[Editor’s note: This blog is still one of my most satisfying. However, I took it down a few years ago at the request of a teacher friend. Aren’t I nice? Well, anyway, turns out that person is a total cunt and so I’ve re-posted. Ladies and gentlemen, for your enjoyment (and possibly for the second time) I present…]
Recently, I went to the 21st birthday of a nephew of mine. Well, he wasn’t really a nephew but I don’t really pay attention to the bizarre machinations of my extended family. He was probably my sister’s former boyfriend’s flatmate’s bastard child, but that’s not important to the story right now. What is significant is that this poor child had his school reports on display for all to giggle at. And, having glanced through them, it made me think that teachers these days are bound by chains of bureaucracy and edubabble, meaning that any statement that a teacher could relay to a parent is hidden by bastardly, weasely phrases that merely exist because teachers are not allowed to tell their students’ parents that they are responsible for giving birth to some demon-spawn little cunt who is bound to become a kitten-torturing thug, professional rapist or a Corporate Accountant.
So, I figured, that if teachers were really allowed to write what they really wanted in reports, they would sound something like these…
Student A has achieved virtually no progress in Remedial English this year. He has demonstrated a level of disrespect to the subject, his classmates and his education that could only be described as gross. He has not submitted assessment. He did not attend his half yearly examination. His attendance is, at best, sporadic and, quite frankly, we prefer it when he is not in class. He is loud and obnoxious and argumentative, impacting severely upon his own education and the education of those around him. He barely has the skills to become a decent English student. His likelihood of becoming a decent human is even less so. Although, with effort, he may become a decent amoeba.
Student B is achieving minimal progress in English this year. His faith and belief in himself is far superior to his actual ability. He lacks focus in the classroom. His assessment work lacks any degree of real preparation or insight or understanding. His examination results are, in a word, fucking awful. Yet still he persists in his belief that he is god’s gift to, well, fucking everything. Student B will need to vastly improve his attitude, stop distracting his peers and put down his fucking phone if he wishes to achieve any level of success in his senior years.
Student C is a weird and creepy kid who sits at the back of my Maths classroom. Have you ever seen that film “Children of the Corn”? That’s him. He freaks me out a little. If I threw a bin at his head it would bounce of him like a jellybean.
Student D is achieving satisfactory progress in English so far this year. He demonstrates a great sensitivity to the world around him and has an understanding which is far beyond his written ability. In other words, your child is showing, verbally, that he has a maturity beyond his years with only the fundamental skills of a drunk sloth on a Rohypnol binge with which to express them. How frustrating that must be for the poor boy! He knows what the fuck he is talking about, but he can’t tell us that he knows what he knows he knows. What a godawful fuck up our education system is.
Student E is a student I have never seen in my classroom. You ever heard that song by Smokie about Alice?
Here’s the link https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CsrfovOPcjk
Just replace the word “Alice” with your daughter’s name.
Student F is achieving very minimal progress in Senior Drama. He is clearly undertaking his studies (and I use the word in its loosest possible way) in Senior Drama because he has neither the skill nor intelligence to take Cleaning The Ashtray 101. He does not like an audience. He does not like performing. He will do whatever he can to get out of any such task. He does not follow instructions, either on stage or in the classroom. His written work is weak, although, to be fair, most of his written work has been plagiarised. He has no understanding of the deeper complexities of the subject and has no desire to learn. In many regards, Student F is a waste of carbon particles. On that note, the universe called and they want their carbon particles back.
Student G is an entertaining cushion who turns up to Drama occasionally. He does not contribute. He does not participate. He just lies around on the floor grunting infrequently, reminding most of us of a contented hippopotamus. His attendance is poor. His commitment to the subject is weak. His written work is worse than his performance work and his performance work is fucking atrocious.
Student H is achieving fairly minimal progress in Ancient History. His research work is pretty bad. His written critical analysis work is worse. His content knowledge base is so terrible that I need to invent a new word to describe it. He is learning little and making little effort to improve. Unfortunately, Student H could, if he put his mind to it, be merely awful, but he lacks the testicular fortitude to do what the subject requires of him. I look forward to having my hair cut by him for many years to come.
Student I is achieving minimal progress in Senior Dance. The only thing that surpasses his gargantuan degree of self-confidence and arrogance is his complete ignorance of, and incompetence with, the dancer’s craft. He does not follow instruction, either in the classroom or on stage. His performances are weak. In many regards, I would find it easier to train a hamster in a SCUBA suit to Olympic-standard Synchronised Swimming than educate your child to perform a simple box step. His toxic attitude permeates through the classroom like a BHP oil spill, poisoning all it touches.
Having taught your eldest son, Student J, and his four younger brothers, and his two younger sisters, for the past year, it has come to my attention that you, as parents, need to stop breeding. It is my firm recommendation that you choose one or two of your favourites and take the remainder out to the dam behind the barn of your cult’s commune and hold them all under until the bubbles stop. You may then wish to consider some form of chemical castration so that you will stop inflicting the world with your offspring. For god’s sake, woman, it’s a vagina, not a clown car.
Student K has achieved well beyond my worst expectations this year. Although your child is some freak-of-nature man-mountain that blots out the sun, cracks pavements and needs to duck and turn sideways to get in the classroom door, it seems that your gods put all their Play-Dough into the size of your child’s neck and paid very little attention to anything above that. Not only is your child dumber than a truck full of bricks, but he is ugly as well. A truly, truly ugly child that sucks all the beauty and intelligence out of my classroom like some sort of weird, fucked-up black hole.
