Working with the population I work with means year in and year out I'm going to see the same behaviors pop up over and over again.  Aside from attendance and murder, our biggest problem every year is tardiness.  My boss prefers to call it "untimeliness", "off time behavior", or some other euphemism that takes all the meaning out of a word.  (see: exceptional)  I'm actually suprised there isn't an acronym for it yet.  Now me, personally, I like to use words that contain "tard" in them as frequently as possible. 

Over the years I have come up with many different "behavior modification protocols" to address this issue of lateness.  This year I was using, not too strictly, what is commonly referred to as a, "Late Log".  The basic idea is that when a student is late they have to write down the; date, time, why they were late and then sign their name.  The idea being, it is a visual way of making both you and the child aware of how many times they are late.  Later on you are supposed to check to see if this is a pattern of behavior, if they have a legitimate excuse, or if they are just a lazy teenage ass bag.  It's also supposed to guilt them into realizing that they need to get their act together or they're gonna get a phone call home or they're gonna fail ninth grade again. 

It's really a great system and can work wonders for some instructors as long as your not dealing with my lovely little fuck ups AND you remember to check the Late Log EVERY night.  I did not remember to check the late log every night.  In fact I did not remember to ever check my late log until about a month and a half into school.  When I did, I noticed the following digression in entries.  Please note that classes begin at 8:00 A.M.

I am now much much more diligent in my record keeping since this unfortunate mistep and can happily report the majority of these individuals as being signifigantly less tardy because of my actions.  I can safely say that I was indeed SnoozCreamed by my own students.

Alright... this next guy you'll be hearing a lot about.  He was by far the most difficult student i've ever dealt with and I have dealt with some pretty tough customers.  I teach what is probably considered the most difficult population of students in any school in the country.  Now you may think you or someone you know were pretty mischievous or even a straight-up certified Bad Ass back in your day.  Well guess what?  You're wrong.  You were not as bad as these kids.  You probably did some pretty fucked up shit that you may or may not be proud of doing; but you are still not as fucked up as some of these kids.  To give you an example of what i'm dealing with I'll drop this statistic.  Last year two (yes two) of my students were arrested for murder on two completely separate occasions and under two completely different sets of circumstance.  I'm not kidding you. 

The only similarities were:

1.  Both of them occurred for incredibly petty reasons, and
2.  Neither of them regret it.   

Now with that said, I'm still submitting that this kid was the most difficult.  He wasn't violent.  He wasn't mean.  He wasn't rude.  He was crazy.  I'm not talking crazy like he dodges trains at the last second or likes to get all drunk, climb in his car and play chicken to impress chicks.  I'm talking, schizophrenic voice hearin', bi-polar, mood swingin', ADHD fidgetin', who-knows-what Feces Smearin', BAT.  SHIT.  CRAZY.

I love what I do.  I'm good at it.  I love my job.  I love the people I work with in my program, and I love the kids I work with even more(not in that way you skeevy perv dog).  But even the best teacher in the world would come close to the brink of insanity if you had to deal with this kid, who I will affectionately refer to as M.C. Crazy Pants, for any duration of time.  After working with the Department of education for an extended period of time, one comes to the realization that there is only so much one can do to help a child.  I will say I tried far, far, far beyond what was reasonably expected of me to do.  But no matter what you do, you can't force someone to accept that their child is mentally ill and even if you could, you can't force anyone (even a child) to take medication. 

I taught this kid for five years.  FIVE YEARS...AFTER he was in 9th grade the first time.  This child never passed a single class in six years of high school and here is the reason why:

New York City Department of Education Written Statement Form

Name: M.C. Crazy Pants.
Gender: Male
Status: 9th Grade Yr 5

Today, M.C. Crazy Pants was once again brought to my class by Mr. Strong period three, Tuesday September **, 200*.  Mr. Strong informed me that he found Crazy Pants wandering the hallways again, and when questioned as to where he was supposed to be, he lied and told Mr. Strong that I sent him out of class without a pass.  This is the 4th time this year I have been informed of Crazy Pants telling someone I gave him a pass or let him out of the room when clearly this did not happen.  One incident occurred on Friday, **** 6th period when assistant principal Saggiballs brought him to class and informed me Crazy Pants said I let him out without a pass. 

