This is what Moms are for: gettin' a cat to school.
The right school.
Steve Irwin Elementary, I'm home!
That's right, I walked my fluffy little butt right into those hallowed halls and straight to the Principal's office. I figured I'd be sent there for missing the first week and I had no idea of which classroom to go to. Thanks, Dad.
Mrs. Secretary walked me down to my new classroom, 'cause second-graders don't go to baby first-grader classrooms. We get to use brushes when we paint instead of our fingers, although I still have to use my paw. I can't hold sticks in my paws. That's why I don't eat Chinese food. Then again, that's probably why you never see Chinese cats: Eat or be eaten. If you can't hold a chopstick, then a chopstick will hold you. I sure hope my teacher isn't Chinese.
We walked in and I had a Mrs. Teacher. Not the same Mrs. Teacher from kindergarten, but a different Mrs. Teacher. This Mrs. Teacher is black, like my brother Tupac and my sister Stella. So I'm totally in with her. Tyler Perry rules!
Mrs. Teacher gave me a desk and I looked around to see if I saw Millie.
Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no!
Millie's not in my class this year!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrgggggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Shit.
Take a deep breath, Chicken. Maybe you can see her at recess or at lunch.
Okay, well, Jimmy the Monkey is here, which is cool. No sign of Gary the Gorilla, which is super cool. Wonda the Wombat is here, too. Mackenzie, the Poodle, check. Ollie the Octopus, good.
But who the hell are all these other kids and where were they last year?
So now I gotta get to know a whole new group of peeps.
Damn it.
Damn it all to hell!
Second grade is suckin' the big one right now, let me tell ya.
So anyway, Mrs. Black teacher said we were gonna learn about George Washington Carver. So she asked us if anyone knew who he was. I raised my paw.
"George Washington Carver is the president who chopped down the peanut tree, had false teeth, and ran our economy into the ground during the OPEC oil crisis of the Seventies."
I have never been stared at for so long in my life.
Mrs. Black Teacher sure does put her hands on her hips and roll her eyes a lot.
If I knew the real answer, I wouldn't need you to teach me, now would I?
Stupid public school system.
As soon as lunch time came, I sprinted like a fluffy bunny down to the cafeteria to see if I could find Millie. I looked around frantically. Then a light from heaven and a chorus of angels pointed the way to my beloved Meerkat.
Who was giggling and talking to some stupid boy Meerkat.
WTF?
So I went over and I said Hi, Millie. And she looked at me like she didn't know me for a second and then she said, Oh, this is my friend from Australia, Martin the Meerkat. We met when I went home for the summer to see relatives. He's going to be going to our school now, Chicken, isn't that great?
Son of a bitch.
Well, let me tell ya. This second grade thing is not workin' out so well for yours truly.
I have no idea what we learned the second half of the day. The only thing I learned was that I was going to win my woman back, no matter what it takes. Martin is going down, back down under, that stupid arrogant Aussie piece of Veggemite crap.
She will be mine. Oh yes, she will be mine.
After I do my homework....
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Second Grade, again, maybe?
Well, it's official: Dad is on my list.
After my Mom yanked me out of Catholic school (maybe 'cause they serve wine instead of white milk), I was all ready to get back to Steve Irwin Elementary.
Of course, Dad had to screw it up again.
I think 'cause my Dad is hooked on the new version of "90210" (even though it doesn't have Tori Spelling, which is okay, 'cause Dad watches her on the Oxygen Channel's "Tori and Dean.") he must have gotten confused between reality and the super sexy world of teen TV.
Although I'm only four years old, my Dad dropped me off at Sunnydale High.
Do I look like a slayer?
Well, I figured, if most American teenagers think that the Gettysburg Address is where Lincoln lived, then I should be able to handle it.
My first class is called Home Room, but it didn't look like my home. There weren't any kibble dishes on the floor, potty boxes in the corner, or Dad passed out on a couch. When they called attendance, the teacher asked if I preferred to be called Chicken or did I go by something else? So I told her that my Mom and Dad called me Chick-Chick, Chicken Pot Pie, Pot Pie, Chicken Little, Chicken Orville (but only when I'm in trouble), but if I could be called anything, I want to be called Buck Rogers. He was cool, drove a cool spaceship, and got to be with the chick from "Silver Spoons" so he probably got to ride that cool train that went through the living room. On the downside, he probably had to share with Ricky Schroeder. Or Rick. Or whatever the hell he goes by today.
