Bacon Hoarders Beware

You have to realize that I am taking the whole swine flu (Mexican flu if you live in Israel) with a bit of humor. There are plenty of reasons for it, but first and foremost, the 1918 Flu Pandemic was a real bitch.
If you want a ball squashing, head crunching disease, this stuff was it.

Could be up to 100 million dead from it. That is one nasty piece of work.
Take a look at the the swine flu. Most of the dead are in Mexico. Nothing personal, but Mexico aspires to be a third world nation on  most days. Anything that is deadly to under nourished people stuffed into a Mexican ghetto probably is not going to wipe out 100 million people.
We should probably ask India how they feel. They lost upwards of 17 million people in 1918-1919.

Now I am not totally disregarding this stuff. It is the flu. It is a nasty thing.
But be warned. The child that died from it here in Houston had a  history of respiratory problems since birth. That means a child with medical issues was a bad choice to get this stuff. The flu is bad enough on children, but it was really no fair that this little one had to catch this crap.

So where am I going with this? Despite the "EMERGENCY" I do not see the need to run in circles screaming that the sky is falling. Acting like that is going to lead to bad, bad, bad things for everyone.

If you crazy panicked bastards drive up the price of bacon I am going to go completely Biblical on your asses. I cannot and will not live without bacon. I REFUSE.

So take precautions. Wash your hands. Cover your mouths when you cough. Cover your noses when you sneeze. Slather yourself in hand sanitizer and wash in boiling bleach, but LEAVE MY BACON ALONE.
I am serious about this one.

 

So know your enemy. Look long and hard at the influenza virus. There is no cure, but you can beat this little shit. Just leave the pigs alone. They aspire to become bacon and I aspire to eat them.

If you are really scared, leave all the bacon to me. I will dispose of  myself. I promise.

The Road to the White House

Boris Karloff (William Henry Pratt)

Cary Grant (Archibald Alexander Leach)

Dean Martin (Dino Crocetti)

Fred Astaire (Frederick Austerlitz)

Greta Garbo (Greta Lovisa Gustafsson)

Joan Crawford (Lucille Fay LeSueur)

Kirk Douglas (Issur Danielovitch Demsky)

Rock Hudson (Roy Harold Scherer Jr.)

Tony Curtis (Bernard Schwartz)

John Wayne (Marion Robert Morrison)

After looking through the list above I realized that a lot of famous people use stage names of one sort or another. A few days ago I asked everyone how they felt about me going with a pirate theme for my public image and it seemed to meet with decent approval.

Since I may be considering a run for public office, I figured that not only would I need a new professional look I would also need a new name. Not only would I be able to look the look of a professional scumbag, but I need a name that inspires awe.

So far the front runner for my new political name is Imperax the Fornicator.

Imagine my campaign slogan if I ran for county commissioner: “Craig Doyle is a nice guy, but wants nice? I will crush your enemies, drive them before me, hear the lamentation of their women, and pave your fucking roads.”

Just imagine that in a local debate with me in a pirate suit and refusing to recognize anyone who did not address me properly as “IMPERAX THE FORNICATOR.”

Now you are getting the picture.

Not only will the normal people fear me because I come of as ten kinds of crazy in a five crazy bag, but the crazy folks will dig my approach to politics.

So all hail IMPERAX THE FORNICATOR. I may start small, but look for me in a national election sometime. Trust me, I do not believe in political correctness of any sort.

Going to the Doctor

 

This is go week on my job. Friday is the state test for my subject area and we are running around at a full tilt boogie to make sure everything goes smoothly.   Since I have been buried with random allergy attacks since mid December I finally gave in today and went to see my doctor. I knew how the drill was going to go, but I had to get my shit together so I can survive this week.

The first thing I knew I had to tell him was about my eye. Part of me wanted to explain my theory that Karl Rove had moved in, but then my Dr. would have called for orderlies and sedated me, in a bad way. 

So I go in and we begin the dance.

Dr: "What is wrong Mr. Doom Cake?"

Me: "Well, lets see.... Allergies doc. Allergies."

Dr: "This has been a bad allergy season."

Me: "Cure me doc. Cure me now."

Of course I walk out with a ton of meds that I will put to good use. When you feel like I do for four months then you would probably eat boiled cow crap if you thought you would wake up feeling half decent.

