The Drunken Teacher

The Drunken Teacher The Drunken Teacher

Status: Finished

Genre: Non-Fiction

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Non-Fiction

Summary

Catholic school days

Summary

Catholic school days

Content

Submitted: April 12, 2010

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Content

Submitted: April 12, 2010

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Two Words, "Rolling Rock", so sacred and indulging to my aunt lisa. The beer known as Rolling Rock was Aunties oxygen. If you didnt see her with a cold and sweaty green bottle in her hand, then something was terribly wrong. Auntie was what i now call the "drunken teacher". Although her teachings weren’t appropriate for the ears of 7, 8,and 10 year olds, my cousin of 10, my sister of 8 and myself of 7 listened with excitment as the drunken unfamiliar slurs flooded our immature undeveloped minds. By the age of 7 i knew the meaning of "shooting up", "snorting shit", sex, making the guys wrap "it" up, “giving head”, and the gagging sensation induced when “giving head”. I also learned that my aunt lisa was not a fan of blow jobs because it made her gag easily, which caused her to vomit on a past boyfriend’s penis. When telling the vomit story, auntie would demonstrate on the 12 ounce glass rolling rock bottle, wrapping her lips around the top and sliding her mouth down the neck of the bottle as she gagged furiously. She would then hold her hand over her mouth as if she was catching her imaginary vomit, while screaming"SEE! I TOLD YA! " I found that hysterical. Little did i know that later in life i would face the same problem my aunt lisa does when performing oral sex. I didnt see anything wrong with my aunt telling us nieces these kind of "grown up" stories and concepts. I loved hearing these new and obscure stories. My 7 year old mind was yearning for life’s wisdom, no matter what the topic was. I didnt realize how poisining my aunts words were until i recited two poems i learned from auntie to my first grade class. To make matters worse, i went to a Cactholic school and was surrounded by nuns and priests. My school was in the parking lot of a catholic church. The classrooms graded from pre-k to 8th grade. Each grade had one teacher and one classroom where the students would learn. All students were required to wear proper uniforms. The girls from kidergarten through fifth grade had to wear plaid jumpers,(aka the ugliest dress you could ever put a child in), and a light blue collared shirt underneath. The girls from sixth grade through eighth grade were required to wear a plaid skirt ,fingertips length,( no shorter or you were bound to be hounded by one of the nuns to unfold your skirt,) and a button down light blue collared shirt, which at all times had to be tucked in. All the boys from kindergarten through eighth grade had to wear navy blue dress pants, a light blue collared shirt tucked in with a dark blue plaid tie. Since the school didnt have a playground, all the kids would have their recesses in the parking lot. One morning after “snacktime” it was time to go out for recess. I was stirring inside because i so badly wanted to tell my classmates the two new poems i learned. When all of us first graders were released into the parking lot to have a fun filled recess on the hard pavement that often caused numerous cuts and tears, i ran to the other side of the parking lot where the church was. I called over about 10 of my classmates and made sure sister elizabeth was out of hearing range. Excited and hyper i told all ten of them how i learned two new funny poems. They were all curious and excited to hear the poems i had to recite.Little did they know it wasnt a poem any of them have heard or maybe would have ever heard if i didnt take the time to memorize each word by making my drunken teacher repeat the lines over and over until i was sure i knew them all. I said to the curious crowd, "okay, for the first poem i need someone to give me someones name to put in it." Everyone looked around and the only person they spotted who would make the “funny” poem edgy was sister barbra. Sister Barbra was often the school’s recess teacher, who always seemed to get hit in the head by a flying football causing her to crumble to the ground almost everytime. Im not sure if the older kids aimed the football at her head purposely, or if her head was just a football magnet, because 3 out of 5 times, sister Barbra seemed to be in the footballs path. After agreeing sister Barbra was the perfect choice for the poem, we all began to laugh and once it became quiet again, i began. "Out popped sister Barbra from Monument Square, shes a mean mother fucker you can tell by her hair. She wears a two button beanie and a four button stitch. She's a mean mother fucking cock sucking son of a bitch. Line a hundred men up against the wall, she bet herself a nickle she could fuck them all. So she fucked and she fucked until her cunt turned blue. Took a shot of whiskey and fucked the last two. When she dies, she'll go to hell, she'll fuck the devil and fuck him well. And on her gravestone it will read, the worlds BIGGEST FUCKING MACHINE! " Thank God for confessions on Friday, i thought. Even though Father Jim wouldnt be pleased to hear that i cursed sister barbra and would probably make me say the Rosesary and ten hailmary's a day for a week.. After i finshed the poem i dont think my ten classmates knew whether to laugh or cry. Some of their faces looked like someone had just told them that they had cut their mother up and ate her. Others just looked like i was speaking a foreign language or they had just got punched in the face. I thought it was hilarious and was laughing so hard i had to bend over and hold my stomach because it hurt.Even though i knew some of them probably dreaded the second poem, , i quickly recited it before they could overcome their shock and run away. "Okay Okay this is the second poem, its a little shorter but its funny." i said. I looked around at the unsure faces, and once again began. " I was walking through the jungle with a tit in my hand, old mother fucker tried to piss on me, so i picked up a rock, hit him in the cock. You should of seen that mother fucker do a belly-flop." No one laughed. What the Fuck! I thought. I thought they were hilarious and these fucking cunts dont even appreciate it! What is a cunt anyway? I'll ask auntie when i get home. Maybe they just dont understand the words, because i dont even understand some of them. That night i ran over to my aunts house to once again find her guzzling back her rolling rocks. I asked, "Auntie what's cunt mean?" and in a half laugh, half smile she responded "Ohhh That's your coochy", (“Vagina”, in case you’ve never heard anyone refer to their vagina as a “coochy” )


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