Posted on 03/04/2014 8:26:45 AM PST by Impala64ssa
America's kids have been suspended for pretending that pencils were guns, but an Ohio school may have topped that. A 10-year-old student at a Columbus elementary school was handed a three-day suspension for making a finger gun and pretending to shoot a classmate. The suspension letter more formally referred to his weapon as a "level 2 lookalike firearm," reports the Columbus Dispatch. Devonshire Alternative Elementary School's principal says students have been frequently told not to play pretend gun games, with a district rep saying kids were warned consequences would follow.
Those consequences hit hard last week for fifth-grader Nathan Entingh, who says he was "just playing around"; the rep said Nathan pretended to shoot another student "kind of execution style" in the head. And the "victim" didn't even see the mock execution, which was instead spotted by a teacher. Nathan's dad seems dumbfounded: "It would even make more sense maybe if he brought a plastic gun that looked like a real gun or something, but it was his finger." (Almost exactly a year ago, a Georgia teacher was suspended over a finger gun of his own.)
If I had a kid in school and this happened I’d tell the principal “How do you like this finger?”
If that happened I guarantee there would be some teachers who would actually fall over dead. The rest would be hyperventilating and counselors would be needed.
If I was a gun manufacturer I’d make a real gun that looks like a finger pointing hand and call it the “Level 2 Lookalike Special”.
41 out of 6263.
It’s going to be a long evening.
How can you tell for sure???
I never tell for sure. I specialize in fiction.
And you are so good at that!
My skill spreads even to my minions.
All hail the NnB!
Only if he tries to get caught up!!!
It would probably sell well around, say, Columbus, OH... ;-)
The Wordwright
"A natural at rhyming," they said with quiet awe,
As if the effort of the work was just a lucky draw.
The poet grimly sets to task and nails the fabric down.
He stretches it to smooth it; portrays a bit of frown.
The subject matter fights him. He struggles on despite,
And witnesses remark there seems no effort in this wright.
While storms torment his vision, and tempests on him pour,
He delicately sets a bit of shell upon the shore.
The setting must be balanced. He knows it must be so,
But others only notice as the vistas slowly grow.
His struggle is exhausting, and soon to bed must he,
But not before he finishes his latest travesty.
So tempted to destroy it, his stare a rueful stance,
He shrugs and turns away from it without a backward glance.
"Another masterpiece," they cry, and celebrate each rhyme,
And tearfully, he vows that he will do it right next time.
NicknamedBob . . . . . . . . . . . October 25, 2004
I never was much of a poet, so I’m very glad I know you, Bob.
Very often, I find you have written a poem from my heart, when I was looking the other way. And for that, I thank you!
*HUG*
‘Face
...But not before he finishes his latest travesty."
Love it, it is wonderful -- I am so glad I chanced upon this! Goodnight, ya'll, and thanks for the buried treasures!
BACON! :o)
In poetry, I tend to be clinical rather than emotional.
Sometimes I can find a bridge ...
The Heart is a FistSized Organ
The heart is a fist-sized organ,
That works throughout the day,
It clenches and throbs with a rhythm,
And it hasn’t much time for play.
Our hearts have grown used to grabbing,
And holding on for dear life,
It’s hard to know that we must relax,
Amid all the tumult and strife.
The music it beats to is distant,
In quiet we hear it the best,
That’s when we stop all the straining,
And that’s when the heart takes a rest.
It isn’t just muscle that does the work,
But a cycle, (I thought you might ask!),
Like an oar lifted out of the water,
That then bends once again to the task.
In order to function as it’s designed,
It must squeeze a bit, and then let go,
And just like the times of excitement,
It can race, or it can go slow.
Our loved ones enter to fill us,
They empty us when they must leave,
Oh, what a hurtful happiness!
The sad joy that compels us to grieve.
Cupid’s arrows are just tiny wedges,
Finding chinks in the armor to slip,
To batter the stony exterior,
With a lifetime to loosen the grip.
Like a hand that can clench or be gentle,
Now held open to something above.
The heart is a fist-sized organ,
That’s receiving an inflow of love.
NicknamedBob . . . . . . December 8, 2006
The major gripe about most, if not all, of those tablet-type thingies is that the battery is not replaceable, at least by the consumer..
Considering that this is the second instance of the same thing, I don't suppose writing the Nookmaker a pleasant letter of complaint mentioning just what you think about their product's reliability would get their corporate heart into a 'we must do the right thing' mode...
I did find THIS which may or may not address the problem.
You are so good! Thanks!
I’m off to bed with pleasant thoughts! And I have you to thank for that. ;o])
Two packages of bacon, since I’m doubling the recipe.
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