Når USA (engang) får en sort præsident vil The White House så komme til at hedde The Black House?
Saturday, September 25, 2004
Da det var 5 Year Anniversary udgaven af SmackDown følte jeg lissom jeg var nødt til at se det denne uge. Og det var da faktisk et ok show. Dawn Marie & Torrie vs. Mae & Moolah var god underholdning på sin egen måde men sføli ikke lige wrestling i topklasse. Det var ret tydeligt at se at Gangrel håber på langtidsansættelse da han i kampen med Viscera mod Undertaker bumpede som en gal. Jeg har ikke noget imod Gangrel og kan sådan set godt li' det gimmick så det ville ikke gøre mig noget. Viscera derimod...
Friday, September 24, 2004
Jeg har en stor mængde læsning til denne weekend + jeg skal have forberedt et oplæg til mandag om John Dos Passos' Manhattan Transfer. Mandagen efter har jeg et oplæg/foredrag om Gone With the Wind.
Det bliver ikke til så meget wrestlingtræning for tiden. Der er ikke rigtig tid til det da jeg som regel læser lørdag eftermiddag hvor vi normalt træner. Jeg håber jeg kan få mere tid til dét når den normale undervisning slutter i slutningen af oktober for jeg savner det en del til tider.
Det bliver ikke til så meget wrestlingtræning for tiden. Der er ikke rigtig tid til det da jeg som regel læser lørdag eftermiddag hvor vi normalt træner. Jeg håber jeg kan få mere tid til dét når den normale undervisning slutter i slutningen af oktober for jeg savner det en del til tider.
Thursday, September 23, 2004
The Overpopulation of China
”Children, this is Trevor.” Mrs. Robinson made a gesture with her left arm as if she was unveiling a portrait or a statue.
Trevor was the new boy in class. The children had been told about his arrival 2 weeks in advance and they were not pleased. In general, they didn’t take well to newcomers in the classroom.
Trevor sat down next to Katherine, the generic fat girl whose argument for not losing weight was that she didn’t have enough money to buy new clothes in the event that she lost the weight. The friendly note someone had slipped her one day telling her to lose 100 pounds or die, had not helped her. She had cried and Mrs. Robinson had not understood why. When she read the note she felt inspired to teach the children the difference between pounds and kilos. Even when the weight loss proposed by the anonymous helper in class looked as an easy goal in kilos, Katherine had cried even more and threatened to slit her wrists. Tommy, the poor white trash member of the class, remarked that the day a cutting tool sharp enough to cut through Katherine’s chubby wrists was invented, was the day pigs, or alternatively Katherine, would fly. Mrs. Robinson had to excuse herself and go to the bathroom because she didn’t want the kids to see her laughing.
After Trevor was seated, Mrs. Robinson took out her American history books and was about to begin teaching today’s class. Suddenly, someone knocked on the door. It was principal Cornelius who wished to talk to Mrs. Robinson outside in the hall for a moment. She excused herself and left the classroom.
“Is there a problem?” she asked as she was closing the door behind her.
“No no. Not at all,” said principal Cornelius. “I just wanted to talk to you about a matter of importance. There is a new Chinese kid in your class.”
“No, there is a new black kid in my class.”
“Yes, I know but we’re trying to be politically correct and ‘black kid’ just won’t go.” Principal Cornelius took off his glasses and wiped them with his shirt. “Besides, the line on the admission forms I had to fill out where I was to state his ethnicity was too short. There was simply not room for ‘African-American’ which is the term decided by the school board we are to use when describing those kind of people. And since ‘black’ is out of the question, I simply put ‘Chinese’. No difference really. Negroes, yellow people, they all helped build this great country, didn’t they?”
“Oh yes, certainly,” said Mrs. Robinson.
“Did you get my memo by the way?”
“About what?”
“There is a teachers meeting in the break between 1 and 1.30.”
“Really? About what?”
“No idea, but supposedly Miss Pernella baked a cake for the event so I’m thinking it’s important to show up. God knows I didn’t call the meeting!”
“Well, I’ll see you then. I better get back to teaching my class, Mr. Cornelius.”
“Yes, I suppose so. And do take care of the new Chinese boy. His Yen helps this country a great deal.”
“I think Yen is Japanese, sir.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Principal Cornelius turned around on his heels and left.
Mrs. Robinson entered the classroom again and of course the kids were all the over the place making a lot of noise. Except Trevor who just sat there while Martin, the most intelligent boy in class, kept poking him in the ear with a banana.