The only thing that disappointed me with this trip was what always disappoints me when I visit the fine man that is my doctor. He did not prescribe a healthy does of strippers, bacon, and booze.  Just once I want this man to tell me that I need to be transported to a strip club ASAP with an IV of vodka to be administered in the ambulance. Just one prescription of that sort and I would never question this man again.  I would not even put off visiting him like I do now.

So I will deal with my allergies the old fashioned way for now. I will trust my doctor and his judgment. If I do not feel better by the end of the week I am going to self medicate myself with a bacon sandwich, a six pack of beer, and some good net porn.

A Poll

 

Just a poll for my lucky readers.

Is this the look I should sport when attending all official meetings? Seriously, I need a look to use when I go to things like school board meetings, State board of education meetings, and other official functions.

I am leaning toward the whole "Jack Sparrow" pirate look?

Opinions? What do you think?

One of the reoccuring discussions that seem to hit us at lunch time is the exact difference between a slut and a whore. Before you start asking, yes it is usually caused by students getting caught doing something of questionable moral character.  Of course the ladies seem to be rather touchy about this subject, so I decided to settle it once and for all, DOOM CAKE style.

Whore - (Prostitute) - someone who provides sexual favors for pay. Also the world's oldest profession.

Slut - a woman who performs sexual favors for the hell of it. Someone who gives it away for free.

I am not sure why it is so hard for folks to wrap their heads around the difference, but to me it is rather simple. Whores are business women and sluts are women with loose morals.  I prefer sluts because they are free, but I am cheap that way.

So now that it is cleared up.....

Exorcism

 

This is my right eyeball. All weekend I had the sneaking suspicion that Satan had taken up residence inside of it because of the way it itched, watered, turned red, and was almost swollen shut. All of these are classic signs of demonic possession or some nasty allergy attack.

Of course when I wanted to have the priest at Mass on Sunday pry my eye out of its socket with his crucifix and pour boiling holy water into the socket, the missus was a bit angry with me. I begged that if I could not ask the priest to do it, at least let me talk to the deacon. I know the deacon who drives the jacked up monster truck would have no problems with performing a holy ritual on my damned eyeball. As usual the missus did not relent so I had to go home and suffer through another day of burning, itching possessed eyeball.

Now I do have eye drops, but I left them in my desk at work like the true genius that I am. In defense of the missus, she offered to go buy me some more yesterday, but I would have none of it. Why buy more when I had a perfectly good bottle locked in my desk? Especially after my idea of having an exorcism performed on my eyeball was spurned as "Stupid?"

So after a horrible day and night I woke up this morning with the eyeball you see above. It was then that I realized that it was not Satan, but Karl Rove who had possessed my right eyeball. I cannot explain how that evil bastard got in there, but it is him, I can feel it.

So today I am going expose my eyeball to the cleansing rays of the sun and pour boiling bourbon on it.  Both of which are well known as cures for Rove Possession.  The only thing that bothers me is that my left eye is acting up too. I think Dick Cheney has set up shop there. This is going to be a long week. 

A Thought

A Rainy Day

“Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.”

I was driving home today when the cell phone rang. I knew it was not missus, she had already told me to stop driving like an ass and get off the phone. My next reaction to the unknown number was that was a telemarketer who needed some verbal sodomy put down on him. Boy, was I wrong.

It was one of my former student teachers. Not my most recent, but one from several years ago. This poor soul had just taken a teaching job and was getting eaten alive. The 7th graders had been regulated to substitutes all year and the student teacher was the first real teacher they had encountered.

They were eating student teacher for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. They wanted nothing the student teacher had to offer and believe me, this person knew how to bring the evil, at least in theory. The problem was that the kids were not responding to the dark side, so the student teacher called me, the master.

Normally I would have advised the student teacher to grab one of them by the throat and squeeze till the kid stopped twitching. After that body got tossed in the hall, the rest of those little shits would have gotten in line. Instead, I went deep into my Master Yoda Teaching Tricks and put it out there for my former padawan;

Me: "Stop the evil shit. No more punishing them."

ST: Dead silence then, "What?"

Me: "Reward them when they do what you want. Fluff them up and make them feel all warm and fuzzy. Make them think you love them. Bend them to your will with happiness."

ST: "Will it work? They are evil little shits."

Me: "It will work, but if not, you have my number. Trust me on this."

