a telenovela

I’d like to say you’d have to ask my students, if that’s even the right word for it, because some would say I was only a teacher for a semester, and some might say I’m still teaching you a lesson right now, Jim.

I wish I knew whatever I needed to learn – to

– to what, nigga?

to start a line with an n- or m- dash (cualquier-cosa, of course, Jim) in Microsoft Word without feeling like a tool that I use Microsoft Word.  Because the Google Doc thing just pisses me off, I don’t want them having access to any of our shit.

Are you failing us right now, Jim, cause if you don’t lead us, there’s nothing to follow.

Are you follow me, nigga?

Lead us.

Into what?

Fucking temptation, Jim, lead us somewhere with all this shit, and don’t say to a fucking ballot box to make you the President, unless, of course, Jim, they were already going to vote on their way to do something more important, right?  Is that why you fucked up that ballots in Glastonbury, Jim?  Because I know and you know that you didn’t break any laws that day, though, yes, Jim, I know about the fucking shoes too.

Well, fuck.


I don’t think it’s fair of you, Jim, to simultaneously run for President while also educating people on how the federal government works at all, Jim, unless you also go into detail about how each and every state government works too.

Fuck me.

Yes, Jim, fuck you too, and I’ll fuck ya later if we don’t finish this.

If we don’t finish this?

Just stop wasting their time too.

Whose time?

Your time, Jim, your time.

Their time is your time now, nigga.

Don’t play games with their time and at least point them to LEAVE SCHOOL or the Peer Unschooling Network or, maybe the Youth Rights organization if that makes sense, Jim, and cualquier-cosa for life too, nigga.

Is my time really their time?

Whose thyme is it then?

Our thyme, nigga, our thyme, it’s all our thyme.