“Martin! Don’t ruin your lunch, dear,” said Mrs. Robinson and got everybody to quiet down. “Now in today’s class…”
“Mrs. Robinson?” It was Donna, the pretty blond in the class who was dumb as wood but knew even at this age to use her looks to her advantage. White at her wedding was out of the question.
“Yes, Donna?”
“I think we would all like to hear about the nigger’s trip from Amfrica to America.”
“Donna! I will not have you talking like this in my classroom. It’s called ‘Africa’ not ‘Amfrica’. Please remember that, dear”. Mrs. Robinson nodded to Trevor who looked at her with a smile. “But yes, perhaps Trevor would like to tell us about that trip.”
Trevor stood up. “Well, there’s not much to say really. I’m not from Africa, I’m from South Carolina. We moved here a couple of weeks ago because my dad got a job here.” He sat down.
“Is there a shortage of jazz musicians here?” asked Mrs. Robinson.
“I don’t know ma’am, he’s a college professor. And my mom is a doctor.” Trevor looked embarrassed.
“Isn’t that nice,” said Mrs. Robinson with disbelief in the sound of her voice.
Donna stood up. “My daddy says that black people are poor sons of bitches that won’t work and ought to go back to where they came from.”
“Now why would he go back to South Carolina when he just moved?” The handsome but annoying, Phil, had joined the discussion.
“Not South Carolina, stupid,” Donna fired back probably happy she could use that expression about someone else. “Back to Africa. See Mrs. Robinson, I said it right.”
Mrs. Robinson raised her voice and opened a book. “Children, let’s settle down and begin class. There will be no more talking about South Carolina, Negroes or black people! Now, today we’ll be talking about the invention of the cotton gin.”
She looked at her pages and saw the word “black” about 4 times in the 2 first sentences alone. She was about to panic when she came up with an idea. Instead of saying the word “black” she would just cough whenever the word popped up. No one would notice. Trevor loaded his gun.
15 minutes and 72 coughs later, Henry, the semi-blind kid, ran down to get the nurse fearing that Mrs. Robinson was dying. It took him 8 tries to find the door so at least the attention was off Mrs. Robinson for a while.
The nurse came but Mrs. Robinson assured her that she was fine. “It’s just because we have a new Chinese boy in class and that required some special circumstances,” she told the nurse.
The nurse scanned the class and saw no Chinese boy. “I see,” she said and left.
Cecilia, the homosexual daughter of a farmer, raised her hand.
“Yes, dear?” said Mrs. Robinson.
“Did slavery cause racism or did racism cause slavery?” Cecilia asked.
“That’s actually a good question, dear. Perhaps we should ask the class.”
Trevor pointed his gun at Cecilia and fired. Blood splattered all over the curtains behind her and she fell to the floor.
“Oh my,” shrieked Mrs. Robinson who in fact had sewn those curtains.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Robinson?” It was Phil again. “Is the cotton gin still being used on slave plantations?”
“Idiot!” yelled Harley, the one-armed boy from Canada. “There is no such thing as slavery any more.”
“Oh yeah?” Phil fired back. “Explain minimum wages”
“Huh?”
Mrs. Robinson was getting a headache and stormed out of class. She ran down to the toilet facilities to get some water in her face. As she entered, she heard a weird moaning noise coming from one of the booths.
“Mr. Cornelius?” she asked.
“Ehm, yes?” a voice answered.
“Oh good, you’re here. I really need to talk to you.”
“Could it perhaps wait? I’m masturbating right now, Mrs. Robinson.”
“Sure.”
7 minutes went by and principal Cornelius exited the booth with a satisfied look on his face and stains on his shirt.
“Are you gonna flush?” Mrs. Robinson asked.
“OK, why not.” He did so and washed his hands. “So, what seems to be the problem?”
“Remember those curtains I made for the classroom? They’re all dirty and ruined now. Damn kids! They don’t appreciate anything I do for them.”
“Yes yes. They are ungrateful brats.”
“I need a vacation.”
“Don’t we all? By the way, about the teachers meeting later on. It appears the topic is what we’re going to do about the fact that we have too many students in each individual class.”
“Oh yeah, that reminds me. Someone in my class just shot a girl.”
“Well, problem solved.” Principal Cornelius laughed and so did Mrs. Robinson. “Who killed who?”
“The new black kid killed Cecilia.”
“There are no black kids in this school. Remember, we frown upon that.”