Let it be known for all to hear (or rather read) that I have never once let him out of class this year without a pass as this has been my policy since the 3rd and 4th times I taught Crazy Pants 9th grade English.  This being the 7th and 8th time I am teaching Crazy Pants 9th grade English I had hoped this behavior would have stopped by now. 

Also, Crazy Pants came to class yesterday twenty minutes late, and abruptly walked out telling me, "Ms. Nice needs to see me."  I told him he didn't have a pass.  He left anyway and did not return.  I informed Mr. Strong and Ms. Nice.  The only possible reason Crazy Pants may be making this mistake would be a momentary loss of memory or confusion as to who I am.  So, please help me by reminding Crazy Pants that I am a very large man, 6' 7" tall.  I have short red hair, a red goatee and am slightly overweight.  Hopefully this will help Crazy Pants not to confuse me with whatever other teacher it is who is dispensing an extremely large number of invisible hallway passes.  Furthermore, I think we should focus our efforts on discovering who this rogue teacher is and pursue disciplinary action against them for the good of the school.

Sincerely, Mr. Snoozington Esq.

The small little town I grew up in was a strange place.  IS a strange place.  We drank more than we should have, we smoked more than we should have, and we indulged in whatever else we could get our dirty hands on.  But that isn’t the reasoning behind me calling it a strange little place.  My reason here is for the inordinate amount of time my friends and I, and many, many other people spent hanging out at this schizophrenic's house that we’ll call 'Grasshopper'.  The scope of people who knew Grasshopper is quite disturbing, largely because of the fact he was in his 40’s, schizophrenic, living off a disability check, and we were all 15-19 years old, yet he knew everyone and everyone knew him.  

Our primary reason for hanging out with this low life was shelter from the elements where we could go smoke pot at our free will.  Elements being our parents at the time, the cold weather, the cops, etc…You see, Grasshopper LOVED smoking pot.  Loved it more than the day is long.  All you needed to do was show up and tell him you had a bag and he quickly invited you inside.  You could do this at any, and I mean any, time of the day or night.  Many nights we’d have nowhere else to go and bang on his door at 2-3AM and you could hear him hop out of bed in what seemed like a very excited state.  It was like Pavlov’s dogs, but instead of a bell that caused the salivation, it was a knock on the door at 3AM that caused this middle aged man with mental health issues to so readily jump out of bed to see who was there.  Once he answered the door, he’d fire up a Kool cigarette, but not the green one, (you see Kool cigarettes at the time came with one green cigarette and he saved them because he said if he smoked them he would turn into a 60 foot tall grasshopper) and get himself ready for a session.  Once stoned, this guy could ramble like no other, not one word making a bit of sense.  A lot of stories came from his many different rentals but I have one particular in mind.  

Grasshopper was entertaining when you are 16 years old, yet he was also very gullible.  On one occasion my friend Butt Naked decided to pull a little prank on him that makes me laugh to this day.  Butt Naked called Grasshopper and told him he was from a radio show and that he was pleased to inform Grasshopper he was the sole winner of 1 million dollars.  Butt Naked went on to report to Grasshopper that he was in a helicopter and was flying around outside but could not seem to find his house to give him his million dollar check and he would need some sort of signal.  He told Grasshopper to go outside and build a fire on his grill with the cardboard boxes on his porch so he could see the smoke from his helicopter (it’s amazing what the radio man knew).  So we give Grasshopper a little bit of time to complete this task and then drive by his house.  What we saw next even we didn’t expect.  Grasshopper has a fire on his grill that was probably 10 feet high of cardboard boxes and lighter fluid, huge embers floating all over the neighborhood and he’s just standing there looking up into the sky searching for a helicopter, seemingly unaware that his fire is out of control and no helicopter is in sight.  In conclusion, the fire department ended up coming and Grasshopper never received his million dollars, but I would pay money to know what he told the firemen he was doing.  SnoozCreamed!      

