Monday, December 20, 2004

Sunshine Club

Here's a holiday update from Clarence, history teacher in Richmond VA's juvenile prison system.


School is currently on the verge of destruction. Some bureaucrat downtown ordered the immediate removal of all tvs and music from the building because it interferes with schoolwork. This is total bullshit because such AV equipment actually causes school work, if you can believe that.

Check it out: People with 4th grade educations and 50 year sentences just don't give a shit about learning Algebra. They just don't. That same person though is often willing to give it a shot for 30 minutes if that means he can listen to 50 Cent at the end of class. The natives are clearly restless about this change and everyone speaks openly about the coming insurrection.

To deflect criticism away from myself, I drew an explanatory flowchart on the blackboard. At the top is a small man with a little dick taking a little, miniature poo. This shitball then rolls from the downtown office building and through various organizational boxes until finally it finally reaches the one labeled "our classroom." At this end of the chart, however, the shitball is now a massive crap-boulder crushing our classroom. A picture is worth a thousand words after all.

Fortunately my turn for a state mandated month of police training required of all correctional employees begins Jan. 3, so hopefully I'll miss most of the impending excitement.

Also, I've joined the Sunshine Club at the school, which consists of all the black secretaries in the school and now me. We're a real positive bunch!

The Sunshine Club is this organization at school staffed by all of the black female secretaries and me, the trailblazing blonde honkey. Our duties involve extracting $20 from every last body even remotely employed in the building. That money is then used to buy birthday cards for employees (hence the sunshine), though everybody knows the ladies in the office use the loot to get retarded at Subway every Thursday. I naturally approved of both those goals and offered my services.

We also hosted a slamming Thanksgiving potluck lunch that made Lee's chicken and Hank's BBQ look like an Argentinian soup kitchen. I was in charge of serving the ham, though clearly the best job belonged to Ms. Woodson who took the time to publicly call attention to just how much food the fat people at work were putting on their plate.

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