“Well, there is that one in my class. Remember the so-called Chinese boy?”
“Oh, Trevor? Hm, certainly knows how to make an impact on his first day, doesn’t he?”
“Indeed. So what are we gonna do about it?”
“Suppose we could avoid further mix-ups by giving him a Chinese name?”
“Yes. But also, what are we gonna do about the shooting?”
“Oh that. Well, it’s just typical isn’t it? Damn angry Asians. We were only trying to help them back in Vietnam, you know!”
“Oh I know. But he’s from China, not Vietnam.”
“China, Vietnam, whatever. They are all products of damn communist assholes!”
“Technically, he’s actually from South Carolina.”
“Really?! Me too. A great place to live indeed. Anyway, go back to class and I’ll figure something out about the shooting.”
“Thank you so much.” Mrs. Robinson hurried down the hall and entered the classroom. Donna was crying since she had slipped in the blood coming from Cecilia’s disfigured head. She asked if she could go see the nurse and Mrs. Robinson let her go. She looked at the curtains and bit her bottom lip. Donna closed the door behind her leaving a trail of bloody footprints. No more than 30 seconds went by before the door opened again and principal Cornelius entered the classroom. All the students, including Trevor, stood up in respect of their principal. Principal Cornelius was carrying a large rifle.
“Oh my Lord,” said Mrs. Robinson.
“Easy, Mrs. Robinson. I’m dealing with it,” he said and fired the rifle at Katherine who fell backwards onto her chair. Her rather large posterior turned the chair into kindling.
“Oh my Lord,” said Mrs. Robinson again as she was taking down her curtains in hope of saving them from further exposure to stains of blood. “Why on earth did you shoot her, Mr. Cornelius? She’s not the black, ahem Chinese boy!”
“I know but she’s been annoying me since day one,” he said.
“Oh, me too”, Mrs. Robinson said and put the folded up curtain into her briefcase.
“And now, the Chinese kid.” Principal Cornelius fired his rifle. The shot hit Trevor in the spine as he was desperately trying to climb out the window to escape. He let out a loud scream and fell out the window. A dark thud filled the air.
“Now then,” said principal Cornelius. “I believe we have some good news concerning the overpopulated classrooms for the meeting later today. And remember, Mrs. Robinson, there’ll be cake. See you later!” He left the room.Mrs. Robinson stood up and smiled at the remaining students. “Perhaps this would be a good time to have our break,” she said and left the room.
”Children, this is Trevor.” Mrs. Robinson made a gesture with her left arm as if she was unveiling a portrait or a statue.
Trevor was the new boy in class. The children had been told about his arrival 2 weeks in advance and they were not pleased. In general, they didn’t take well to newcomers in the classroom.
Trevor sat down next to Katherine, the generic fat girl whose argument for not losing weight was that she didn’t have enough money to buy new clothes in the event that she lost the weight. The friendly note someone had slipped her one day telling her to lose 100 pounds or die, had not helped her. She had cried and Mrs. Robinson had not understood why. When she read the note she felt inspired to teach the children the difference between pounds and kilos. Even when the weight loss proposed by the anonymous helper in class looked as an easy goal in kilos, Katherine had cried even more and threatened to slit her wrists. Tommy, the poor white trash member of the class, remarked that the day a cutting tool sharp enough to cut through Katherine’s chubby wrists was invented, was the day pigs, or alternatively Katherine, would fly. Mrs. Robinson had to excuse herself and go to the bathroom because she didn’t want the kids to see her laughing.
After Trevor was seated, Mrs. Robinson took out her American history books and was about to begin teaching today’s class. Suddenly, someone knocked on the door. It was principal Cornelius who wished to talk to Mrs. Robinson outside in the hall for a moment. She excused herself and left the classroom.
“Is there a problem?” she asked as she was closing the door behind her.
“No no. Not at all,” said principal Cornelius. “I just wanted to talk to you about a matter of importance. There is a new Chinese kid in your class.”
“No, there is a new black kid in my class.”
“Yes, I know but we’re trying to be politically correct and ‘black kid’ just won’t go.” Principal Cornelius took off his glasses and wiped them with his shirt. “Besides, the line on the admission forms I had to fill out where I was to state his ethnicity was too short. There was simply not room for ‘African-American’ which is the term decided by the school board we are to use when describing those kind of people. And since ‘black’ is out of the question, I simply put ‘Chinese’. No difference really. Negroes, yellow people, they all helped build this great country, didn’t they?”