Time to Rev Up the RV, Dust Off the Tent, Remove Your Pants and Shake Like a Monkey…The 2010 Bonnaroo Line Up Has Been Announced  

If you’ve ever attended the Bonnaroo Arts and Music Festival down on the farm in Manchester, TN, than you already know what I’m talking about, and if you have never been lucky enough to make the voyage, then perhaps 2010 is as good a year as any. Through a fairly lame, flash graphic driven, ongoing MySpace announcement that began at noon, and at the current hour (7:00 EST) is still churning out new artist names every six minutes, SuperFly Productions announced this year’s line up that will once again blow everyone’s hair back and leave’em speechless. The epic collection of over 60 top talents includes, but is definitely not limited to: Kings Of Leon, Dave Matthews Band, Jay-Z, Tenacious D, The Dead Weather (Jack White’s newest creation), The Zac Brown Band, NAS, The Avett Brothers, Martin Sexton, Dropkick Murphys, Weezer, and Isis. There’s everything from Tori Amos to the Disco Biscuits to movie stars playing the banjo (Steve Martin…and he plays it well).  Hell, this year we even have the Flaming Lips performing the classic Pink Floyd album Dark Side of the Moon from cover to cover. Make no mistakes folks, there is something for all of us here, but as this former attendee knows, it’s not just about the music. You can witness a guy in a pig costume getting chased by two hippies who just smoked Peyote, watch grown men taking baths in mud pools outside of the stage, or partake in a full blown naked cocktail party in one of the campgrounds. You want weird? You want to play a game of name your substance and give me a safe environment in which to try it? You want to have your last, best shot at getting fucked by a complete stranger in a Snow White outfit? Well then son, its time to man up and buy yourself a ticket.  

I can’t promise you’ll ever be the same, but who is after you’ve seen sixty naked people on acid jumping around at 3:30 in the morning while wearing headphones at one of the festival’s late night Silent Discos.  

I can promise that no matter how old you are, what genre of tunes you prefer, or what kind of lifestyle you choose to live, you will enjoy the Roo. There’s never been any real violence or incident, its just 90,000 people having a downright good muthafuckin’ time. It’s an eclectic mix of folks young and old, the best music acts on the planet and the strangest shit you’ll ever see; a people watching, rip roaring, poop slinging (yes I wrote that), jaw dropping helluva weekend. Go forth and wreak havoc. But don’t forget the extra toilet paper. Nooch.  

Urban Dictionary word of the week:

Pee Hugger (noun) - A man who, when entering a public restroom, and upon surveying the available urinals, chooses to pee at the urinal right next to another guy, ignoring the fact that 4 other urinals are empty. Not necessarily a homosexual act, just one of inexplicable cluelessness.  Posted by Max Rubble.  

Thank you Max…I hate those douchebags.

NEW YORK CITY DEPARTMENT OF EDUCATION WRITTEN STATEMENT FORM

NAME:  Pedro Vasquez, Nushawn Wilkens 
GENDER:  MALES
STATUS:  NINTH GRADE REPEATERS

INCIDENT REPORT:  (Filed 2/2/2010)

Today in class, 3rd period, Pedro Vasquez and Nushawn Wilkens were engaged in an inappropriate conversation that continued after repeatedly being asked to stop.   Upon entering the classroom ten minutes late, Pedro immediately began a back and forth exchange of a particularly homo-erotic nature.  Nushawn began by calmly saying, "Sit down and shut the fuck up."  To which Pedro then replied, "You shut the fuck up nigga, shit, I'll stick my dick in your butt."  However, he was quickly rebuffed when Nushawn insisted that, in fact, he would be the one to, "stick MY DICK in YOUR butt!"  This continued for several minutes with little consensus until Nushawn stated he wanted Pedro to have his baby. 