Then one mean kid said, "sure, we'll call you Buck. Buck Naked! Look everybody, he's not wearin' any pants!" And they all laughed at me, but I just turned the other cheek, like Mr. Brady said you should with bullies.
And then I peed on his backpack.
I had a math class next. Did you know they don't use flashcards in high school? They should 'cause they were gettin' their numbers and their letters all mixed up. Since when is "X" a number? Was I gonna learn anything here?
So off I went to social studies. Only studies I saw were kids checkin' out other kids. The teacher said we were gonna learn about elections, and I said I didn't like that movie 'cause even though Tracey Flick made cupcakes, she was really mean. And what happened to Ferris Beuller? He was soooo cool. The teacher said we had to do a pretend vote but "American Idol" isn't on right now, so I was confused. And we had to do it with paper and pencil. How do you vote without a phone or texting? Geesh, this was weird.
Next, I had English. I decided to skip that class since that's what I speak and I didn't have to learn it. Instead, I took a nap in the teacher's lounge. It has a sofa that my Dad isn't passed out on.
Then it was time for lunch.
White milk! Score!!!!!!!
When I was eatin' my lunch all these cute girls came over and asked if they could pet me and they were real nice so I let them and then I got all tingly like when you climb the rope in gym class.
Ooh, gym class is next. But I didn't get to climb the rope, which I'm really good at 'cause I'm a cat. Instead, we played badminton, which didn't go so well. I was told to sit out after I ate the birdie.
So then it was time for science class. My teacher said we were going to talk about torque. I think I might have misunderstood 'cause when the teacher asked for volunteers to help with an experiment, I raised my paw, went to the front of the class, and horked.
I was sent to the nurse's office where they called my Mom to come get me.
So the next day, my Mom made it clear that Dad was NOT to take me to school but I was to have my brother, Po take me.
Po said that the American Public School System was in tatters and I would be better off in a more progressive learning environment. So he took me to this school called Monty Sorry. We had a teacher who had granola stuck in his beard and wore socks with sandals (like my Dad does when he drives his Volvo). His name was Mr. Teacher, but he said we should call him Buddy. He said we were gonna learn whatever I wanted to learn about, so I told him I wanted to learn about the inner-psyche conflict posed by Freud concerning the Id, Super Id and the Ego through careful analysis of Western Philosophical writing during the Enlightenment.
And where kibble comes from.
We got to take recess breaks whenever we wanted and we didn't need permission to go potty. We got white milk (score, again!) and we got to pick out a story for story time. I chose "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" 'cause caterpillars are the Transformers of the insect world, and that sure makes them cool. Moth than meets the eye!
I sure liked this school but I miss my friends and I want to go back to Steve Irwin Elementary and the Fighting Zookeepers. Those are my homies, and I need to be rollin' with them real soon. So tomorrow I'm gonna walk if I have to, but I'm gonna make it back to Millie.
A journey of a thousand miles begins with one paw. But my school is only a few blocks away, so I should be able to get there no problem.
Millie, I'm coming! Look out second grade, the Chicken is back!
After my Mom yanked me out of Catholic school (maybe 'cause they serve wine instead of white milk), I was all ready to get back to Steve Irwin Elementary.
Of course, Dad had to screw it up again.
I think 'cause my Dad is hooked on the new version of "90210" (even though it doesn't have Tori Spelling, which is okay, 'cause Dad watches her on the Oxygen Channel's "Tori and Dean.") he must have gotten confused between reality and the super sexy world of teen TV.
Although I'm only four years old, my Dad dropped me off at Sunnydale High.
Do I look like a slayer?
Well, I figured, if most American teenagers think that the Gettysburg Address is where Lincoln lived, then I should be able to handle it.
My first class is called Home Room, but it didn't look like my home. There weren't any kibble dishes on the floor, potty boxes in the corner, or Dad passed out on a couch. When they called attendance, the teacher asked if I preferred to be called Chicken or did I go by something else? So I told her that my Mom and Dad called me Chick-Chick, Chicken Pot Pie, Pot Pie, Chicken Little, Chicken Orville (but only when I'm in trouble), but if I could be called anything, I want to be called Buck Rogers. He was cool, drove a cool spaceship, and got to be with the chick from "Silver Spoons" so he probably got to ride that cool train that went through the living room. On the downside, he probably had to share with Ricky Schroeder. Or Rick. Or whatever the hell he goes by today.
