This teacher wanker says to Little Johnny "If I give you two cats, then another two cats and then another two cats, how many cats would you have?" (Personally I can't see why the fuck Johnny or anybody else would want even one cat, the lazy, idle fuckers, but go with me on this one) "7!" says Little Johnny. The teacher sighs (they're lazy, idle fuckers as well aren't they? I can only assume that all this happened on one of the rare days when the twats were in work and not on strike). "No Johnny. I give you two cats, then another two cats and then another two cats, so how many cats do you have?" Johnny is already starting to get bored of this fucking stupid line of questioning and feels like saying "My Dad says you're a load of lazy, idle twats, Sir" but he doesn't "7!" he repeats hopefully. The teacher sighs again and gives Johnny his "you're going to end up flipping burgers in McDonalds or collecting the trolleys in the pissing rain in the ASDA car park you thick twat" look. "Let me put it another way," he says. "Suppose I give you two apples, then another two apples, and then another two apples, how many apples have you got?" Johnny says "6!" Praise the fucking Lord, thinks the teacher. "Right, hold that thought. So suppose I give you two cats, then another two cats and then another two cats, how many cats would you have?" Surely even Little Johnny can't be that stupid can he? "7!" he replies again. For fuck's fucking bastard fucking sake, thinks the teacher, although he doesn't say it. He also pauses for a moment to reflect that maybe he's set the bar a bit to high vis-a-vis Johnny's potential career options and emptying the pooh bins in the park might be a more realistic option. Heavy sigh. "How come if I give you two apples, then another two apples, and then another two apples, you have six apples. But if I give you you two cats, then another two cats and then another two cats you have seven cats?" asks the teacher. "Cos we've already got a fucking cat, fuckwit" Johnny says with a sigh. I wish I could report at this point that the teacher opens his desk draw and pulls out a gun and shoots himself, or at the very least staples his head to the desk or writes to the council to enquire if there are any vacancies in the pooh bin department for himself, but he doesn't, he just thinks fuck it and bollocks to the kids, I'm off on strike again tomorrow anyway aren't I? Then there's all those nice summer holidays to look forward too. I think I might wear me new cords next week. I fucking love cords me. All the girls will fancy me in me new cords....Don't stand, don't stand, don't stand so close to me....Tania Johnson in 7b wants me, so badly. She's got quite nice tits for a 13 year old too....Roxanne, you don't have to wear that dress tonight....I'm to sexy for my cords, to sexy for my cords.....
You couldn't make it up could you. I spent much of the weekend dozing on the sofa watching telly. Glastonbury was on, although sad to say there was no Snoop Dog, Bone Jovi or any other canine related artists. The big news seemed to be the lack of female headliners and now we know why as one scored a spectacular own goal. She missed her slot cos she was doing her hair. It takes ages she said. Why NOT start doing your hair well before your show time. Aaagh no where's my handbag I've left it in the car, I've got to back to fetch it.