Pedro became highly offended at this statement and made it abundantly clear to everyone in the classroom and most everyone in the new wing on the third floor that was a physical impossibility, considering the fact that it would once again be his dick in Nushawn's butt.  It was at this point that I interjected and informed both young men that I found this particualar line of conversation crude and inappropriate.  Pedro then asked me if I would ever, "Suck a dick for one million dollars."  The conversation then deteriorated into how much money it would take to to perform specific sexual acts with men. 

After being told that I was now writing down their conversation, Nushawn snatched the paper from my desk, threw it in the garbage and began drawing large phallic imagery  on the board.  I feel perhaps a call home may be appropriate here before being referred to a counselor to discuss their latent homosexual tendencies, which of course, there is absolutely nothing wrong with if they do not interfere with my vocabulary assignment.

Sincerely, Mr. Snoozington Esq.

One of the creepiest motherfuckers you'll ever see? Yes. Gangly, confused looking son of the weirdest cocaine addict on the planet? Sure. The last person you'd ever want to leave alone with your child, girlfriend, wife, grandmother, mother, and/or dog? Absolutely. But dare I say action packed with talent and versatility!? Ladies and Gentlemen, the many faces of 1990s movie icon William Gareth Jacob (Jake) Busey, Jr. Let’s break it down…

PCU, 1994 (A Star is Born): It was a breakthrough movie for Jeremy Piven and Jon Favreau, and one of the  pop culture smashes of the nineties. It’s still very watchable, quotable, and enjoyable. And the cherry on top? A brash, young star named Jake Busey making his feature film debut. Busey plays Mersh, one of the hippie crew in the Ultimate Frisbee Championship Game. We should have seen it coming; anyone that can make a pot smoking hippy look this creepy has got talent.

The Frighteners, 1996 (The Breakthrough): Jake played a psychopath serial killer named Johnny Charles Bartlett.  How it took this long to figure out that Jake Busey would make an excellent psychopath serial killer named Johnny Charles Bartlett, I have no idea.

Starship Troopers, 1997 (Reaching the Pinnacle): Busey plays Johnny Rico’s steady-handed, confident, fiddle playing wingman Ace Levy. Busey rode the The Frighteners wave right to the top and plays Goose to Casper Van Diem’s Maverick to perfection, complete with ghastly death scene. As IMDB puts it, “He rounds the edges of many scenes with his sly warming smile, a Busey trait…A deceivingly strong role in an instant cult classic.” Amen.      

Contact, 1997 (The Masterpiece): We've all seen it.  You know what I'm talking about. You've probably even rewound the movie just to see him give that look again. Hell, even in the movie, the guys that worked for NASA were so freaked out they rewound the security tape to watch it again. It's quite possibly the scariest three seconds in movie history and every time I catch it on USA or TBS, it still makes me crap my pants and sleep with the lights on. How our hero didn't win any awards for this tour-de-force performance we'll never know, but this is art folks.

Home Fries, 1998 (The Collapse): You can’t take Jake Busey and put him in a romantic comedy about a coming-of-age pregnant waitress played by Drew Barrymore. You just can’t.

Tomcats, 2001 (The Comeback): Quite Possibly the worst movie ever made, but there is a diamond in the rough here. You know that dashing daredevil, prankster, ladies man, guy-trying-to-get-the-groom-in-trouble role that is a must for every Vegas bachelor party movie? In Tomcats, that role is played by none other than Mr. Jake Busey, and he nails it.

We haven’t heard much from Busey lately, a few TV spots here and there, some straight-to-DVD and made-for-TV film roles. But I just chalk that up to the fact that his father Gary credits him with helping him conquer a serious cocaine habit, and with helping him recover from a near-fatal motorcycle accident. 

