Vasectomies! Get your vasectomies here!

I firmly believe that most people have no business procreating. Dreadful as they are, how could their wretched progeny be any better? Case in point: Roota.

Roota is in 6th grade. She likes rainbows, teddy bears, 'NSync and crying. Lots of crying. Great big buckets of blubber. Now me, I hate crying. It's just the sort of thing that makes me stand around, earnestly examining my knuckles and muttering: "What the hell am I supposed to do?" Todays blow-up came because a kid whom I will call "the unblinker" (See Malachy McCourt for the reference) bought a water gun to class (why? Why ask why?) and squirted her hand while I was writing on the board. This so traumatized the precious youth that she took a break from shouting "game!" (Korean youths believe, as do their parents, that all one needs to do to learn English is to play hangman) to burst into wrenching sobs. I had to get my Korean coteacher to come in (thus interrupting her own lesson) and she finally kicked the two out. On a related note, I had asked several times that the class, which has the collective English language knowledge of a turnip, actually take the initiative and buy dictionaries so that they could learn something. That was on May 9th. As of today, the class is 0 for 14 in the dictionary department.

Oh well. There is always hangman. And ladies, please: Take some RU-486 with you, no matter where you go. Because you never know.