Tag: pornography

Super, can’t wait

On By Luther M. SilerIn Teaching2 Comments

Yesterday, as I’ve said, was a day of meetings, one of which was a more or less bog-standard staff meeting at the end of the day. One of the lines on the agenda just read “new student,” which got a bit of a raised eyebrow out of me, as that’s not normally something that’s considered a big enough deal to be with discussing at a staff meeting. Students come and go all the time, so the notion that the entire staff needed to discuss one was a sign that something not especially good was on the way.

Sometimes I hate it when I’m right.

I’ve gone back and forth a couple of times on whether I want to go into detail on how the meeting actually went, but suffice it to say that it was one of those meetings where an awful lot of reading between the lines was necessary, as for various reasons, some of them even reasonable, I think the special ed teacher and the principal both felt somewhat restricted on, shall we say, deploying the full measure of their honesty. I’m an idiot with a website who isn’t even naming the city my school is in, though, so I can be somewhat more direct.

We have a new student coming in Monday. That’s not a problem. He’s autistic. That’s also not a problem.

He’s a sex offender with litigious parents, and that very much is a problem. Two separate problems, in fact.

I am fairly certain of those last two points. Slightly less certain but still likely is that the kid is a porn addict and quite possibly a compulsive masturbator. We are required to keep an adult literally at his side for one hundred percent of the time he is in the building except when he is in the bathroom, and when he is in the bathroom he is to use either a one-seat faculty bathroom or the bathroom in the nurse’s office– he is not allowed in any of the student bathrooms under any circumstances. Furthermore, when they tell us the adult needs to be “at his side” for “100% of the time,” what that means is that if that adult happens to need the bathroom, they must get someone to come relieve them at the boy’s side before they leave the room, and it cannot be the classroom teacher. He must have his own, separate adult. He is not allowed to touch other students.

Oh, and he is to be “encouraged” to exit the bathroom immediately if he is in there for more than three minutes. There might be other explanations beyond “he’s in there jerking off,” but … well.

Dad has apparently already threatened to sue the district on more than one occasion and the boy has not started yet, nor have we managed to hire someone to be his full-time minder, so the schedules of every other special ed student in the building are getting fucked over so we can accommodate this one kid. And again, this is all conjecture, but I’ve been in teaching long enough to be able to hear people telling me without telling me. I’d bet money that the kid got caught doing something with a younger cousin or something similar. I’ve never even heard of anyone needing this level of special ed support in mainstream classes. It’s fucking ludicrous.

Luckily for me, he’s a seventh grader, so I won’t have to deal with him until next year, if he sticks around, and … well, I’ve already indulged my inner gambler, so I’m going to climb back out on that limb and suggest that he won’t last that long one way or another. He’ll either do something that justifies us expelling him or his parents will get pissed at us and yank him.

*cough*

That wasn’t on purpose.

Either way, I’m so excited about this.

In which people search

On By Luther M. SilerIn Blogwanking2 Comments

I was all ready to give up on the idea of a blog post today, and then I happened to glance at my search results, and found this gem:

What, uh, post do you think THAT little search gem led to?

Well, this one, as it turns out, on page 3 of the results, which is yet another point in favor of my theory that people don’t have any idea how the hell to use Internet searches effectively– they just type in words and then click on page after page of results no matter what those results lead to.

Just, hell, when your necrophile murderer porn fantasies lead you here, make sure to buy a book before you go.

On whiplash

On By Luther M. SilerIn Teaching2 Comments

I spent all week trying to prevent fourteen-year-old boys from looking at tits.  If you have ever known any fourteen-year-old boys, you may be aware that they rather enjoy looking at tits, and that in fact they tend to prioritize looking at tits over many other human activities, including, for example, math class.

I also had a meeting this week in which one of my students was described by someone who was not kidding as “clinically addicted” to pornography.

Then I had bibimbap for dinner.

Mmm, bibimbap.