When I was a kid my mom didn't cook for me.  She worked a lot so I got used to gaining most of my sustenance from pizzerias and fast food joints.  But every once in a while I was lucky enough to get invited over to my friend 'Roach O'Sullivan's' house where his mom whipped up scrumptious dinners for her enormous family of hungry boys.  She was an amazing cook and her dishes varied greatly from italian spaghetti, pizza and stromboli, to all kinds of hearty meat and potato type american meals, and even my very favorite, TACOS!  Tacos with all the fixin's and with the sweet and spicy catholic school taco sauce that I still crave to this day.  God I miss that sauce.  Now I could eat there just like I was family almost thirty days out of every month.  The only night I wasn't allowed to eat over was Pork Chop night and that was only because pork chops were expensive and also because I was a fucking fat little shit who didn't need anymore fucking pork chops anyway. 

So there I was at his house one cold October night starving as hell because we had just finished playing several rousing games of basketball followed by some uproariously teenage assgrabbery and also most likely because had been smoking drugs as well.  Into the kitchen we barged, reeking of dried sweat and herbal essences, seeking the satisfaction that can only be gained from obtaining that which you truly crave.  Like a moth to a flame or rather like a pale fat white girl to a well built and moderately attractive African American gentleman with a very small moustache and a new bus pass, we almost floated towards that refrigerator hoping... and praying that it was filled with taco meat, lettuce, olives, tomatoes, onions, peppers, taco sauce and CHEESE... GLORIOUS CHEESE...  but mere moments before reaching our intended destination we were met with pure and utter defeat.  Defeat in the form of two pint sized, troglodytic, greasy haired, grubby faced, little dick turds with big fucking stupid, doofy looking, green moss covered teeth coming at you in all directions.  I'm not kidding you here.  These two kid's fucking mouths looked like beatlejuice's body when he shrinks himself down and then pushes spikes out all over the place because he didn't want that yuppie guy picking him up out of the model town.  Somehow every tooth in their gob was at a 90 degree angle from another tooth.  The teeth appeared to defy the laws of physics.  It was like an MC Esher painting behind those lips.  These kids mouths were legendary.  Indian Shaman spoke of them in hushed tones.  Poems were written.  Dreams were haunted. 

There was no point in even opening up the refrigerator.  We could tell by their oily grease covered faces that once again our lives had been ruined by the presence of the insatiable twin duo, Mouthy and Toothy.  Their whorish mother ever gone, leaving them in the care of their aunt, my friend's mother, who appeased their every wish and fed their malnourished bodies at our expense.  I fucking hate Mouthy and Toothy.  May they forever rot in hell.

This next piece is something I wrote on my honeymoon, I know, I know, all of you Creamettes out there just let out a big sigh…but not to worry ladies, if the price is right, I’ll come on down…the nape of your neck.  Just kidding, I’ve already had my penis funeral; he was laid to rest in 2008.  Anyway, this was written on a postcard from Mexico to my friend Rice Cock.
 
Honeymoon Boners: By Templeton Snooz
Honeymoon boners are the best around,
Honeymoon boners are the best in town,
Honeymoon boners, man, look at the girth,
Honeymoon boners, the kind that will cause a new birth,
Honeymoon boners they look like a zucchini,
I never want to go back to my regular size weenie,
Now everyone around raise up your glass,
Because I’m going to go beat up that pussy and bless that ass.  The End
 
I wrote this in response to what I perceived as abnormally large boners on my honeymoon.  They were thick, hard, superboners.  The kind you only have after not getting laid or whacking it for an extended period of time. It could have been from the new marriage to my wife, the beautiful scenery that surrounded us, or, and I believe this to be the most probable, the fact that I had nothing to do but eat, drink, fornicate, and sleep for 8 days.

I was just reading Haywood's Super Bowl HIV preview, and I have a question. Why is the game suddenly being played in February every year, wasn't it always the last Sunday in January? When the fuck did we move it back? Well, I have a theory…and I'm convinced that the NFL, being the single most mysterious and powerful organization on earth (its mystery is exceeded only by its power) , has gone out of its way to once again help out men everywhere and look to the greater good.

