Alini Brito, Allison Musacchio, anti-skank bigotry, Benedict Arnold, Brooklyn, childish sexual innuendo, Cindy Mauro, crusty old school board, evil high school janitors, French teachers, girl-on-girl action, Girls Gone Wild, Hi Mrs. Peterson!, Horndog High, Hot for Teacher, inappropriate activity, international language, James Madison High School, janitors, Judas Iscariot, lesbians, lipstick lesbians, New York, one more reason to hate the high school janitor, Penthouse Forum, prudery, skankery, skankism, skanks, Skanks in the Crosshairs, snitches, Spanish teachers, Steve Bartman, tattle-tales, teachers, teachers gone wild, the janitor knows all your secrets, treachery, utopian futures, Van Halen, Vidkun Quisling
As if further evidence were needed of the alarming rise in anti-skank sentiment across the globe, more proof comes in the form of a 2009 tragedy in suburban Brooklyn. Two young women, exemplary educators by all accounts, were publicly humiliated and then cast to the wind by a prudish school board which punished the provocative pair not for any lack of competence, but simply because they were floozies.
November 20th, 2009, began and ended for most people like any other late autumn day in New York. But for James Madison High School Spanish teacher Alini Brito and French teacher Cindy Mauro, it would signal the beginning of an anti-skank witchhunt that, when the dust cleared, would rob JMHS of not just two, but at least four talented educators.
The trouble began for Brito and Mauro when one of the school’s janitors took an inexplicable dislike to the winsome pair. The janitor’s identity has been withheld for fear that otherwise his name would rightly be counted among history’s perfidious greats, enshrined alongside such icons of infidelity as Vidkun Quisling, Benedict Arnold and Judas Iscariot.
The custodial timebomb’s opportunity for revenge came when he spotted Brito and Maruro in an unguarded moment. With their students occupied elsewhere in the school and having nothing else to do, naturally, the two language teachers began to shed their clothes and furiously grope one another. Nothing terribly out of the ordinary–it had been just another school afternoon until the janitor spied the hot polyglots.
It’s doubtful that a definitive explanation of the custodian’s motives will ever be found, although that has not stopped various sources from making the attempt, propounding a panoply of theories–a brain embolism, schizophrenia, the notion that the janitor was just plain evil. As plausible–even likely–as these theories may be, they will never be able to change the facts of this tragedy nor undo the injustice which, set in motion that day, continues inexorably to the present.
We do know that, rather than cry thanks to the Almighty for this one-time Gold Ticket opportunity to man up and acquire carnal knowledge directly from the mouths of these two educators in a sexual schooling straight from the oddly resinous pages of Penthouse Forum–or at the very least continue to lurk in the shadows while quietly pleasuring himself–the custodian was faced with a make-or-break choice and came up short. The little snitch went and told the school safety officer.
This innocent act of hot hot affection would shatter the lives of the two skanky educators; the school board quickly reassigned the star-crossed pair to separate schools. But since then, the school board’s aggressive anti-skank pogrom has claimed at least two more victims: Allison Musacchio and Lisa Gutilla.
Musacchio’s ostensible crime was having sex with an underage boy. The disgraced teacher’s lawyer counters, however, that by time the “victim” left Musacchio’s bed, he was by all accounts a man.
Gutilla’s case is even more egregious. The 37-year old physical education instructor’s world was turned upside down when the school board determined that the sexual contact she had been having with a fourteen-year-old girl was “inappropriate.” There was a time–and not so long ago–when an oddly mannish girls’ volleyball coach whose athletes squirmed under her lingering touch wasn’t an aberration–it was tradition.
The school board’s decision to rob JMHS of these caring, innovative instructors by casting them aside was callous and counterproductive. In time, with luck and with love, the four will find their respective ways in the world, able to hold their heads high. But long after their story is forgotten, the poignant lessons of Brito and Mauro’s daring, doomed love will remain, hanging in the air like chalkdust in a still classroom after the last bell has rung. Separately these professorial party girls may have taught Spanish and French, but for its brief and shining existence, their hot, groping union showed us all a little something about the international language.
We would think that two highly educated language teachers could do a better job of hiding their shenanigans. Is it wrong to expect more from cunning linguists? ∞T.
Arizona, California, Canada, Colorado, further instances of Canadian perfidy, Great Britain, James Knox Polk, Let us help!, manifest destiny, Mexico, muchas gracias, Nevada, one-termer by choice, one-termers, outright lies, Saddam Hussein, Saddam totally did it, Santa Anna, Somalia, Texas, there's a NEW Mexico?, treachery, United Kingdom, United States of America, Utah
You’ve probably heard more than once that there’s no such thing as a ‘good’ war. The sentiment driving this notion is noble, and easy enough to understand: it’s hard to take any joy from a victory when even one life has been needlessly cut short. Moreover, there is also the sad legacy of war’s victims who survive the conflict only to return to shattered, empty lives.