And I ate it all.

mmmm, bibimbap

I get the weirdest search queries…

On By Luther M. SilerIn idiocy6 Comments

Screen Shot 2015-01-31 at 8.56.27 PM

On search engines

On By Luther M. SilerIn Blogwanking, idiocy3 Comments

49871196Gene’O, partially in response to my post last week about blogwanking and numbers, put up a post today over at Sourcerer about trying to drive search engine hits to their blogs.  It put me in mind of a post that I keep meaning to write and not getting around to.

This post will be filled with profanity, but not for the reason you think.  Just FYI.

Back in February I took a picture of twenty inches of snow in my front yard.  I titled the picture “Man, fuck this.”  And a hilarious search engine blip was born.  It turns out that people who are looking for gay porn (I think?) on the Internet and are, perhaps, not terribly great at constructing Google searches sometimes construct their searches by simply typing “man fuck” into Google and then clicking on everything they see.

If you look at my all-time results for hits from search engines, guys, “manfuck”– all one word– is my number one search result.  “man fuck”– two words– is number two.  Also on the list:  “manfuck.” (one word, with a period), “men fucking nen,” which I hope is a typo but is not my typo, “men to man fuck,” “man fuck other,” “manfuck man,” who is totally the worst superhero of all time, “man to man fuck,” “man to manfuck,” “man fuck man 2014,” because timeliness in your porn is important, and “manfukk.”  Also on the list, but related to different posts: “fucking at burger king,” “fuck at burgerking,” “fucker/post hole digger” (what?) “angry fukning” and “pictfamily fucked,” which I don’t think has anything to do with the historical Picts at all.

Most of the rest of my search results, and this isn’t a joke, are either about Super Why or my reblog of the “worst end of school year mom ever” post.  I repeat: this is not a joke.

And I can only guess what this post is going to do to all of those search queries.  I’m totally gonna corner the market on SEO-optimized blogs for non-internet-savvy porn searchers over here.  🙂

Three times is a pattern

On By Luther M. SilerIn Reading, Television10 Comments

You might recall my post “In which my wife destroyed my childhood– and you can too!,” wherein I discovered that the Sesame Street characters on a blanket that my grandmother had made for me and which I had owned since I was a toddler were all reading books that referenced sex or erotica.  Yes, that happened.  Go ahead, click the link.

I would just like to point out that my son and I were watching a newish Sesame Street episode this morning, and I damn near did a spit-take of my coffee during the opening bit, which featured Bert reading a book called… Fifty Shades of Oatmeal.

This shit is not an accident.  🙂

In which my wife destroyed my childhood– and you can too!

On By Luther M. SilerIn Parenting9 Comments

Both my grandmothers were crafty people.  Not in the “sneaky” sense– although at least one of them probably qualified in that sense as well– but in the sense that they liked to make stuff.  I have all sorts of stuff around the house that my maternal grandmother made, and a couple of quilts that my paternal grandmother made.

One of them, due to overuse– I literally slept under the thing for fifteen years, and it’s gotten a bit gnarly– is permanently inside a duvet cover because there’s only so long a teenage boy can sleep under the same blanket without staining occurring, no matter how diligent you are about washing the thing.  One of them had Sesame Street characters on it, and while it’s gotten dragged out when we needed extra blankets for years, it’s mostly been on ice for a couple of decades or so.

My mom, who has had custody of it for a while, gave it back to us a couple of weeks ago, since she figured the boy was likely to appreciate it.  And it’s a cute blanket– Big Bird, Grover, Cookie Monster, and Bert are on it, all reading books, and the background is the alphabet.

Again: I have had this thing since I was a toddler.  And my grandmother made it.

The blanket, right now, is– rather ignominiously, I ought to point out– being used to cover up a couple of computers that I slaved over the other day so that they’re not immediately obvious from outside our front window.  My wife walked past it this morning– all three of us were in the dining room for some reason– and said “Wow, this thing is filthy.”

“Wash it, then,” I thought, but didn’t say.  “It’s been in a bloody box for like ten years, and it’s probably 35 years old.  It’s not gonna be pristine.”

Then she points at the titles of the books that Cookie Monster and Bert are reading.  (Big Bird is reading a seeds catalog, and the title of Grover’s book is not legible, as he’s lying down on top of it.)