I sure hope it works. I am not sure how I channeled the weird Oprah/Yoda combo in the middle of driving, but it sounded good, if not strange. Going all kind on their asses is a terrible mind fuck. A jedi mind trick of the worst kind.

Yeah, I do not need no stinkin books on classroom management. I got a bag full of Jedi Mind tricks that these kids have never seen.

Banned For Life

For those of you who have no clue, this is Carlton Fisk. In my youth I used to watch him when he played for the Whitesox at the end of his career. I loved watching him because he was old as dirt, but damned hard to get out. I do not think that I ever saw him take three pitches then sit down. Carlton would foul off a dozen balls or so before he got to get on base or sit down. He was one tough son of a bitch and baseball could use a few more like him today.

The reason that I bring him up is that Easter weekend always causes my wife's family to get together and eventually the family softball game begins. I began my softball career in college when we played coed softball sponsored by my college. I weighed in at about 120 pounds soaking wet, had all the coordination of a drunk on an ether binge, and I could get on base every fucking time I got up to bat.

On my team that meant I was a worthless sack of shit. I could not play the outfield because I would trip over my feet and drop balls. My batting was suspect because despite getting on base every time I went up to the plate, I could barely hit the ball out of the infield on a good day. So what did they do with me?
I got to play catcher.
Yeah, you read that right.
No one else was stupid enough to squat behind the plate and since I showed up to most games drunk, it was perfect for me.
I was a damn good catcher.
I was an even better drunk catcher.
I was the best drunken batter of all time.

As a batter I had a great strategy. I saw the ball and always put the bat on it. I did not have the strength to do much except for drive it into the ground just in front of the batter's box. Bunting was illegal, but a full on swing and hit that acted like a bunt was fair. Did I say I was fast? I could leg any infield out.

My other tactic was to drive it back at the pitcher. Wind up with all my freakin power and drive it right back at their heads. Believe me when I tell you that not many pitchers tried to catch them, they just dove out of the way as I laughed and sprinted for first base. I may have played drunk, but I understood how to win.

Which brings me to the family easter softball game.
About four years ago I got to play.
They let me hang in the outfield (I more coordinated these days).
When it was my time to bat I was in heaven. I am bigger. I am stronger, and on that day just as drunk as my college days.
I drove the pitch from Grandpa toward second base and took off. I knew the throw was going to be close so I slid into first.

Distant Cousin by Marriage is blocking the bag and I take him out with my slide. He flips into the air like some sort of screaming crack head, lands on his side and rolls like barrel of cheap whiskey. I am laughing, slobbering, and doing my victory dance as I stand on first base.

Distant Cousin is lying on the ground moaning like he is in labor. Initial inspection reveals that he is bruised and missing a toenail on his big toe. Too bad. The bag was mine. I was safe. He out of the game. Later whining supposedly reveals that he not only lost a toenail, but he also had cracked ribs. Man should not have blocked off the base.

Fast forward to this last Sunday. Distant Cousin is at Easter again. The family softball game starts up. Of course I banned myself after my victory dance on firstbase so I have never taken the field again. My first fear is that he is going to all crazy and talk shit again. At which point I am going to have to take the field and put him down again, HARD this time.

Distant cousin does not play. He is the umpire. At one point he tries to be witty and makes a snide comment about how I should go get him a beer because of the way I hurt him in the game years ago. I smile. I laugh. I want to pull his heart out through is mouth.
I go get the beer. My mother in law scowls at me as I return and hand him the beer. As I sit down I she leans forwards and whispers "Did you spit in that beer?"

I laugh. She knows me. It is too apparent just what I am capable of doing, but I tell the truth; "I did not even open it, I could not spit in it. I licked the top though."

Yeah folks, I always get the last laugh.

Congrats

Here is a big round of applause for the Navy SEALS and the United States's Navy for a job well done. 

In case everyone has forgotten, the best way to deal with pirates is to shoot them in the head. Even Thomas Jefferson realized this and fought long and hard to put the Barbery Pirates down in his day. 

Negotiating with this type of scum is outrageous. They keep going because they are succesful and hopefully they got the message that their future sucess will hopefully be limited. 

So more power to the Navy and the SEALs. Kicking ass and taking names is the only way to deal with pirate scum.

