Payback's A Bitch

To Mrs. Vinson, my 1st grade teacher: Thanks for yelling at me the day I forgot to bring my pencil to school. I was new to that school and scared out of my mind. You could've shown a little compassion and understanding. But instead, you humiliated me in front of all my classmates. And for that, you are a bitch.

To Miss McAleer, my 2nd grade teacher: I didn't know it at the time, but you were quite the piece of ass. And that perfume you wore - holy shit! You weren't a very good teacher. In fact, you sucked. But to this day, whenever I'm in the mall and I smell that scent, I think of you and touch myself.

To Mrs. Jones, my 3rd grade teacher: Remember that time I was talking in class, and you confronted me and asked what I was talking about, and I said "never mind," and you threatened to send me to the principal's office if I mouthed off again? No, of course you don't remember that. Because you are DEAD! Rot in Hell!!

To Ms. Rooke, my 4th grade math teacher: You taught me the multiplication table - probably one of the few math-related things I still remember to this day. Oh, how scary those numbers looked all lined up in that gigantic grid. But you walked us through it step by step until we got it. But there was one question I always wanted to ask you. You're a lesbian, right??

To Miss Mickens, my 5th grade science teacher: You hated your job, didn't you? You were the only black teacher in a lily-white school, and that had to suck. All of us were afraid of you because you looked so different. We thought you would beat us up if we looked at you the wrong way. And sure enough, we were right. No wonder you never married, you mean old cunt.

To Miss Hughes, my 6th grade history teacher: You had some creepy birth defect, giving you one regular sized arm and one short arm. The short arm was about elbow length, with stubby little fingers sticking out of it. God, that thing was gross. You never even acknowledged it or explained what caused it, leaving us to form our own twisted theories. My guess: your mother was a crack whore who conceived you in a truck stop bathroom.

To Mr. Schnackenburg, my 7th grade P.E. teacher: Remember the time that kid was making fun of your last name outside by the bus stop? You happened to walk by and overhear him...then in a fit of rage, you slammed his young body against that brick wall and shook him violently til he pissed his pants? And that boy had to ride the bus all the way home in a puddle of his own urine? And he came down with a terrible rash as a result? And he threw the pants in the garbage so his mother wouldn't find out? But she found out anyway and that just made it worse? Well I bet that poor kid really hates you now...whoever he was.

To Mrs. Bateman, my 8th grade algebra teacher: You really loved that overhead projector, didn't you? You had that gigantic chalkboard that spanned the front of the classroom, but you insisted on writing on overhead transparencies. Only thing was, you could never keep that fucking projector in focus. And you refused to dim the lights, so we had to squint to see the screen because of the glare. Half the classes ended up blind thanks to you. And did you realize how much heat that goddamn projector put out? Global warming, thy name is Bateman.

To Mr. McFaden, my 9th grade history teacher: Who do you think you were kidding with that ridiculous rug? Christ, if you're going to wear one, at least spend the extra bucks and get one that doesn't look like a dead weasel living on your head. And what was the deal with those funky-ass sport coats? Burgundy?? Lime green?? What the fuck was the matter with you??! I know teachers don't get paid shit, but Jesus, make an effort! Try Goodwill - even they have standards!

To Mrs. Thomas, my 10th grade typing teacher: Yours was only a one-semester course. I only signed up for it because I was taking study hall the other semester and I needed a filler. Little did I know I would someday use my typing skills to insult, disgust, and generally piss off thousands of blog readers across the globe. Take pride, my beloved Queen of QWERTY. You have done good work.

To Mr. Eschleman, my 11th grade english lit teacher: Thanks for making me read all those shitty books and then calling on me in class to answer questions about them. Thanks to you I had to spend hundreds of bucks on Cliff's Notes. Who gives a fuck about scarlet letters and mice and men anyway? You want to know what great literature is? Penthouse Forum.

And finally, to Mrs. Gilman, my 12th grade anatomy teacher: Thank you. You know why. Call me!!


DS said...

I can't believe that you made it that far in school

tfg said...

What about the principal that administered the bareassed paddlings? That was always the best part of high school.

andy said...

I can truly say that it is testimonials like yours, my friend, that make me proud to be a teacher.

If I can have half the impact those teachers had on you, then my life has fulfilled it's own destiny.

Beth said...

ahhhh, dyckerson...you had a hard time in school didn't ya? I bet, out of all their students, those teachers remember you the most....

to Mr. Ashleman, my 8thgrade history teacher: thanks for not letting me go to the bathroom when I asked you...cuz of you, I had blood all over me and my pants and had to walk around school with a coat tied around my waist, smelling like period all day long. asshole.

DykesDog said...

You never went to college?! You did miss out!

Manola Blablablanik said...

Thank goodness for Mrs. Thomas!

blog Portland said...

I'm surprised you didn't just bribe your way through school with your vast fortune.

Oh, and Beth? Ew.

Baron Ectar said...

Did you ride the short bus?

Mighty Dyckerson said...

DS - Thank God for Ritalen.

TFG - Our principal didn't believe in paddling. He used a BB gun.

Andy - You're a teacher??! I hope you have a bullet proof vest.

Beth - Don't blame him. You should've just walked it off.

Dyke - Of course I went to college. In fact, 2007 marks my 8th year as a sophomore.

Manola - My fingers have many talents, babe...

McFatty - Nuns don't have much use for money.

Bacon Eggar - No, smartass. The retards at my school rode in a Pinto. The radio in that damn thing never worked.

~ Stacy ~ said...

My 5th grade teacher, Mrs. Otness, asked me to 'share' what I was whispering to my 'neighbor'.

I said, "I'd really rather not share, ma'am."

Mrs. Otness said, "Then you will miss your recess."

So I complied. I mean, I didn't want to be stuck in the room alone with her. [shudder]

"Yes ma'am. I was, uh... telling her that you are really mean and your name rhymes with Snotness."

She sent me to the principal's office.


So, yeah...

The trauma. I can relate.

Tripe Face said...


You didn't hear about "Mrs." Gilman... turns out HE was a tranny. That special after hours anatomy lesson he gave you? He did that same thing to another boy and got 15 years to life for sodomy.

I suggest you make an appointment with your therapist.

Mighty Dyckerson said...

Stacy - I know how you feel. One of my 5th grade teachers was named Mrs. Ussybreath.

Tripe - Damn, I always wondered why I was born with only one set of genitalia. Maybe I'm not so different after all.

Ann Nonymous said...

*ahem* I laughed my ass off because you have accurately described my co workers and all of the brain dead elementary ed. people I have had the traumatizing experience of attending classes with.

Ms Smack said...

That was fucking funny!