And, wham, just like that, childhood destroyed:

photo-2You either get it or you don’t, I think, so allow me to provide two helpful Amazon links:

http://www.amazon.com/The-Joy-Sex-Revised-Completely/dp/1400046149

and

http://www.amazon.com/Story-Translated-French-Sabine-dEstree/dp/B001A80P4W/ref=tmm_hrd_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1384612616&sr=1-2

Oh.  My.  Fucking.  God.

So, here’s the million dollar question, right?  It ain’t like Grandma designed the material from scratch.  She bought it by the yard from a bolt and then sewed the quilts together.  My mom and dad clearly never got the joke.  There’s no way; they’d have mentioned it by now.  They can’t have been waiting thirty damn years for their kid to figure it out.  And I know for damn sure neither of my parents have read The Story of O.

(I have.)

Did Grandma?

I have at least one funny story involving my grandmother buying something without checking it out completely, one I might tell later in another post, that has resulted in one of my most treasured, if inexplicable, possessions.  And she died while I was in college, so I never really got to know her as an adult.  But, y’know, I kinda remember her having a bit of a salty sense of humor.  And she was a nurse, so it’s not like she was squeamish.

(Oh god just noticed the looks on their faces)

I have moments where I intensely miss my grandparents; none of them are around any longer, and I lost my grandfather– her husband– when I was somewhere between four and six, so I never really knew him at all.  I miss my mom’s dad on interestingly regular occasions– Veteran’s Day, for example, and Christmas– his birthday.  I miss my mom’s mother whenever I pick up a book, or look at the Bunka dragon hanging over the fireplace in my family room.

My other grandma sneaks up on me.  Reliably, I miss her on my birthday– she used to always take my brother and I out for lunch and to go shopping, just the two of us, every year, until I idiotically decided I was too old for it, which probably happened sometime around high school.  But other times?  Wham.

This is a “wham” moment.  There’s literally nothing I want more right now than to be able to talk to her for five minutes to find out whether she knew what a filthy, filthy thing she had her grandsons sleeping under for years.

And I kinda hope the answer’s yes.  🙂

Gotta go.  Crying.

Two deeply depressing anecdotes

On By Luther M. SilerIn idiocy, Parenting, Teaching1 Comment

Gorilla-hungover_1370932i

Mostly depressing, at least; one of them is sorta funny because I’m an idiot and one of them has a tiiiiiny ray of humor that will force you to cackle and then feel bad about it if you have a really twisted sense of humor and are a bad person.  Which: you’re reading this, so… yeah.

My lovely wife has not been feeling well these last couple of days, so I was asked to pick the boy up from day care on my way home from work.  Normally this is her job; she drives past day care on the way to and from work so it makes a lot more sense for her to do it than me.  She also physically pays the bills for day care so the office staff knows her from that.

Me, I’m around there much less often.  I generally only pick him up or drop him off if she can’t do it, which works out to about once a month.  Lately they’ve had some turnover in their staff and apparently a couple of people who worked elsewhere at the day care have moved into his room, so my face is even less familiar to everyone than usual.  Also: I’m a big fat bearded bald guy, and I tend to scan white supremacist until my not-quite-as-obvious nerd nature takes over.

Included in the text from my wife to pick him up was the important detail that he had a box of snacks in the refrigerator and a jacket that I needed to remember to bring home.  Okay, no problem.  The jacket will be underneath his cubby.  Cool; I can handle that.  What’s the door code again?  New text with that; I’m on my way.

I let myself in, nod at the front desk people (who don’t stop me) and walk into my son’s room.  At first it’s obvious that no one in the room recognizes me and the boy is facing the other way; for some reason, rather than call out to him, I wait for him to turn around and notice me, at which point he comes running over with his arms up and the adults in the room appear to breathe somewhat of a sigh of relief.  There are hand-painted leaves hanging on strings all over the ceiling; he points these out to me and I happen to notice his.  These weren’t hanging up the last time I was in there and he seems really happy to be showing them to me.

