November 5, 2010; The Pessimists Club

It is sometimes hell, living with these two sugarplum fairies. Right now they are a pair of messes simply because they presently have a world view that is utterly polluted.

Take Boo-Boo. As I've said he's a teacher. But he's a teacher of the new school: the coddle-caress-and-bend-over school. His students walk all over him and this week he decided to confront them about it. But in a classic case of the lunatics taking over the asylum, the students stopped him in his tracks and said they wanted their staff representative to hear what he might say. Staff whuh?!?!?! In the good old days this is when he would have taken his pointer and whipped the group leaders within an inch of their lives and everyone would have learned a valuable lesson about education and authority. But no...some long-haired milktoast from the staff came and intervened and said that both sides of the discussion would have to be considered.

Do...you...fucking...believe...this?!?!?!

So Boo comes home from this idiot soap opera and says, to me, Skeeter and the winds of autumn, that he is now worried about the EVALUATIONS HIS STUDENTS WILL GIVE HIM!!! This is when Skeeter should have said something.

But here's the thing...

Skeeter, that very day, had had his MRI. He should have been happy the damn thing was done and that he was now on the road to solving this unhealing wound thing. I mean, he survived a one hour "burial" in a high tech coffin (which the technicians at the hospital euphemistically called a "tunnel"), where he was blasted with noise so loud he had to wear earplugs and a headset. I would have gone mad and would have been spewing vomit and shit like a suburban sprinkler on a hot day. But it was done and he should have been glad, glad, glad. Instead he murmured that he was worried and had been for days that after having had colitis and then Crohn's disease, the MRI might reveal he now had the other C of the unholy triumvirate. Fucking, fucking idiot!

Or idiots!!!

I finally could not take it anymore and bellowed, "You! Teacherman! You have already decided you will not be teaching that course next year so what the fuck do you care how those little twats fill out those evaluations! Tell them and the dean to eat shit and die! And you! Imaginary Invalid! Get with the fucking program! Your health problems could all be over by your next birthday. I mean your physical health problems, anyway, as there appears to be no hope at all for your mental health...or his," I said pointing my nose at Boo.

Then I left the room as my speech had absolutely no effect as they continued to bleat and wail. Then, quite deliberately, I went to the living room, took a cushion off the couch, put it on the floor, lifted my leg, aimed precisely and dribbled a half-cup or so of piss onto the goddam thing. Then I sat beside the cushion. When Skeet came to walk me he saw me there, saw the cushion, began to turn red and sputtered. I thought he was going to have a stroke. so I shrieked, "YOU TWO HAVE GOT TO SNAP OUT OF IT AND REMEMBER THAT I...AM...HERE!!!!"

At that moment Skeeter did snap out of it and said, "That's clear enough."

"And I am right—"

"—don't push it."

"Feed me."

He did.

And life goes on.