Posted on 12/30/2004 12:26:25 PM PST by K1avg
I don't know, but I sure loved his posts. Hope he still drops in from time to time.
It's been fun. See y'all later...
(Bedtime now. Ya know, being a teenager and all...)
After all these posts, I still can't figure out what your problem is with calling them rats..........it's a shortened version of their name that speaks the truth. If they are offended it's their problem.
My screen name is a shortened version of my first name that I have been called sinced I was younger than my 6 year old daughter. Are there other shortened versions of my name that could be used that are more flattering, absolutely. But this is the one I've got and I've learned to live with it, for nearly 40 years. I've accepted it, it is an appropriate shortening of my name, and far more flattering than others that could be used to convey the fact that I have a tendency to never shut up.
When the democRats change their behavior, maybe they too will earn a name change. But until such time as they stop behaving like the vermin part of their name, they need to suck it up.
Let he who has never made a public ass of himself cast the first flame. Who among us survived youth without once or twice overstepping decorum?
Certainly not I.
When I was sixteen, I had the great misfortune of having a twit of a guidance counsellor. Let us call him Smurf, as this is the appellation we bestowed to him at the time. A more useless, frustrate, nagging little man I have seldom known. As he was my misfortune, so was I his own, for I have never been one to gladly suffer fools. As mandated by school policy, I had to endure a session or two in his office - taking tests and answering questions of the most inane variety of psychobabble; such batteries believed capable of divining my natural aptitudes and interests for later life and employ. In short order my shallow fund of patience was drained by this nonsense. At this point I said to the Smurf "Look, I have been answering all these questions. Now you answer one for me: Why should I take career advice from a man who wound up as a high-school guidance counsellor?"
The Smurf, needless to say, was not amused.
This question terminated the session, and was the last-but-one official interaction I ever had with the pathetic little spite-monkey.
Now, in this same year I had the unenviable chore of taking both History and Literature from a teacher new to my school. This woman, Mz. Christian, was a leftist of the generally-pear-shaped variety. You all know the type, I imagine. Frumpy-soft and frumpy-pleasant superficially, but beneath the padding lurks a Stalin. This teacher, with one strange fellow by the name of Oldham, did much to water and nourish my newborn contempt for leftists. But Oldham is another story. Back to Literature...
As I said, this teacher was new to my school, and hadn't quite twigged to the fact that boys at an all-boy JESUIT high-school are not the easily programmed robots one may so readily find in the halls of the State institutions. As importantly, she knew me not.
She would learn.
One class, this woman grew contemptuous of our trained and quite concrete rationalism. She burbled and sputtered and dithered, emitting such complaints as "you all take things too literally" and "there is no black and white" and, the big mistake: "Some questions cannot be answered literally - I mean, what is the sound of one hand clapping???"
An evil glee flared up in my soul at this incredible blunder, trying to fob off a misunderstood Zen koan on ME.
In my great arrogance I raised my hand.
She had not been expecting an answer to her dithering and, as I said, she knew me not: She called upon me.
I took my upraised hand and, without a word, began to slap the four fingers into its palm. Loudly.
The range of hues through which her complexion journeyed was epic... epic...
And, of course, my classmates roared in delight.
She ejected me from her class, followed me out, slapped me across the face, and sent me down to Brother Mulroe for judgement and slaughter. I do not recall whether I served J.U.G. that afternoon, but I do recall the events of the following day.
That morning, IIRC early in the third period, I was summoned to the President's office. Not the Principal's, but the PRESIDENT's. An unheard-of summons. In dread I went, knowing well that this would be very, VERY bad. Upon entering that office I saw the President, the Principal, the Chaplain, the Disciplinarian, The Smurf, and the Teacher. And my mother... who looked ready to bit the heads off of nails and spit fire.
Dread bcame a thing of comfort.
I did not immediately notice the alignment of forces, that the Smurf and the Teacher stood on one side of the table, and all the rest stood grouped on the opposite. All I knew was that I stood before them all, under judgement.
It turned out that the Smurf and the Teacher were attempting to get me thrown out of school. In such a case, a formal hearing is mandatory. In such a hearing, a parent must be present. So they had called my mother to come to the school from out of her busy schedule as a resident doctor in a very busy hospital.
It soon became clear that I stood in no peril, but the event is -ah!- seared... seared in my memory.
I believe I had a point towards which I was driving, but I have misplaced it.
Do any of you know what it might have been?
actually, that counts extra
oh, oops!
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Your mother was a doctor in a hospital?
And you were acting a wise ass in school?
Ok.
My mother was a cleaner, and my dad worked in a factory. I worked my arse off in school because I appreciated the efforts they made to put me through Catholic school, and college.
I didn't give jip to the teachers. I just learned my lessons as best I could.
Possibly under the hair on your head.
While I agree the civility level to each other here needs some improvement at times, I do not agree that we should just play nice about the left. They are the enemy, not just the opposing party any longer. Perhaps you were away too long? Rats is too good a name for them actually.
Well worth of a repost.
"RATS RATS RATS RATS RATS RATS RATS RATS"
Lol, works for me.
Been here and shall be at your liege's command now. :-)
comparing stories of woeful origins isn't often a good idea, when one does not know the origins of one's opponent.
there are many who came from greater poverty than I. Many of them even live in America. OTOH, most Americans of my generation (and the one preceeding, and that which has followed) had a much softer ride than I did.
Well, you are the one who started this romanticism...
..at the end of the day, it bears nothing on the fact that the self-acclaimed 'prodigy' is getting criticised for a post, (on mature reflection) he shouldn't have made, when he, himself, (during his short tenure here!) is guilty of same.
NOW, I think THAT is the 'END of STORY'.
BTW, and for the record, my origins were FAR from woeful. I grew up in a solid, loving TWO PARENT FAMILY. Much loved, and still loved.
It's because you're such a hunk :)
If you want on a ping list all ya gotta do is ask. I'll be happy to put you on mine. It's the Retro-Sexual* ping list.
*Retro-Sexual: Women who long for the days when men were men and women loved them for it!! We don't go for no sissified, whiney, nancy-girls!
You honestly don't get it, do you?
I envy your fortune.
Nothing to envy..just normal in Ireland.
But, your 16 year old hijinks are comparable to Kvlag?
Don't get it.
comparable in indescretion, and in having some validity.
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