This is the part where I’m an idiot, but keep in mind what I do for a living.  The leaf has his name and 8-23 on it.  In my line of business, when you put a date on something, that’s the date you did it.  I remark, mostly talking to him, but loudly enough that the adults in the room hear me, that that’s been hanging there for a while and I didn’t remember seeing them the last time I was there.  I then make eye contact with one of the minders and ask about the jacket.  She points out his cubby.

There are two jackets on the peg underneath his cubby.  I don’t know which one is his.  This one gets me some serious side-eye and she grabs his jacket.  Understand that I have a good reason for this:  the jacket was unearthed from the basement like two days ago and I’ve never seen him in it– because I don’t take him to day care and the way weather in Indiana works this time of year is that you have the heat on in the morning on your way to work and then have the air conditioning on on your way home.  The damn thing is effectively brand new, and since we pulled it out of a box of hand-me-downs as opposed to going out and buying it I have a perfectly good reason to be unfamiliar with it.  Hell, it’s not like he could have picked it out.

I sign him out and turn to leave and my eyes happen to fall on another leaf.  This one has a date in July on it.  And it hits me:  that’s not a turn-in date, it’s his goddamn birthday.  I know my son’s birthday, goddammit.  Even if I can’t remember exactly what time he was born anymore.  Middle of the damn night, I can tell you that.

Point is, as far as these folks are concerned, I’m the shittiest parent ever, and as far as I’m concerned I’m not a shitty parent– at least not for this– but I may not be too quick on the uptake, so it’s not like I’m coming off well to myself.

(Sidenote:  My wife and I do not have the same last name; she kept hers when we married.  The only time I ever regret this decision at all is when we’re dealing with the boy.  I don’t care if she has my last name, but I would like it if the three of us had the same last name, if that makes any sense.  Him having a different last name from her makes me look like an absentee father and I don’t like that at all.)

Anecdote the Second, the more depressing one:  I’m in the gym this morning when a couple of sixth graders, both girls, run up to me.  I know one of them fairly well, at least for a kid who’s never been in my room, and know the other one not at all.  They hand me a note that the one I don’t know found in her locker at the end of the day yesterday.

“I didn’t write it,” the one I know says, which is kinda weird because I’ve not accused her of writing it yet.

I read the note.  It may be the most obscene, sexually explicit thing I’ve ever seen in a school before.  It’s from another student– presumably, another sixth grader, who bills himself as this other girl’s secret admirer.  It begins by talking about how much he’d love to put his fat dick right into her mouth and have her suck on it for a while, and by the end of the note he’s fucking her in the ass so hard the tip of his dick is coming out of her mouth.  At the end it asks her to write back and put her response to this well-considered proposal into a nearby locker– which, as it turns out, is the locker of the second girl– thus the panic about me accusing her of having written it.  She offers to show me a sample of her handwriting; I decline the offer.

Perhaps the worst thing about this is that I genuinely can’t tell whether this note is meant to be sincere or whether the writer is trying to make fun of the girl or hurt her feelings.  It’s obviously horrifyingly inappropriate, and God how big of a fuckup as a parent do you have to be that your kid thinks it’s okay to write notes like this to someone– but what makes it worse is that I think he thinks it’s going to work.  The kid’s not trying to scare her or harass her– he may actually think this is a love note.  Which may be the most fucked-up thing I’ve ever encountered as a teacher.  Honestly, I think if it hadn’t referenced the other girl’s locker I might never have seen it.  The girl who brought it to me seemed a little grossed out but otherwise wasn’t as bothered by the note as I was.

Sixth graders.  And sixth graders in September, which is important– this is a year with a lot of development happening.  This would still be surprising in May but not nearly as much.  And, again– this note is beyond the pale even compared to the other shit I’ve confiscated over the years.

I bring the assistant principal over and hand the note over to her.  We both suspect that we can catch the culprit with the cameras; I haven’t followed up yet to find out if they caught anything.

I promised a funny part.

The last line of the note– before the “Please reply in locker blah blah” part, and right after the bit about the trans-abdominal reverse blowjob– is “If it’s okay with you.”  One sentence.  All by itself.

I’m going to fuck you in the ass, eleven-year-old, until my dick comes out of your mouth… but only if you think that’s okay.

Yeah.