Florida FTW!!!

[FT BSTRD]

Originally Posted by Amorok

Man, when I was flightline I could have gotten more time than Charlie Manson. We had deisel pro heat in our trucks, and I used to eat a half dozen hard-boiled eggs and go sit on the damn thing. Baked beef fills the truck and everyone piles out into the cold. 30 below was more forgiving than what I unleashed in that truck, it was hellish.

You Sir are a dirty, nasty human being. I need to buy you a beer.

[OneSickPsycho]

Fucking bullshit... utter fucking bullshit... zero tolerance, illogical, mad retard bullshit. If I were his parents I'd flip the fuck out.

[Mr Lefty]

Originally Posted by OneSickPsycho

Fucking bullshit... utter fucking bullshit... zero tolerance, illogical, mad retard bullshit. If I were his parents I'd flip the fuck out.

no shit... I'd have gotten the chair for the kind of disruptions I caused in school...

I can understand a detention... a suspension if it's a repeat offence... but why the fuck are the police getting involved? dude isn't farting sarin gas...

[OneSickPsycho]

Originally Posted by Ebbs15

no shit... I'd have gotten the chair for the kind of disruptions I caused in school...

I can understand a detention... a suspension if it's a repeat offence... but why the fuck are the police getting involved? dude isn't farting sarin gas...

The kid needs a doctor or in the least a nutritionist... Not a fucking cellmate.

[Mr Lefty]

Originally Posted by OneSickPsycho

The kid needs a doctor or in the least a nutritionist... Not a fucking cellmate.

exactly... what's the fuck'n charge? seriously... that's what detention is for...

I can't imagine what he'd be faced with if he punched another kid.

[OneSickPsycho]

Originally Posted by Ebbs15

exactly... what's the fuck'n charge? seriously... that's what detention is for...

I can't imagine what he'd be faced with if he punched another kid.

Death by papercut.

[BobTheBiker]

the schools down here are SO retarded. they actually CAN arrest kids for being "disruptive of learning" hell with that, let the good ole boys run the school and take em behind the woodshed when they step outta line. nothin like a good ass whuppin to set em in line.

[askmrjesus]

So, I'm sitting there in "art class", minding my own business. We're all making some useless bullshit out of clay. Ashtrays, bongs, miniature Mount Rushmores, the usual 5th grade crap that we give to our parents for approval we don't really need, but seek anyway.

Two rows in front of me, is this jagoff hockey team kid who hates me. I don't remember why he hated me, but I'm sure he had a reason. We were trading insults. He called me a fag. I called him a troglodyte. He didn't know what a troglodyte was, so he got pissed off and called me a fag again.

There is one thing you learn in 5th grade, and that is that you can only be called a fag once per hour without responding with force, or else you are, by proxy, a fag. Not being a fag, I weighed my options.

A: Walk over and punch him in his fat stupid, not knowing what a troglodyte face is face.

B: Wait until science class starts, and set him on fire with a Bunsen burner.

C. Use the tools at hand...

Fortunately, (or unfortunately, depending upon how much you like hockey players) I was holding a small, yet potentially lethal clay decorating tool, that consisted of a wooden stick the size of a pencil, with a sharp pointy nail sticking out from one end. Picture a dart, with no fins. My yet to be established manhood in question, I threw it at him.

WHooooosh!

Time hung in the air, like the stink of fetid cheese, or that moment when you first saw your mom naked, and weren't quite sure what to expect next.

Shwip. Not a "thwak", or even a "Foomp!" Just a gentle "shwip" as the clay tool found it's mark, and sunk to the hilt in my tormentors back. He, (rather abruptly), stopped calling me a fag, and began to do what I can only describe as an adolescent impersononation of Joe Cocker. With his arms stretched back, in a vain attempt to remove my improvised projectile, he had become strangely quiet.

Our art teacher had missed the whole thing. She had her back turned to the class the whole time. While "you're a fag boy" was writhing in pain, I walked over to him, yanked the dart from his back, and returned to my table.

Nobody said a word. As far as I'm concerned, this is how it should be.

Farting in class? Good thing he wasn't making an ashtray...

JC

[Mr Lefty]

[rogue]

Originally Posted by askmrjesus

So, I'm sitting there in "art class", minding my own business. We're all making some useless bullshit out of clay. Ashtrays, bongs, miniature Mount Rushmores, the usual 5th grade crap that we give to our parents for approval we don't really need, but seek anyway.

Two rows in front of me, is this jagoff hockey team kid who hates me. I don't remember why he hated me, but I'm sure he had a reason. We were trading insults. He called me a fag. I called him a troglodyte. He didn't know what a troglodyte was, so he got pissed off and called me a fag again.

There is one thing you learn in 5th grade, and that is that you can only be called a fag once per hour without responding with force, or else you are, by proxy, a fag. Not being a fag, I weighed my options.

A: Walk over and punch him in his fat stupid, not knowing what a troglodyte face is face.

B: Wait until science class starts, and set him on fire with a Bunsen burner.

C. Use the tools at hand...

Fortunately, (or unfortunately, depending upon how much you like hockey players) I was holding a small, yet potentially lethal clay decorating tool, that consisted of a wooden stick the size of a pencil, with a sharp pointy nail sticking out from one end. Picture a dart, with no fins. My yet to be established manhood in question, I threw it at him.

WHooooosh!

Time hung in the air, like the stink of fetid cheese, or that moment when you first saw your mom naked, and weren't quite sure what to expect next.

Shwip. Not a "thwak", or even a "Foomp!" Just a gentle "shwip" as the clay tool found it's mark, and sunk to the hilt in my tormentors back. He, (rather abruptly), stopped calling me a fag, and began to do what I can only describe as an adolescent impersononation of Joe Cocker. With his arms stretched back, in a vain attempt to remove my improvised projectile, he had become strangely quiet.

Our art teacher had missed the whole thing. She had her back turned to the class the whole time. While "you're a fag boy" was writhing in pain, I walked over to him, yanked the dart from his back, and returned to my table.

Nobody said a word. As far as I'm concerned, this is how it should be.

Farting in class? Good thing he wasn't making an ashtray...

JC