So here it is. February is the closest it gets to hell on earth. Think about it. Imagine a month that is right after the six week holiday stretch that is nothing but vacation, booze, presents, and football. Imagine a month that comes after fantasy football season ends and long before we even can even dream of Opening Day. Imagine a month that doesn't have a single fucking paid day off (unless you count President's Day, which Corporate America has decided is no longer an official holiday- the guys only started and built our country, but why should we honor them, let's work instead). Oh yeah, did we mention that it’s the coldest fucking month of the year? That's right, not only is there going to be nothing to look forward to, but you're going to freeze your little nuts off. And then to top it off, someone thought it was a great idea to come up with a holiday that honors love and women everywhere, makes us buy flowers and chocolates, spend money on stupid shit, take women out to expensive dinners and tell them how much we love them, and they put that holiday right smack dab in the middle of this fucking hell month. Not that I have anything against Valentines Day, I just think it’s a crock. If a guy does all that great shit any other day of the year, he is guaranteed to get laid, but on Valentines Day, all that crap is expected and his chances are like 50/50. Now…all that said, at least the guys that invented the calendar were smart enough to say to each other, "shit dudes, this month's going to suck, let's only make it 28 days, but…just to remind men how awful it is, let's stick an extra day in there every four years…one more bonus day of hell." 

Super Bowl XLIV…’Ex Ell I Vee’.  That sounds like having HUGE itchy sores all over your body, in places Peyton Manning wouldn’t even touch.  Not saying that he’s gay or anything, but under his skin, where he hides his robotic, Terminator style arms, he would still be afraid to touch the XLIV and become some sort of XLIV Breakout monkey. You would need to inject the Drew Brees face birthmark landing pad syrum into each sore to properly kill them one by one…Anyway…  

Super Bowl XLIV…We all knew, deep down, that these 2 teams would face off in the Holy Grail of sports. Even if we held hope for the beloved Patriots, the Brett Favrah infected Vikings, the Chargers, or god forbid, even the friggin god awful Jets.  Brett Favrah will now be on another 6 month long crusade to retire 4 times, leak that he is returning, only to retire for good, and then come back to the Vikings 4 hours before the opening game.  Phil Rivers will be drinking wine coolers and picking fights with his 8 year old female cousin while maybe challenging her to a push up contest.  Rex Ryan will be eating himself to death…literally…you heard it here first(weapon of choice…Cheese Steak).  Tom Brady will continue impregnating the beautiful women of the world while saving babies from falling windows, curing cancer, nurturing Koala bears, and walking on water.  Hell, we might even see Kurt Warner hang em up and become a full time tranny with his wife.  

It’s been a pretty wild season.  From the Bengals rising from the dead, the Jets making an improbable run, Chris Johnson taking over the reigns as the best back in football, Ray Rice becoming a Fantasy God, and Adrian Peterson eating too much popcorn…(Butter on the fingers) I would go on a limb to say that we could be in for one of the best Super bowl clashes in modern time.  I wouldn’t even dare say that it will be a high scoring shootout, but there will be a lot of big plays, a lot of big hits, some terrible commercials, and a visit from Tim Tebow telling everyone how abortion is bad, abstinence is good.  It’s got it all.   

In the end, who will be the NFL champ?  Let’s just hope it’s NOT the Colts.  I wouldn’t be as mad as the first time the Colts won, because back then, I loathed Peyton Manning.  Since then, he’s become human.  He cuts that meat.  He plays Timberlake in Ping Pong…Shit, he even jumps on stage hammered with Kenny Chesney(google it if you don’t believe me).  I always thought his robot wiring would short circuit after a beer or two, and now he not only has a personality, but he even gets laid…  I guess I was way wrong with that one.  Eli is still a homo though.  Truthfully, I just think the Saints are a better team. They are more exciting to watch, and the city of New Orleans deserves it.  They’ve been through enough.  GEAUX Saints…Who Dat?