September 4, 2006
Days with the Colonel
My prep school had the usual gamut of teachers; some good, some bad, a few truly excellent ones. In 10th grade I had a very half-assed teacher for Geometry, Mrs. X. She was out sick quite often, I suspect because she was adamant and hysterical about proving her middle-aged liberal credentials, and was determined to stick our noses in her Progressivism, we snot-nosed silver-spooned white bread senators' sons and daughters. Meaning I think she regularly came down with syphilis and gonhorrea from notching her creds in shanty town with dusky bucks. But who am I to say? I'm sure she had a fucking great time. My hat is off to her, and her progressive spirit.
The down side, if there was one, was the fact that the substitute teacher when she was out a getting dosed for the crud was a gentleman named Colonel Desilee. The Colonel was one of those old fashioned harumphing farts, retired from the military, who took it as duty to teach young whelps in his retirement. He really appeared to be retired from Her Majesty's Service, actually,with his affected airs and pencil thin mustache. And one of those accents that was almost Southern, almost British. We call these people poseurs now.
Like my history teacher. Little fuck wore a beret and drove an old Mercedes, and had a British accent, and if you asked him where he went to college, he would sniff, and say Oxford, of course. Which was true, technically. Except he left out the fact he went to the Emory University campus in Oxford, Georgia, having grown up in Augusta. But who's keeping count, right? I'm sure that campus was fine. The main one was better, I can attest to that.
So, Colonel Desilee. Queer thing: he always wore turquoise bolo ties. And he always cinched his voluminous britches over his enormous abdomen, so high, titty-high, in fact, that his whole scrotum, nay, his entire guts, were on display through those tweed trousers. Just gross fucking stuff.
I hated Geometry anyway. Any discipline that requires me to prove what I just showed you? The fucking nerve. Where's the leap of faith here, huh? My word is my bond, take it to the bank. This is Velociman you're talking to. I don't play Gotcha! But, anyway, as Colonel Desilee would wrap up an interminable theorem, and pronounce, theatrically, Q! E! D! I would think Man, that is one huge hunk of shit poking out of his pants. HAS to be all scrotum. It ain't like there's a well-defined pole or anything... just a mass of flesh. Like an unattended hernia. Or a hidden lamb, freshly killed.
At any rate, the Colonel destroyed bolo ties for me. I'll never wear one. Nor tweed britches. Nor cinch my belt under my oyster-shaped old man nipples.
I just refuse.
QED.
Boah, set straight up in that chayuh and cease speculatin' on whethah Ah have a fifteen-pound turtlehead pokin' out muh anus. Yes, you - you with the pointy hat...
Posted by: Elisson at September 4, 2006 8:15 PMWe had the same guy for Physics. Wayne wolford. Bastard wore tweed underwear, I swear to god. Could not teach shit.
Geometry was a tough subject for me too- until I got into a job where I needed to use it- then it became hardwired, I could do trig in my head. No science has any value to you unless you need it, then it becomes vital, and you develop an interest.
Wayne wore his pants tit high too. He had no bulge, merely cameltoe. I was scarred to witness it, I were truly scarred.
Posted by: og at September 4, 2006 9:35 PMIt was 11th grade geometry that turned me off of math. I have never taken another math course, but must take two in the next year or two to finish these degrees. Damn.
Posted by: Lisa W. at September 4, 2006 10:56 PMI had "Col. Whitlaw." 10th grade history it was. We heard he served with Patton. Figured it was bullshit. All the other teachers were full of shit, so why not this old geezer? One day we turned to page whatever it was and beheld the bold print: WORLD WAR TWO. Says old geezer: "Before we start this chapter, I have my own show and tell." That's when he took off his shirt and revealed to us one fucking gross mass of chewed, ripped, sliced and diced, smothered and covered, display of fleshwork holyshitus.
We shut the fuck up with the 'bullshit' bullshit.
Posted by: James Hooker-Nipple Whisperer at September 5, 2006 5:34 AMI had a professor for physics in college, we called him "Killer Keller" He emphasized his points by poking at his equations on the board with his lit cigarette, and saying stuff like, "Look at the damn shit here." He was a classic, didn't learn to terribly much, but I sure loved the class!
Posted by: holder at September 5, 2006 6:26 AM... it was Mr. Blair for me... he'd spend half the class writing and rubbing-off equations on the blackboard... by lunchtime, he was carrying around at least fifteeen pounds of chalk dust on his shirt and trouser...
... I got stabbed in the shoulder with a number 2 pencil once in his class... screamed like a madman and punched the perp in the nose... and Mr. Blair never once turned away from the blackboard.. he was completely lost in a blur of mathematical equations and a cloud of chalk dust...
Funny you should mention scrotal inflation ... just this morning I came across this fucking nightmare and couldn't help but wonder if this were the teacher you were referring to.
Good christ! That thing needs to be popped.
Posted by: erica at September 5, 2006 9:42 AMI wore a bolo tie a few times in the 1980's, but I always kept my scrotum discretely covered.
Posted by: rankin' rob at September 5, 2006 10:50 AMNay, cameltoe. og - on someone that size, I refer to that as mooseknuckle.
Posted by: Anna at September 5, 2006 11:11 AMI had a Mr. Peabody for Physics in 9th grade,1975,he wore the same suits he wore in the 50's. The Sherman and Way-back-machine jokes were rife, but the man knew his stuff, and taught well.
Posted by: Ron at September 5, 2006 3:16 PMMy English teacher was a Mr. Sir.
Never knew his Surname.
You can judge how well he taught,
You just have to replace the Mercedes by an old Austin.
I believe he was all balls and no poke though.
It's been a while since I stopped by and now I know why. Your last paragraph shows that my ESP must be on high-alert. Your nipples are shaped like me?
Posted by: Oyster at September 5, 2006 5:20 PMIt was Dr. Harms for history. He was an ole coot of a guy, drove a 39 Ford that he bought when it was new. He believed women shouldn't be seen in public while pregnant (this was in the heat of the Wimmen's Lib movement of the 70's). He'd pass out exams and pop quizzes while tormenting the beautiful girls in the class with witty observations such as,
"Youth in all its bloom-
Today's plum is tomorrow's prune!"
"Little fuck wore a beret and drove an old Mercedes, and had a British accent..."
He would not have fared well in a Jersey High School.
Posted by: Jim - PRS at September 5, 2006 10:03 PMWe had a thin, little man who was queer as a $3.00 bill called Mr. Nobles.
We called him Mr. No Balls.
Ok, no one else has said it, so I will.
Anna! Goddess! Will you not return?
I am turgid at the thought.
We were proud veterans of Col. Clyde Rutherford for Calculus. Head shaped like a WWI Marine's hat. We thought he was the tough guy.
By contrast was little regarded softie Sol "Angle U, not angle me" Wachtel for Analytical Geometry. A pushover, we thought. Until he died. His obit told about his WWII services as an intellegence office, and POW.
Posted by: Cappy at September 7, 2006 9:34 PMSeventh grade algebra-Mr. Jergen, or Jerkin, or Jerk. Old, grizzled, high pants like all of the above. And he would pick his nose and flick the boogers onto his shoulders for us to ponder throughout the entire classtime.
He was special.
Must be why I prefered to sit in the parking lot and get high....Murry
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