Somolia my Ass

Buzzwords in Public Education

Just a Warning

The next adult who tells me in a fervent tone of voice, with a glazed, hate filled look in their eyes that President Obama is the anti-christ is in trouble. I am going to punch them in the throat with one hand while I rip their still beating heart out of their chests with my other hand. Then I am going to piss on their heart as they watch.

Fuck you and your hatred. Fuck you and your love for Shrub the Idiot that was King. My form of Jihad is going to hurt like a mother fucker, so beware.

Smiling is Like Running up The Skull and Cross Bones

One of the few things I do and do well as a teacher is classroom management. Discipline is not an issue at all for me. I set high standards and expectations in my room from day 1. My expectations are made clear to parents and students and there is no wiggle room. It is my way or the teacher fu comes out of the can.

I am not saying my kids do not push the boundaries at times, but over all they UNDERSTAND how to act. We go down the hall for fire drills in a single file QUIET line.

I have stepped into the hall many times to talk to a teacher or principal and when the class change bell rings, not a single child leaves me door. The conversation goes something like the usually;

Teacher: "Didn't the bell just ring?"

Me: "Yes."

Teacher: "Are your kids going to leave?"

Me: "Not till I dismiss them."

At which time I lean into the room dismiss the kids (all are seated) and THEN they leave. I set a high standard. Those who belong to Mr. Doom Cake will behave as Humans OR ELSE. Very seldom do I have to tread the path of  OR ELSE with my students.

Today, I had to.
This student is trouble for everyone, but me. We have this special student teacher relationship. She does her job and I leave her alone. No fuss, no trouble, all is good. UNTIL TODAY.

This student would not shut up. I kept trying to teach, she kept being a severe butt head. I walked over and quietly asked her  to stop. She kept going. I stood there and taught. She kept going. I finally leaned over and asked her to meet me in the hall. She looked at me with defiance in her eyes.

Student: "I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG!" (yes she yelled).

Me: "In the hall, now!!!" 

Yeah, big problem. They know that when I do not ask, then the shit is on. Most kids buckle at the order part and all is back to normal. Not today.

Student: "I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG. I AM NOT GOING OUT THERE!!"

I cock my head to one side and grin from ear to ear. The other kids scatter. Some dive under tables. Some crawl under book shelves. One of them folded himself up and crawled inside his three ring binder.

As one student said this year: "When he smiles, it is usually something very painful for us."

I do not yell. I do not scream. I smile. I bring the evil with a grin. Once I lay down the law I can always finish off with; "But I said it with a smile, now didn't I?"

I walk to the phone. I dial the assistant principal.

AP: "Yes?"

Me: "This is Mr. Doom Cake. Allie needs removed from my room. She will not comply with my requests."

AP: "On my way."

Remember the part about how I do not have a lot of discipline issues? When the AP gets a call like that, shit happens. I do not call for back up unless someone is close to getting some serious bad mojo brought down on them. I am pretty sure the powers that be wonder and fear what would exactly happen if I did have to get evil and mean in a serious way, but they really do not want to find out.

Needless, the AP arrives, removes the yelling kid and I continue with my lesson. I am talking, laughing, and conducting business as usual as my favorite student is removed from my room. While my other students crawl out from under tables and bookcases, life returns to normal. As soon as they get to a point where they can work without me, I am on the phone again.

Did I tell you that I ALWAYS call home fast? It is a real pain, but putting the Nice Teacher voice on and explaining how dissappointed I was that my favorite student acted this way works wonders. Not only are the offenders in deep crap at school, but by the time they get home mom or dad wants to donate a kidney if I ever need one and the child is going to realize just how much of a Jedi Mind Trick I put on their parents.

I do not play fair. I play to win. That is why situations like I had today are rare. VERY rare in my room.
When I bring the smile, then it is GAME ON PUNK.

Beware the Death Ray

 

Well, here it is. This is my newest toy. If you pay close attention to my horrible photo, you will notice that there is no death ray button, YET.

See, I have this really nice friend who is way above my pay grade. I think her yearly bonus is more than my yearly pay if you get the picture.  She sent this too me as a present. Some people might think it is her way of telling me that she is far richer than I will ever be, but I know the truth.

First, a North Korean missile "fails" and falls into the ocean. My ass. I am pretty sure that my friend dropped some hard American Dollars on North Korea and for $50 she got a special death ray satellite launched for me. Then, just a few days later this little beauty shows in at the house.