World War II is sometimes considered a ‘good war’ in that it very literally halted the extinction of an entire people. This view necessarily tends to discount the ugly reality that the war cost the lives of just as many people and a great deal more, but was more egalitarian in that it distributed the horrors among a variety of nations. Others consider the US’s ill-fated War of 1812 among this select group of noble atrocities, because the dream of liberating Canada from her tyrannical British masters was a righteous and Heaven-sanctioned one, despite the ingratitude and surprising unhelpfulness of the Canadian people.¹
But the little known Mexican-American War is something everyone can get behind. Having recently acquired the Independent Republic of Texas, the United States under President James Knox Polk was looking for a little more real estate. Polk had long prized such material assets as the Napa Wine Country, Camp Pendleton Marine Base and California Adventures, so America’s 11th President–and by any estimate its most effective One-Termer–set his sights on wresting the Golden State from Mexico.²
Polk was initially stymied in his efforts by that age-old bugbear of democratic republics, the notion that you can’t just go starting a war for no reason. But when it was determined that Mexico’s General Antonio López de Santa Anna (an early forerunner of future bad-guy, Adolf Hitler) was stockpiling Weapons of Mass Destruction (WMD) in the Sonora Desert, America was left with little choice but to act.
Although no WMD were ever found, the story did end happily, with the Mexicans chased all the way to Tijuana by the victorious gringos, and the Stars & Stripes lofted over the golden, rolling hills of California. However, it has so often been said that ‘a lawn does not cut itself,’ and like the storied swallows of Capistrano, in a final righting of history, the descendants of those long-ago Californios have since returned to California, bringing with them a great many friends whose ancestors had previously never been north of Michoacan.
¹ It can sometimes be so difficult to resist playing historical “What If?”. Can you imagine what a powerhouse US Hockey would be today if the Canadians had only been a little cooler in 1812? ∞ T.
² Although California was far and away the most worthwhile of the Mexican lands prized by the Americans, Manifest Destiny also demanded an expanse of lesser real estate comprising the modern states of Nevada, Arizona, New Mexico, Utah as well as parts of Texas and Colorado. ∞ T.
Ft. Wayne, Indiana–Cpl. Ricky Baker had been looking forward to his return from Afghanistan for months. After a year-long deployment in Afghanistan’s Helmand Province, Baker wanted nothing more than to enjoy the pleasures of home. Baker was met by a group of over twenty smiling friends and family members when his plane touched down at Smith Field Airport. However, notably absent among those waiting was T-Bone, Baker’s mixed breed dog.
The expected reunion between man and dog occurred at Baker’s parents’ house, where the dog had been living during the marine’s deployment. T-Bone is reported to have looked at Baker and then thumped his tail against the floor twice before going back to sleep.
baby-batter, better dead than red, bigotry, Cyros International, drunken Irishmen, gingers, ginjism, jizzmastre, Johnny Whitaker, Judas Iscariot, redheads, sorry Thorsie!, sperm bank, sperm donor, treachery
Historically, gingers have had it rough. Thought in ancient times to be possessed of sinister powers or bestial sexual urges, today’s redhead is merely regarded as a disturbing genetic anomaly. And yet, until recently, these soulless individuals enjoyed the same rights as the rest of unafflicted humanity.
Now, all that has changed, with one organization single-handedly turning back the clock on ginger rights. Cryos International, the world’s biggest sperm bank, has announced that it will no longer accept donations from redheads, as its larders are positively brimming with ginjism. The announcement was made through a representative of Cyros, who asked to remain anonymous for fear that his family might be hexed by angry gingers seeking reprisal.
According to Cyros, the decision is the result of a steeply-diminished demand for red-headed baby-batter. “In civilized, first-world countries, nobody wants a ginger around,” the Cyros rep says. He adds, “You’ve got just one country with a high demand for redheads, and that’s Ireland. And I don’t have to tell you that they’re all bombed out of their skulls.”
Drunken Irishmen aside, it appears that increasingly there are fewer places in this world that gingers can call home. Although Promethean Times understands the emotions behind Cyros’ decision–we don’t want gingers in our neighborhoods either–for society’s sake, we cannot endorse the decision to bar these Day-Glo monstrosities from donating sperm. If not provided a safe, reliable outlet for their bestial urges, we face a future where gingers will be pleasuring themselves on Main Street.
Angela's Ashes, Baseball, cock-knockers, comical despots, Dodger Blue, douchebaggery, Frank McCourt, Los Angeles Dodgers, outright lies, pure evil, short people, Smaktakula's distrust of short people, the other Frank McCourt, treachery
To the myriad awful things you already knew about loathsome Dodgers owner Frank McCourt–the greed, the douchiness, the being short– let us add one more:
Frank McCourt eats babies.
Have you heard about the new Italian rifle?
It’s never been fired and only dropped once.
Jokes like this hoary old chestnut have lately fallen out of favor because they tend to perpetuate harmful stereotypes. However, some stereotypes exist for a reason, and although generalizations by nature, are often based on solid experience.
So it is with the Italian Army, whose military prowess is mocked worldwide as less intimidating even than the French, Canadian or Kuwaiti Armies. The memory of Rome’s mastery of Western Europe, cemented by scarlet swathes of powerful and highly-disciplined legionnaires , is confined to the dim recesses of history. The Italians’ only significant victory in modern times was in 1936 over Ethiopia, and only after suffering a defeat to the African nation in 1896. Moreover, Italy shares the singular distinction of switching to the winning side in not one, but two World Wars.
