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11/20/08(Thu)15:03:45 No.2192143When
I was in eighth grade, I had a science teacher named Mr. Orts. On the
first day of class, he told our class that there were three things you
could do with grass: you can cut it, you can shred it, and you can
smoke it.
I never had a problem with Mr. Orts, in fact, none of
the guys in my class did. All he would do for assignments is get in
groups and go over a chapter, writing down terminology and whatnot, and
turn those terms in at the end of the week. Us guys would do this on
Monday, effectively giving us the rest of the week off. The girls,
however, just sat in their groups and gossiped the whole week without
any work. And then they got pissed at him for giving them bad grades.
If
there was one thing you could say about Mr. Orts, it was that he was a
witty motherfucker. Here is how his last day at my high school went
down: it was the last period of the day, a study hall. This scrawny kid
a grade lower than I apparently started causing some shit, talking
loudly and being obnoxious and whatever else. Orts tries to get him to
shut up, and somehow things get violent and Orts hits the kid with a
rolled up newspaper. The kid storms out of the classroom and calls his
mother, literally crying to her over the phone about how Orts abused
him. Minutes later, his loud, disgusting mother storms into the
otherwise silent classroom, cursing and swearing at the old man. Orts
tried to remain calm and explain things to her, but she wouldn't listen
and continued screaming at him. Finally she finishes, and as she stomps
out the door, she yells, "I'll be happy if I never see your face
again!" Mr. Orts calls after her, "Likewise, ma'am!"
The next
day, I heard that Mr. Orts resigned. I was kind of sad. Sure, he wasn't
a very good teacher and perhaps he was a little misogynistic at times,
but he was funny as all hell, and his class was easy. |