  Get it? Short?  Ha ha ha ha ha.

INTERPRETER:  President Trump is honored to meet you.  He says you are much taller than he realized.

KIM:  Good morning, Mr. President.  You look like a beached whale with a blonde hairpiece decomposing in the sun.

INTERPRETER:  Good morning, Mr. President.  You are the picture of health. Clearly you have gotten some sun.

TRUMP:  Yeah.  I keep in shape playing golf at my luxurious resorts.  You have nothing like them in your country.  Nothing.  That’s why I have a tan. 

INTERPRETER:  I like to exercise outdoors.  That’s why I have a tan.

KIM:  A tan?  You don’t have a tan, you stinking pile of rotting cabbage.  It’s makeup.  You are the color of dung.  It looks like it was applied by a drunken blind painter in an earthquake.

INTERPRETER:  He says he was admiring your tan.

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How many advocates for arming school teachers have seen a teacher go nuts in the classroom?  Not “cut loose and act crazy” nuts, but in the pathological sense.  Show of hands?  Nobody?  Let me tell you about Sister Mary Nowhere.

I call her “Sister Mary Nowhere” to protect her privacy, assuming she’s still around.  She was a real person, a Sister of Charity who taught at a parochial high school.  Her meltdown came in a room filled with nature’s most fidgety, frustrating and unforgiving creatures:  high school sophomores.  Sister Mary Nowhere was thrown to the wolves.

Mental illness can come on gradually and it’s not easy to determine the point at which the ore cart is shoved into the Crazy Mine, but I think I know when Sister Mary Nowhere was shoved:  during Sophomore English class.  She was walking between a row of desks and the outside wall with windows when she spied an object she didn’t recognize in an unoccupied desk.  She reached down, picked it up, turned it over, turned it over again, raised it to a higher angle to get a better look.  She was the only person in the room who didn’t know what it was.  Initially shocked when Sister Mary Nowhere began to physically examine and fondle the object, some students began to giggle.  Most of us did our best to keep from laughing out loud, although we teared up from the strain.  Sister Mary Nowhere detected a disturbance in the force.

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