Then one mean kid said, "sure, we'll call you Buck. Buck Naked! Look everybody, he's not wearin' any pants!" And they all laughed at me, but I just turned the other cheek, like Mr. Brady said you should with bullies.
And then I peed on his backpack.
I had a math class next. Did you know they don't use flashcards in high school? They should 'cause they were gettin' their numbers and their letters all mixed up. Since when is "X" a number? Was I gonna learn anything here?
So off I went to social studies. Only studies I saw were kids checkin' out other kids. The teacher said we were gonna learn about elections, and I said I didn't like that movie 'cause even though Tracey Flick made cupcakes, she was really mean. And what happened to Ferris Beuller? He was soooo cool. The teacher said we had to do a pretend vote but "American Idol" isn't on right now, so I was confused. And we had to do it with paper and pencil. How do you vote without a phone or texting? Geesh, this was weird.
Next, I had English. I decided to skip that class since that's what I speak and I didn't have to learn it. Instead, I took a nap in the teacher's lounge. It has a sofa that my Dad isn't passed out on.
Then it was time for lunch.
White milk! Score!!!!!!!
When I was eatin' my lunch all these cute girls came over and asked if they could pet me and they were real nice so I let them and then I got all tingly like when you climb the rope in gym class.
Ooh, gym class is next. But I didn't get to climb the rope, which I'm really good at 'cause I'm a cat. Instead, we played badminton, which didn't go so well. I was told to sit out after I ate the birdie.
So then it was time for science class. My teacher said we were going to talk about torque. I think I might have misunderstood 'cause when the teacher asked for volunteers to help with an experiment, I raised my paw, went to the front of the class, and horked.
I was sent to the nurse's office where they called my Mom to come get me.
So the next day, my Mom made it clear that Dad was NOT to take me to school but I was to have my brother, Po take me.
Po said that the American Public School System was in tatters and I would be better off in a more progressive learning environment. So he took me to this school called Monty Sorry. We had a teacher who had granola stuck in his beard and wore socks with sandals (like my Dad does when he drives his Volvo). His name was Mr. Teacher, but he said we should call him Buddy. He said we were gonna learn whatever I wanted to learn about, so I told him I wanted to learn about the inner-psyche conflict posed by Freud concerning the Id, Super Id and the Ego through careful analysis of Western Philosophical writing during the Enlightenment.
And where kibble comes from.
We got to take recess breaks whenever we wanted and we didn't need permission to go potty. We got white milk (score, again!) and we got to pick out a story for story time. I chose "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" 'cause caterpillars are the Transformers of the insect world, and that sure makes them cool. Moth than meets the eye!
I sure liked this school but I miss my friends and I want to go back to Steve Irwin Elementary and the Fighting Zookeepers. Those are my homies, and I need to be rollin' with them real soon. So tomorrow I'm gonna walk if I have to, but I'm gonna make it back to Millie.
A journey of a thousand miles begins with one paw. But my school is only a few blocks away, so I should be able to get there no problem.
Millie, I'm coming! Look out second grade, the Chicken is back!
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
First Day of Second Grade
Well, summer's over and the time has come for little old Chicken to go to the second grade. I was excited to see all my old friends again, especially Millie.
But Dad totally screwed that up.
My Dad was supposed to take me to my first day of second grade at Steve Irwin Elementary. I had all the stuff to make me the coolest kid in the class: Hannah Montana lunchbox, Batman backpack, glitter glue, Trapper Keeper with a picture of the Jonas Brothers on it. My friends were gonna be soooo jealous 'cause I had all the best stuff.
But Dad screwed that up.
I know my Dad is old and crusty and forgets things. Sure, he's had some health problems, but I think he took one too many painkillers before driving me to my first day.
He dropped me off at St. Explosious Catholic School.
Before I could stop him, Dad drove away towards the local Walgreens and I was stuck at a school where I didn't know anybody. No Jimmy the Monkey, no Mackenzie the Poodle, no Wonda the Wombat, and no Millie the Meerkat.
Son of a Bitch!
So this woman, dressed up in the Catholic version of a bur qua (they call themselves Nuns or Wives Of God. So does that mean that Mormons really are the true religion 'cause God is a polygamist?), took me to my classroom.