“Oh yes, certainly,” said Mrs. Robinson.
“Did you get my memo by the way?”
“About what?”
“There is a teachers meeting in the break between 1 and 1.30.”
“Really? About what?”
“No idea, but supposedly Miss Pernella baked a cake for the event so I’m thinking it’s important to show up. God knows I didn’t call the meeting!”
“Well, I’ll see you then. I better get back to teaching my class, Mr. Cornelius.”
“Yes, I suppose so. And do take care of the new Chinese boy. His Yen helps this country a great deal.”
“I think Yen is Japanese, sir.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Principal Cornelius turned around on his heels and left.
Mrs. Robinson entered the classroom again and of course the kids were all the over the place making a lot of noise. Except Trevor who just sat there while Martin, the most intelligent boy in class, kept poking him in the ear with a banana.
“Martin! Don’t ruin your lunch, dear,” said Mrs. Robinson and got everybody to quiet down. “Now in today’s class…”
“Mrs. Robinson?” It was Donna, the pretty blond in the class who was dumb as wood but knew even at this age to use her looks to her advantage. White at her wedding was out of the question.
“Yes, Donna?”
“I think we would all like to hear about the nigger’s trip from Amfrica to America.”
“Donna! I will not have you talking like this in my classroom. It’s called ‘Africa’ not ‘Amfrica’. Please remember that, dear”. Mrs. Robinson nodded to Trevor who looked at her with a smile. “But yes, perhaps Trevor would like to tell us about that trip.”
Trevor stood up. “Well, there’s not much to say really. I’m not from Africa, I’m from South Carolina. We moved here a couple of weeks ago because my dad got a job here.” He sat down.
“Is there a shortage of jazz musicians here?” asked Mrs. Robinson.
“I don’t know ma’am, he’s a college professor. And my mom is a doctor.” Trevor looked embarrassed.
“Isn’t that nice,” said Mrs. Robinson with disbelief in the sound of her voice.
Donna stood up. “My daddy says that black people are poor sons of bitches that won’t work and ought to go back to where they came from.”
“Now why would he go back to South Carolina when he just moved?” The handsome but annoying, Phil, had joined the discussion.
“Not South Carolina, stupid,” Donna fired back probably happy she could use that expression about someone else. “Back to Africa. See Mrs. Robinson, I said it right.”
Mrs. Robinson raised her voice and opened a book. “Children, let’s settle down and begin class. There will be no more talking about South Carolina, Negroes or black people! Now, today we’ll be talking about the invention of the cotton gin.”
She looked at her pages and saw the word “black” about 4 times in the 2 first sentences alone. She was about to panic when she came up with an idea. Instead of saying the word “black” she would just cough whenever the word popped up. No one would notice. Trevor loaded his gun.
15 minutes and 72 coughs later, Henry, the semi-blind kid, ran down to get the nurse fearing that Mrs. Robinson was dying. It took him 8 tries to find the door so at least the attention was off Mrs. Robinson for a while.
The nurse came but Mrs. Robinson assured her that she was fine. “It’s just because we have a new Chinese boy in class and that required some special circumstances,” she told the nurse.
The nurse scanned the class and saw no Chinese boy. “I see,” she said and left.
Cecilia, the homosexual daughter of a farmer, raised her hand.
“Yes, dear?” said Mrs. Robinson.
“Did slavery cause racism or did racism cause slavery?” Cecilia asked.
“That’s actually a good question, dear. Perhaps we should ask the class.”
Trevor pointed his gun at Cecilia and fired. Blood splattered all over the curtains behind her and she fell to the floor.
“Oh my,” shrieked Mrs. Robinson who in fact had sewn those curtains.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Robinson?” It was Phil again. “Is the cotton gin still being used on slave plantations?”
“Idiot!” yelled Harley, the one-armed boy from Canada. “There is no such thing as slavery any more.”
“Oh yeah?” Phil fired back. “Explain minimum wages”
“Huh?”
Mrs. Robinson was getting a headache and stormed out of class. She ran down to the toilet facilities to get some water in her face. As she entered, she heard a weird moaning noise coming from one of the booths.
“Mr. Cornelius?” she asked.
“Ehm, yes?” a voice answered.
“Oh good, you’re here. I really need to talk to you.”
“Could it perhaps wait? I’m masturbating right now, Mrs. Robinson.”
“Sure.”
7 minutes went by and principal Cornelius exited the booth with a satisfied look on his face and stains on his shirt.
