Ashes for the Asholes!

 

Once upon a time… there lived a pathetic, churlish child; a bona fide, boneheaded bully, who, somehow, managed to masquerade / market himself as a grown-up.

Oh, how he loved to egg on bedlam and brutality on his playground; doing so by forcing his odious, oppressive self on whoever he singled out. Typically, that nasty bastard would, first, pit one faction against the other, next, incite riotous blood splattered brawls and, in the end, go online (ya know) just to get off while recounting and reliving the emotional misery, physical pain and inevitable carnage he had inflicted. Ofttimes, he’d end each of his thick with sadism Tweets ROFLMAO!

Sometimes he’d even bogusly boast that he was the Super Hero, who, just in the nick of time, with cape all aflutter, had swooped down to save the day!

Seeing how he had never, actually, done one lick of work in the real world, and coupling that issue with his state of arrested development, it shocked nobody when that freak would frequently wish aloud…

“I wanna be either a truck driver or a fireman when I grow up!”

Well, then came the day where fantasy, kinda sorta, met up with reality. Indeed, the little hellion even got to park his yuge keister behind the wheel of big, badass rig. Hell, he even got to TOOT-TOOT the horn!

Later that very night, with visions of vicious violence dancing and prancing within his twisted, warped little noggin, he actually dreamt in phantasmagoric magnitude, virtual reality. He was now the driver of a firetruck; not loaded with H²O, but instead with the highest octane gasoline ever refined. With each passing highway marker, he was nearing his destination: Blue City.

Upon arrival, he instantly spotted two diametrically opposed, infuriated factions. It was The Goods vs. The Goons; their bitter battle already in progress (uh, if progress is even the operative word, in play).

Coming to a screeching halt at the epicenter of that war zone, he leapt out of his firetruck, took aim and hosed down that entire metropolis. Just then, an ill-timed bolt of dry lightning (supercharged by climate change) crackled down from the sky. Whilst The Goons fled from the scene of their crime (ya know) in order to totally flout justice, nary one Good person survived and Blue City burnt to the ground.

For four fortnight, into early November, the ferocious conflagration spread all across that once great nation; only burning itself out when nary one combustible twig remained.

To the malevolent “victors”, The Goons, went the spoils of war; namely, Ashes for the Asholes!

The End

 

Stay Safe at Home! Stay Publicly Masked! Stay Healthy!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tangled Webs

For forty years, my father taught high school level Chemistry, Physics and Biology within Minnesota’s and Michigan’s public school systems. It was approximately one year prior to his 1982 retirement when…

I found him seated at our dining room table on a Thursday evening… preparing a weekly Chemistry exam to be administered the following day. At first glance, all appeared normal, that is, until I noticed he had set out multiple stencils before him (btw, this was in the pre-printer / photocopier era where the mimeograph machine still ruled supreme).

When I asked, “Why the four pager exam?” dad explained that several conscientious students (enrolled in his a.m. classes), had been complaining, confidentially, that cheaters were feeding his test questions and answers to the p.m. enrollees. Even his Grade Book readily confirmed how a disproportionate number of his afternoon students were acing his tests.

Ergo, to fight back, he planned on administering four different exams.

ASIDE: As frequent readers of my Dumb Donald posts may’ve already surmised, I’ve been a longtime Match Game fan. In all likelihood, that’s what motivated my following suggestion to my father…

“Why not delete the numerical values from your test questions and leave blanks? All you’d need to do is provide the easily changeable, missing data on the blackboard.”

Dad and I both chuckled, conspiratorially, as he re-boxed three of those stencils. He’d now be able to not only ferret out dishonesty’s circulation pattern but also identify the specific cheaters.

Even so, we both expressed our dismay. After all, cheaters were expending far more time and energy than it’d take to simply study the damned subject matter.

Beyond that, consider the risks to public safety / health if such “students” ever cheated their way through med school.

Summed up more generally…

“O, what a tangled web we weave when first we practise to deceive!” – – – Sir Walter Scott

Such wisdom certainly is applicable to political science matters as well.

Take a long, unforgiving look at the tangled web which the Science-Denier-In-Chief, one Donald J. Trump, has been weaving, hourly, not only in his futile attempts to cheat his way out of his DIY pandemic but also in his (hopefully failing) attempts to dishonestly spin himself into a second term.

Stay Safe at Home! Stay Publicly Masked! Stay Healthy!