My new teacher's name is Sister Christian, and my time has come, and I know 'cause I'm the only one. It's true! I'm the only one who doesn't have a blue blazer and khakis. Stupid uniforms. Cat's hate pants. We are fond of hats, though. Boots, too.
So Sister Christian told us the story of St. Explosious. He's the patron saint of suicide bombers, farts, fireworks, indigestion, spark plugs, Jimmy Walker, and pre-1990s cartoons. Then teacher asked us about what we thought God was. Thank goodness I don't have knuckles 'cause teacher sure didn't like my answer: There is no God, God is dead, so says Nietzche in "Also Spake Zarathustra," the penultimate tome on existentialism.
Sister Christian asked if I was Catholic, and I said no, I'm a house cat, and she said I would need to be baptised and confirmed. Well, let me tell you somethin', Sister, I do NOT get wet and I'll confirm that by gouging out your eyes when you try and get me anywhere near the baptismal fount. I will unleash the stigmata on you and your hands, eyes and feet will bleed so that you believe what I say.
Why couldn't Dad have dropped me off at an Egyptian school? I would have been revered like a god, just like C-3PO in "Return of the Jedi."
You would think that Catholics would like cats. It's in the name, for Pete's sake. CATholic, CATechism, InvoCATion. But, no. The Catholics like boxing, drinking whiskey, lighting candles, murmuring, and playing football. You'd think they'd like me 'cause I'm pale, red-headed, and always scrapping for a fight. They might be coming around. I was asked to be an altar boy. They said I would get petted a lot and I sure do like to get petted. So I was sent down to meet Father Goose.
He told me that the role of the altar boy was simple. I light some candles and hold the plate of wafers for him during church. First off, cats are afraid of fire, and besides that, I was told not to play with matches. And those wafers sure don't look like Nilla Wafers. Father Goose told me if I did my job good, he'd take me to his office so that he could pet me lots and he wouldn't have to share me with anyone, just me and him, alone, in his office, getting petted, a lot.
Father Goose sure seems nice. He even offered me a popsicle.
But I had to get back to my class or else Sister Christian would beat me senseless with a ruler.
There were some weird kids in my class. Mick the Mastiff, Siobhan the Sheep, Shannon the Sheep, Sean the Sheep, Seamus the Sheep, Guido the Goat, Giuseppe the Greyhound, Dominic the Donkey, and Ant'ny the Anchovy. I sat next to the sheep. Mastiffs, Mafia, and meow-meows don't mix.
Did you know that Jesus on the Cross is not a plaything and should not be used as an action figure during recess?
Sister Christian cannot fly.
Our homework assignment is to go home and read Genesis. Call me a cheater, but I think I'll just listen to their best album, "Invisible Touch" instead. Pretty apropo. I AM in the Land of Cunfusion.
Actually, I'm hoping my brother Po will take me to my real school tomorrow. I miss my friends. And I sure don't want to read the Bible. It's not a pop-up book, there are no car chases. If I want to read about a carpenter, I'll take on the Bob The Builder Golden Books collection.
We had to say a prayer before we left for the day. I prayed that I could go back to my real school. Steve Irwin is my god and I want to worship in his temple of paste and dodgeballs. Catholic school is like prison. Uniforms, glorification of torture (who really wants to look at a guy being mutilated on a cross wearing a crown of thorns with blood all over his face, nails in his hands and feet, bone-thin, half-naked, a look of absolute agony on is face? Real nice learning environment, geesh!), rampant alcoholism (they give kids wine!). No way. I want to go back to my daily dose of white milk, macaroni art, and Millie.
Peace be with you? I'll be at peace once I'm back to Steve Irwin Elementary passing love notes to Millie and watching Jimmy shoot spitballs at the back of teacher's head. Now that's what I call school! I just hope I don't end up in Mr. Principal's office for missing the first day. If I do, then you better sleep with one eye open, Dad!
Amen
But Dad totally screwed that up.
My Dad was supposed to take me to my first day of second grade at Steve Irwin Elementary. I had all the stuff to make me the coolest kid in the class: Hannah Montana lunchbox, Batman backpack, glitter glue, Trapper Keeper with a picture of the Jonas Brothers on it. My friends were gonna be soooo jealous 'cause I had all the best stuff.
But Dad screwed that up.
I know my Dad is old and crusty and forgets things. Sure, he's had some health problems, but I think he took one too many painkillers before driving me to my first day.
