I got it, you dirty nasty wabbit. I hope you washed up after. Be careful with the hot water, protein is easier to clean with cold. Bwaaaaa!Quote:
Originally Posted by w3bny
And a squeeeeeeee for good measure. :rofl:
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I got it, you dirty nasty wabbit. I hope you washed up after. Be careful with the hot water, protein is easier to clean with cold. Bwaaaaa!Quote:
Originally Posted by w3bny
And a squeeeeeeee for good measure. :rofl:
Yours too? Must be something about dead languages.Quote:
Originally Posted by K7SGJ
My English teacher was no beauty either. She was a short lady, with little personality and a big beehive hairdo that made her a couple of feet taller: think older Marge Simpson. During class, Dennis, the reprobate kid who sat behind me, used to flick small balls of clay into the myriad of hair curls adorning her head. He utilized a Playboy magazine as his stealthy launching ramp to propel the clay balls over my right shoulder and onward towards their target, where one could imagine them falling through all of those hair loops like a Japanese Pachinko machine. The teacher would sense something strange, but she never figured out what was going on.
I remember that Dennis used to annoy our English teacher by incessantly over-sharpening his pencils during class. He would sharpen an almost-new pencil down to a nub before returning to his desk to use it. Later, he would return to the sharpener with yet another pencil to grind down.
Dennis always had a chunk of clay in his pocket, and each time some teacher would temporarily entrust him with one of the building keys, he would form a clay impression of the key before returning it to the teacher. At home, a duplicate key would be created to further his access to various areas of the school. After a couple of years, Dennis could go just about anywhere in the school. He even had a master key to all of the school lockers. He never stole anything of value out of the other kid's lockers - only their wooden pencils!
Most of my English teachers were male... and "English" class was actually more of a literature class after Jr. High.
But there was this Social Studies teacher I had. Ms. Malchow. Jet black hair, piercing blue eyes, about 5'2" with an hourglass figure.
She was smart, funny... I had to hold my notebook in front of "myself" as she frequently wore miniskirts with tall heels. Damn.
My 7th grade English teacher was a bit of a hottie. Oddly enough...I'm still friends with her via facebook.
My senior-year English teacher wasn't super-hot, but she wasn't bad either. She put out all the right signals - and a lot of them - but I was focusing a little too heavily on things scholastic at the time to realize it. :wall:Quote:
Originally Posted by KC9ECI
Oh, look...another one:
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/arti...#ixzz1mxlmflg0
Thus, this is the result of a society that does not allow her peoples to mature into adults when they reach those adult years.
Somewhere between age 4 and 5 and up to age 15/16, we try to keep them children for too long then suddenly expect them to know what they want to do for the rest of their lives career-wise.
On the other end of the scale is telling a 5 year old that Santa isn't real and expecting him to act like a child 10 years his senior.
Point being, it's not only A PREDATOR ISSUE as many in the media would have you believe. There's a maturity issue where a teacher still relates to students as being in her own peer group.
DittoQuote:
Originally Posted by KJ6BSO
There are so many things wrong in this story, I don't know where to start.Quote:
Originally Posted by N8YX
Quote:
Originally Posted by N8YX
Interesting that all of these events took place here in the Colonies, but they're reported on back in the Royalty's backyard, so to speak. Blimey!Quote:
Originally Posted by N8YX