“Are you gonna flush?” Mrs. Robinson asked.
“OK, why not.” He did so and washed his hands. “So, what seems to be the problem?”
“Remember those curtains I made for the classroom? They’re all dirty and ruined now. Damn kids! They don’t appreciate anything I do for them.”
“Yes yes. They are ungrateful brats.”
“I need a vacation.”
“Don’t we all? By the way, about the teachers meeting later on. It appears the topic is what we’re going to do about the fact that we have too many students in each individual class.”
“Oh yeah, that reminds me. Someone in my class just shot a girl.”
“Well, problem solved.” Principal Cornelius laughed and so did Mrs. Robinson. “Who killed who?”
“The new black kid killed Cecilia.”
“There are no black kids in this school. Remember, we frown upon that.”
“Well, there is that one in my class. Remember the so-called Chinese boy?”
“Oh, Trevor? Hm, certainly knows how to make an impact on his first day, doesn’t he?”
“Indeed. So what are we gonna do about it?”
“Suppose we could avoid further mix-ups by giving him a Chinese name?”
“Yes. But also, what are we gonna do about the shooting?”
“Oh that. Well, it’s just typical isn’t it? Damn angry Asians. We were only trying to help them back in Vietnam, you know!”
“Oh I know. But he’s from China, not Vietnam.”
“China, Vietnam, whatever. They are all products of damn communist assholes!”
“Technically, he’s actually from South Carolina.”
“Really?! Me too. A great place to live indeed. Anyway, go back to class and I’ll figure something out about the shooting.”
“Thank you so much.” Mrs. Robinson hurried down the hall and entered the classroom. Donna was crying since she had slipped in the blood coming from Cecilia’s disfigured head. She asked if she could go see the nurse and Mrs. Robinson let her go. She looked at the curtains and bit her bottom lip. Donna closed the door behind her leaving a trail of bloody footprints. No more than 30 seconds went by before the door opened again and principal Cornelius entered the classroom. All the students, including Trevor, stood up in respect of their principal. Principal Cornelius was carrying a large rifle.
“Oh my Lord,” said Mrs. Robinson.
“Easy, Mrs. Robinson. I’m dealing with it,” he said and fired the rifle at Katherine who fell backwards onto her chair. Her rather large posterior turned the chair into kindling.
“Oh my Lord,” said Mrs. Robinson again as she was taking down her curtains in hope of saving them from further exposure to stains of blood. “Why on earth did you shoot her, Mr. Cornelius? She’s not the black, ahem Chinese boy!”
“I know but she’s been annoying me since day one,” he said.
“Oh, me too”, Mrs. Robinson said and put the folded up curtain into her briefcase.
“And now, the Chinese kid.” Principal Cornelius fired his rifle. The shot hit Trevor in the spine as he was desperately trying to climb out the window to escape. He let out a loud scream and fell out the window. A dark thud filled the air.
“Now then,” said principal Cornelius. “I believe we have some good news concerning the overpopulated classrooms for the meeting later today. And remember, Mrs. Robinson, there’ll be cake. See you later!” He left the room.Mrs. Robinson stood up and smiled at the remaining students. “Perhaps this would be a good time to have our break,” she said and left the room.
Jeg har først fået set RAW i dag. Lysten og tiden har ikke rigtig været der før nu. Det var udmærket men ikke noget specielt. Jericho vs. HBK var ***1/4 og main eventen ***. Christy vandt diva searchen og Lita og Kane mistede deres fiktive kærlighedsbarn. Lita der solgte denne nyhed var guld værd - jeg var svagt færdig.
Det er iøvrigt tydeligt at WWE gerne vil fortælle os hvilke kampe vi skal stemme ind på Taboo Tuesday showet. Men det er jo klart - vi sku nødigt få nogen overraskelser.
Det er iøvrigt tydeligt at WWE gerne vil fortælle os hvilke kampe vi skal stemme ind på Taboo Tuesday showet. Men det er jo klart - vi sku nødigt få nogen overraskelser.
Så kan man se hvad der sker når lysterne tar overhånd...men kunne man ikke vælge noget lidt mere delikat at gå i krig med? http://ekstrabladet.dk/VisArtikel.iasp?PageID=263962
RIP Big Bossman...endnu en fra de glade 80'ere dør i en alt for ung alder.
RIP Big Bossman...endnu en fra de glade 80'ere dør i en alt for ung alder.