But much-maligned Italian Prime Minister and orgy enthusiast Silvio Berlusconi believes he has at last found a way for the Italian Army to at least partially redeem its sullied reputation. For the second time in recent years, Berlusconi is sending troops to Naples to tackle a recurrent problem: garbage. 170 troops and 73 vehicles are being deployed to clean up the plethora of filth in the festering Italian city.
Critics charge that the PM is cynically shoring up votes ahead of the upcoming elections, as well as deflecting from allegations that he habitually retained the services of a seventeen-year-old Moroccan prostitute. However, vocal members of Berlusconi’s party disagree, denying that the troop deployment was in any way politically motivated. Said one, “Naples is a shithole, and the army needs something to do.”
Promethean Times agrees. Let the rest of the world’s armies fight the rest of the world’s wars; the Italian Army is needed at home. Plus, there’s the sad but undeniable fact that Italian forces couldn’t even take the Salvation Army, let alone a real one.
Arabs, Barack Obama, bluster, Bush Doctrine, international community, Ivory Coast, Libya, Muammar al-Gaddafi, No Fly Zone, Operation Desert Kill, Operation El Dorado Canyon, Operation Odyssey Dawn, places that suck, Prairie Dawn, President Obama, President Reagan, Ronald Reagan, that trick never works, the UN's maddening inaction in the face of genocide, treachery, Tripoli, United Nations, United States of America, unpopular wars, Vietnam
Fans of endless foreign entanglements were buoyed by the news that Jheri-curled sourpuss Muammar al-Gaddafi continues to thwart an increasingly emboldened international community. The Colonel’s luck–and the world’s legendary patience and willingness to issue a series of ridiculously ineffective threats–appear to have run out.
With the initial backing of several Arab states, a coalition of the United States and the usual suspects have begun to turn the lights out in Libya. America has always prided itself that, no matter the dubious nature or unpopularity of a conflict at home or abroad, the Superpower never attacks without a cool code name. Enter Operation Odyssey Dawn. “It just sounded neat,” said an unnamed source, “And had a little more pizzazz than ‘Operation Desert Kill.”
Still, the United States can expect some difficulties between now and the time in the vague and unknowable future that the poorly defined mission ends. Chief among these difficulties is the inconsistency of America’s Arab allies, who after initially supporting the pact, quickly pandered to anti-Americanism from their own people and began backpedaling on their support. The complete evaporation of Arab support was not anticipated for at least several more days.
Secondly, this is not the first time the United States has turned Libya into a parking lot in the hopes of punishing the rogue state. In 1986, US President Ronald Reagan authorized Operation El Dorado Canyon, and on April 15, 1986, US airpower devastated Tripoli. This action almost succeeded in vaporizing the dictator and his family, but warned by an Italian politician, Gaddafi escaped to menace the world with his nefarious schemes on a number of occasions. Will the belligerent Bedouin slip the righteous noose of Western justice once again?
Even with the world’s willingness to help, all is not well in Africa. While the international community has been quick to pummel Libya, it has yet to meet its promise to solve the months-long electoral stalemate in Ivory Coast. Despite expressing profound concern for the day-to-day plight of Ivorians, it’s not clear why the international community has not shown the same interest in the tiny, coffee and cocoa producing nation as it has in the larger, oil-rich Libya.
Black Widow, cooze, Emmanuel Lewis, Gary Coleman, Gary Coleman's widow, gold digger, living in squalor, Lynndie England, meal ticket, places that suck, Sao Paulo, schadenfreude, Shannon Price, small black actor, tabloids, The Globe, treachery, Utah, Yoko Ono
Fans of Schadenfreude were thrilled by the news that Shannon Price, best known for her half-marriage with half-man Gary Coleman, is living like a filthy animal. In Utah! It seems that the unrepentant black widow still resides in the home she mooched from her tiny meal ticket and in which she let him die, only now the home is occupied by actual black widows–also Price’s dad, her brother, several hounds and about 3,600 cubic feet of refuse.
For some, it may be instinctive to pity Ms. Price for maintaining her home like a São Paulo shanty, just as they might a hamster long untended by its keeper and forced to eat its own droppings to gain a few more precious hours of life. This charity is undeserved; anyone feeling sorry for the strawberry strumpet either ignores or has forgotten that she wasted precious minutes getting her shit together while her twitching ex-husband lay dying on the concrete floor of the laundry room. In a final indignity, she posed for pictures with Coleman on his deathbed before selling the images to the insipid British tabloid, The Globe.
Adding to the enormity of her coozehood is Price’s ridiculous claim that it would somehow upset her deceased ex-husband if he knew she was living this way. Coleman, known for his misanthropic love of trains and little else, would most likely be pained only to learn that the talentless Yoko was still living.
Although she is content for the present to live like a rodent in a urine-soaked flyfarm, Price’s future remains a mystery. The only thing anyone knows for sure is that Emmanuel Lewis isn’t returning her calls.