He dropped me off at St. Explosious Catholic School.
Before I could stop him, Dad drove away towards the local Walgreens and I was stuck at a school where I didn't know anybody. No Jimmy the Monkey, no Mackenzie the Poodle, no Wonda the Wombat, and no Millie the Meerkat.
Son of a Bitch!
So this woman, dressed up in the Catholic version of a bur qua (they call themselves Nuns or Wives Of God. So does that mean that Mormons really are the true religion 'cause God is a polygamist?), took me to my classroom.
My new teacher's name is Sister Christian, and my time has come, and I know 'cause I'm the only one. It's true! I'm the only one who doesn't have a blue blazer and khakis. Stupid uniforms. Cat's hate pants. We are fond of hats, though. Boots, too.
So Sister Christian told us the story of St. Explosious. He's the patron saint of suicide bombers, farts, fireworks, indigestion, spark plugs, Jimmy Walker, and pre-1990s cartoons. Then teacher asked us about what we thought God was. Thank goodness I don't have knuckles 'cause teacher sure didn't like my answer: There is no God, God is dead, so says Nietzche in "Also Spake Zarathustra," the penultimate tome on existentialism.
Sister Christian asked if I was Catholic, and I said no, I'm a house cat, and she said I would need to be baptised and confirmed. Well, let me tell you somethin', Sister, I do NOT get wet and I'll confirm that by gouging out your eyes when you try and get me anywhere near the baptismal fount. I will unleash the stigmata on you and your hands, eyes and feet will bleed so that you believe what I say.
Why couldn't Dad have dropped me off at an Egyptian school? I would have been revered like a god, just like C-3PO in "Return of the Jedi."
You would think that Catholics would like cats. It's in the name, for Pete's sake. CATholic, CATechism, InvoCATion. But, no. The Catholics like boxing, drinking whiskey, lighting candles, murmuring, and playing football. You'd think they'd like me 'cause I'm pale, red-headed, and always scrapping for a fight. They might be coming around. I was asked to be an altar boy. They said I would get petted a lot and I sure do like to get petted. So I was sent down to meet Father Goose.
He told me that the role of the altar boy was simple. I light some candles and hold the plate of wafers for him during church. First off, cats are afraid of fire, and besides that, I was told not to play with matches. And those wafers sure don't look like Nilla Wafers. Father Goose told me if I did my job good, he'd take me to his office so that he could pet me lots and he wouldn't have to share me with anyone, just me and him, alone, in his office, getting petted, a lot.
Father Goose sure seems nice. He even offered me a popsicle.
But I had to get back to my class or else Sister Christian would beat me senseless with a ruler.
There were some weird kids in my class. Mick the Mastiff, Siobhan the Sheep, Shannon the Sheep, Sean the Sheep, Seamus the Sheep, Guido the Goat, Giuseppe the Greyhound, Dominic the Donkey, and Ant'ny the Anchovy. I sat next to the sheep. Mastiffs, Mafia, and meow-meows don't mix.
Did you know that Jesus on the Cross is not a plaything and should not be used as an action figure during recess?
Sister Christian cannot fly.
Our homework assignment is to go home and read Genesis. Call me a cheater, but I think I'll just listen to their best album, "Invisible Touch" instead. Pretty apropo. I AM in the Land of Cunfusion.
Actually, I'm hoping my brother Po will take me to my real school tomorrow. I miss my friends. And I sure don't want to read the Bible. It's not a pop-up book, there are no car chases. If I want to read about a carpenter, I'll take on the Bob The Builder Golden Books collection.
We had to say a prayer before we left for the day. I prayed that I could go back to my real school. Steve Irwin is my god and I want to worship in his temple of paste and dodgeballs. Catholic school is like prison. Uniforms, glorification of torture (who really wants to look at a guy being mutilated on a cross wearing a crown of thorns with blood all over his face, nails in his hands and feet, bone-thin, half-naked, a look of absolute agony on is face? Real nice learning environment, geesh!), rampant alcoholism (they give kids wine!). No way. I want to go back to my daily dose of white milk, macaroni art, and Millie.
Peace be with you? I'll be at peace once I'm back to Steve Irwin Elementary passing love notes to Millie and watching Jimmy shoot spitballs at the back of teacher's head. Now that's what I call school! I just hope I don't end up in Mr. Principal's office for missing the first day. If I do, then you better sleep with one eye open, Dad!
Amen
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