I get the picture. Yeah, I am poor and my friend is not. Yeah, I cannot afford to pay off the North Koreans or Apple.

When the "Death Ray" program mysteriously appears in the Ipod App Store then you are all going to know what real FEAR feels like. I am going to blasting people by the dozen, just wait.

And to my buddy with the big dollars who engraved the back of my ipod with the message "Damn, I'm good looking and smart . . . . you are too," THANK YOU. 

Yeah, you read this right. I really like my new toy and Thank you very much. 

Do not think it means I have to be nice to you though. That shit is not going to happen.

One More Time

 

Today was the 8th grade Math TAKS test. I know that parents hate this stuff, so let me enlighten you about what a day such as this is like for me.

I get up at my normal time of 5 am. My contract does not require me to be on campus till 8 am, but today I know I need to be there early. 7 am is when I roll into the parking lot and I have a crap load of work ahead of me.

First off, I have been moved out of my normal classroom. The 7th graders are not testing today , so I was moved into a Science lab so that the 7th and 8th graders could be on different sides of the building. The Science lab in question is owned by a 7th grade science teacher who obviously does not give a shit. I have to move her tables and completely rearrange her room. Part of me wants to rip all her shit off the walls and I am a bit surprised that our testing coordinator has not already done it. The state does not want ANYTHING visible that may help kids on the test. I know teachers who have had to cover their framed teaching certificates because there were letters, numbers, and words on it that MIGHT help the kids get an answer correct.

By 7:45 I have the room arranged. Two kids to a table with a divider down the center of each table. There are only 15 kids in my testing room, so I have plenty of space.  Next up is preparing the seating chart. The state demands that I draw a picture of the room and note the complete name and (later) the test form number of each student. 

With that done, I have to gather my box of testing materials from the testing coordinator's office. This box contains my students' answer documents, test booklets, signs, restroom passes, and my teacher's instruction manual.

This box is my life. It cannot be out of my sight unless I know it is locked in a secure closet, chest, vault, or other location where no child, parent, teacher, roach, fire, water, acid, or smelly fart can access the contents. 
I sit with this box on the desk till the kids arrive, then I arrange them in alphabetical order (test documents must be returned this way) and order them all to go empty their bladders because they are not leaving for hours.

Once everyone has pissed, the pencils and highlighters are handed out and we wait. The math teacher has to come around and give them a pep talk to impress them before we can begin. By 9 am, the room is full, the math teacher is gone, and we are ready to rock and roll. 

Test answer documents are handed out. Tests are handed out. I read my state provided instructions word for word (these are the only words I can legally speak to the students at this point) and give them the go ahead.  Once they start ALL I can say to them is "I cannot help you with the test. I can only answer questions about the directions." Talk about pissing off 8th graders, the state has a script for everything.

Lunch is at 12:05. All tests and answer documents are returned to the magic box. The box is locked in a cabinet, booby trapped, and secured. I line the kids up, take them out of the room, lock it behind me, and lead them to the restroom. We stand outside while they enter and use the pisser one at a time. We cannot allow them to talk about the test, so in they go, one at a time.

Once we are done pottying, it is off to the lunch room. We get lunch and march silently back to the room. The kids get to eat and quietly talk (NO DISCUSSING THE FUCKING TEST OR YOU GET YOUR HEAD CUT OFF). By 12:50 lunch is over, the kids are back to testing and I am pacing the room like a crackhead in need of a fix. The state demands that I "Actively Monitor" the test. That means I cannot sit, I can not email, I cannot grade papers, read a book, look at the test, talk to the students, touch myself or any other time killing activity. I have to pace back and forth till I am ready to kill.

By 3:30 all of my testers are finished. The tests are gathered, the box is secured, and wait till the buses are called. By 4:10 pm the kids are gone, the box is checked back into the testing coordinator. The kids and I have spent an entire day in the same room. They sit on their asses working math problems while I pace and hope that the bag full of cell phones I collected earlier are all turned off.

Talk about fun.
My fucking knees still hurt.

Here is a special treat for you. This is the actual 2006 Math TAKS test. It is online and interactive. Enjoy.

Unnatural things

 

On weekends I am usually responsible for making breakfast for the family.  My specialties (in order of true perfection) are 1)Cornbread (yes for breakfast) 2)Waffles (with fresh fruit) 3)Biscuits (homemade, not out of a can).  My wife is the real pro when it comes to pancakes, eggs, oatmeal and of course, the dreaded cream of wheat.