Student L has an uncanny similarity to a Leprechaun in origin and existence. Rumours have spread far and wide of such a mythical creature however all attempts to locate this being have ended in failure and a considerable waste of funds. The irony is that he should be sharing his little pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, not squandering it on coke and pot or whatever else the little fucker is doing instead of attending class.
The presence of your child, Student M, in my classroom is like fingernails down the blackboard of my soul. Sometimes I swear I can hear the rusty, poorly greased gears turning inside your child’s brain when he attempts to engage in any form of multisyllabic cogitation. Recently, I watched your son turn blue because he has stopped breathing as a result of his brain shutting down in order to undertake the difficult process of telling me what a “noun” is.
I have vivid, messed-up nightmares about your twin daughters like those freak show, fucked up bitches from The Shining. To be honest, I really can’t tell the difference between Student N and Student O and I respectfully ask your permission to tattoo some distinguishing mark upon their foreheads. May I suggest 666 – the Number of the Beast and 668 – the Neighbour of the Beast. Nevertheless, on the odd occasion that these two retards turn up to my classroom, the average IQ in the room drops by at least 50 points and a chill ghoulish wind blows across my spirit from some dark ethereal plain and I swear I can hear the howling of wolves.
Your daughter, Student P, is an active participant in class. She has an opinion (a tunnel-visioned, pin-headed opinion) on everything which only serves to highlight her bigoted, small-minded, uneducated, petty and prejudiced home environment. The little motor-mouth doesn’t shut up. Lately, during one nonsensical diatribe of hers, I found myself drifting off and daydreaming about how much I would love to rip your child’s arm off and beat her to death with the sticky end.
Watching your child, Student Q, attempting to complete the most basic of mathematical computations gives me faith that there are a variety of specialised Gentlemen’s Clubs that offer a variety of employment opportunities in order to cater to girls of your daughter’s limited intelligence. However, as your daughter appears, against all zoological probability, to look like the bastard child of a grizzly bear that had been raped by a cane toad, I worry for her future.
Your son, Student S, is achieving remarkable success in my subject. He demonstrates a sense of commitment and focus far beyond the scope of his peers and is, comparatively, really fucking smart. Nevertheless, before you start to think that I’m about to blow so much sunshine up your son’s ass that you may be under the impression that there is a small solar system revolving around up there, I feel it necessary to point out two things to you: 1. I said comparatively and 2. your child is the token Asian kid surrounded by fucktard red-necks that were kicked out of Alabama Special School for The Super Fucking Special for being too stupid.
Student T is achieving very minimal success in my subject. I have come to the conclusion that your son is only studying Food Technologies because he’s a fat cunt set to expand his fat cuntiness for some sort of fat cunt award. In fact, Student T is so fat he [insert generic dumb-ass, fat-cunt joke here] and unless he is able to lose some weight he will continue to be unable to actually touch the kitchen bench. On a related issue, I’m a little curious as to how long it has been since he has seen his own penis without the use of a mirror.
Student U is achieving very minimal success in my subject. His attendance is impressive but I am quite convinced that he is not understanding the work. Like many other students in recent years, your child made his subject choice based on the sky-rocketing popularity of the TV Show Breaking Bad. That’s fair enough. My numbers in Senior Chemistry have seen a large increase as a result and we made a very impressive batch of A-Grade meth for the school Open Day. However, it only leads me to ask the question why Student U has chosen Senior Biology.
Student V is, unfortunately, the worst music student I have ever taught. He doesn’t understand musical notation. He can’t tell the difference between a string instrument and a reed instrument. I have heard a cat walk across a piano, or someone drop a drum-kit down the stairs, with more talent than your child has been able to demonstrate. The world would be a better place if we were able to staple your child to a ceiling fan and use him as a weird, anatomically correct pinata.
Student W is not big enough, pretty enough or intelligent enough to have a chip that big on his shoulder. He is categorically the most arrogant, self-involved ego-maniac I have ever met. It is an insult to all members of the animal kingdom that he continues to breathe the oxygen that could be used for more worthwhile endeavours. Nevertheless, his idiotic, mouth-breathing attempts at basic construction work means that he is generally more entertaining than a sack full of wet cats – he struggles to put together a simple, 12-piece Lego kit and should not be involved in the complicated blow-torch related designs that he is presently working on.
I have a variety of problems with your child, Student X. In truth, my list of concerns is so long I am trying to come to terms with whether or not you would like them listed alphabetically, chronologically or thematically. In a recent spelling test, as a joke, I told the class not to forget the silent QZ7 at the end of the word. Admittedly, half the class did spell cat as CATQZ7. Your child was, however, the only child to misspell QZ7.
Student Y is working well at a Year 6 level in English. Although this does seem laudable, it is important to remember that your child turned 17 earlier this year and I can only thank whichever divine beings that exist that the fucker is not my child. Unfortunately, I have been forced to give your child a passing grade in order to buy his silence after the useless sack of protoplasm caught me getting my cock sucked by the Headmistress in the Shakespeare book-room. (Totally worth it, by the way.)
Student Z is categorically the dumbest shitbag I have ever met.