16 Get Ya 20
Out on the street, its 16 get you 20 and ironic how close that is to home, whether you live in the park or camp out in some section 8 trailer park trash, or use REI tents to homeschool your wee ones, we should never crossover into that forbidden tutorial line of fire.
When I was in junior high, there was a teacher named Miss Bolton. I was a young scrapper of a 15-year-old, who knew she was a hottie before the actual use of the word was coined. But to think I would of been involved with some teacher like that would’ve never entered my innocent, lackluster cranial noggin. I was too insecure, too intimidated, and would of hidden under any desk or locker to avoid a meet and greet. So to think that a teacher has the right to interfere with a young teenager, who has zip for brains, is a travesty beyond.
In Oregon, there was a teacher who had relations with a 15-year-old student for over a year. And guess who caught her naked in bed with the 10th grader, it wasn’t Law and Order; it wasn’t Jerry Springer or Morey, it was her dear o hubby. Can you imagine that? So put away the Glock, do a long stint in rehab and walk a mile on coals with Tony. Then you’ll see the light!
I can’t for the life of me, know how women who are in the teaching profession feel they have an obligation and a duty to not only instruct but also destruct. This is an abomination to public education. So based on what happened over time, I have no qualms of that teacher doing 20 more years of hard time. If you play, you pay!
Give me air!
This should be the greatest time in your life. No matter what’s going on, it’s all grandiose. If what you see is all fantasy or made-up fables within your mental instability, then you have a long way to go. America is the land of the free but the home of the indebted. You can’t separate obligation from responsibility.
Making Christmas a festive time goes the distance. It’s all about memories. It’s all about faces. It’s all about why there is this time on the calendar that fills 364 other days.
I have memories of toys that were melted in front of a fireplace. I remember my dad giving everyone a $50 bill. And building a Christmas tree made from wood dowels. There’s too much intensity and self-induced chaos to find a silver lining.
Let’s all remember that it’s the thought that counts.
It’s what we try to do not what we do.
It’s not the gift, it’s thinking about someone else.
So keep us all floating in the wind to bring a smile on every face!
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