The other morning though, we were in a hurry and low on consumables and cream of wheat duty fell to me.  All I can say at this point is that I do not think any human being should eat this crap. It comes out of the box looking like gritty dried roach dung and then as it cooks, then cools, it expands into a gritty mess that I can barely stand to look at.

Needless to say, the picture above shows my first and last pot of this foul stuff. I will never cook cream of wheat ever again and I hope my children will never have to eat this crap.
There is good news too. The youngest has begun to refuse to eat it. I do not blame her. I begin to shake violently the thought of this stuff. 

How can they call this food?

Things the Wife Makes Me Do

Allergy Season

Some things are best left unexplained

This is our fertility monkey. This tubby little jar of monkey flab was a regular in our bedroom for a couple of years while we worked on making the dirt urchins. We thought it brought us good luck. It just helped me get layed regularly for awhile. Once we were done with dirt urchin2.0, the fat little bastard was banished to the flowerbed in the back yard where he has smiled his fat little ass off for almost two years.

I do not worry about him much because he is made from some plastic/resin/dinosaur bone substance that is impervious to the natural elements. Sometimes I cannot see him because the weeds obscure him. Right now you may even see the mulch piled around his obese little ears from when I mulched two weeks ago.

What does worry me about this fat little monkey charm is that I think I have seen the squirrels worshipping him. Every now and then, when they think the humans are not looking, they bow down in front of the fertility monkey and pray to him. I have seen it. I tried to get a picture, but it is hard to sneak on the furry little bastards when they are all into praying and being suspicious and shit.

Needless, it scares me. It scares me on a deep down caveman level. What are they praying for? Access to the bird feeders? Protection from Jake the hawk? Death to the HOOMAN who drives the grass cutter and uses the bb gun on them?

The only thing that could make this work is if I start finding sacrifices in front of the fertility monkey. Things like acorns, sunflower seeds, small birds, or other squirrels with their hearts ripped out are going to make me get the shotgun out. If it goes that far I am going rain the wrath of the 16 gauge god down on their furry little asses and pee on their monkey deity.

Talk about a holy war, these stupid squirrels have not seen anything yet. Trust me.

April Fools Day Revisited

Folks, I was going to post this yesterday, but I just could not do it. While it is funny, sad, and scary, I just could not in good conscience let you think that this was a prank. It is way too bizarre for that mistake to be made.

First off, let me introduce some folks to you.

This is the Texas State Board of Education

Take a look at them and read some of their biographies. They are wonderful people, most of them would have made valuable additions to the infamous Salem Witch Trials.  Honestly, they are probably even too conservative for folks like Cotton Mather.

What brings up this discussion is all the recent hoopla over changing the science standards that are taught in Texas schools. The SBOE has been in charge of these changes and it seems as if they have mucked it up a great deal. I for one am a bit confused about how or why religion should be considered when teaching science, but these folks seem to know a great deal more about that than me. IF you want your eyes to roll, your stomach to knot up and vomit to shoot out of your pores, just google things like Texas Science Standards or Texas State Board of Education and Science revisions. Believe me, you are going to need a stiff drink after that round of reading.

What hits closer to home for me is the fact that the SBOE recently handpicked teachers from all over the state to update the History teaching standards. After only ONE meeting these teachers were fired because of the testimony of ONE lobbyist who swore the teachers were destroying History in Texas. A sad meeting full of half truths and less than enough "humility" led the SBOE to take the word of some highly placed scumbag lobbyist over teachers trained in the subject that they were asked to update.  Imagine that.

So it looks like Doom Cake needs to run for the SBOE. IF elected I promise to stand up at every meeting ofthe SBOE and scream "DEATH TO THE WITCHES!!" Now it may sound crazy, but even then I doubt anyone will question my sanity. Actions like that make me look normal compared to the SBOE. Yes, it is hard to believe that wearing Puritan robes and screaming silly comments would come off as more sane than the well educated and well meaning members of the SBOE, but that is how things roll here in the mighty state of Texas.

So look for my campaign of "More dead witches and less text books" to come to a town near you, if you live in Texas. Lets put the "Fear of Hell Fire and Damnation" back into education and cut down on all that liberal crap like critical thinking and the scientific method.