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Ernie's House of Whoopass! June 20, 2011
June 20, 2011

What Do You Think The Teacher's Gonna Look Like This Year?

You know May 3rd of last month was to be Teacher's Day. I had meant to sit down and see if I could remember what teachers played a significant impact in my life but it was of course overshadowed by the death of OBL. My kindergarden teacher was Mrs Crest; she would give a piece of candy to anyone who could read the clock and tell her what time it was. At the beginning of the school year, I was the only one who could do it, and maintained my monopoly over the candy jar until some cunt named Heather learned to tell time too. Bitch. First grade was Ms. Galafaro, and it was in her class that I weaved my awesome killer whale story. I learned how to alphabetize in her class. At the second grade I left #21 school and transferred to #19 school, joining Mrs Hill's class. One time Alex Haley came and spoke to us, although at the time I didn't much give a shit who he was. My third grade teacher was Ms Rinaldo and that big bitch was 6'2". I learned my times tables (up to 12x12) in her class. For fourth grade I transferred over to #43 school and had Mr Gorman. He would later become principal of a school my niece attended. Fifth grade was Mrs Mahar; she started her class by going around the room and having each student share one thing they learned over the previous summer's vacation. Everyone went on about monotonous stuff and me wanting to be king shit, remembered something I picked up when I caught some science show on TV. "The sun isn't burning," I said to my new classmates. The awkward silence equaled only by their blank vacant stares. "What are you talking about?" Mrs Mahar angrily queried -- she didn't take any shit from anyone -- and for the life of me I could not explain that the surface of the sun isn't burning in the sense that we know it, but a constant array of explosions. Anyway, I started out fifth grade looking like a dumb fuck. Mrs Mahar was the teacher I ran into when I was doing community service for my little, ahem, transgression of the law. Sixth grade, Mr. Gerber. He was one of the few people in my life whom I've let address me as Ernest. The mother of one of my classmates worked for a medical research facility and actually brought in big glass jar with a human brain floating in formaldehyde. Mr Gerber reached in, picked it up, and carried it all around the room so we could all see. It was cool. Meanwhile in Belgium.

Middle school and high school don't have the same continuity as my elementary school education did, since we bounces around from teacher to teacher for different subjects. My favorite social studies teacher was Ms Turu, math was Mrs Bauer -- who in some way that I can't put my finger on, was oddly attractive and used to drive a Corvette to work. English was Mr D'Ambrosia -- he would take a rock to the side of the head in a school riot the year after I graduated, and Mr Westbay for American Government. I can see my physics teacher's face, but fuck all if I can remember his name. Mr Westbay taught me Latin, which turned ot to be more useful than one might think. Believe it or not, i don't remember shit about any of the professors at UMass. Weird, huh? Meanwhile in Iraq.

Phil from Gunaxin sent over this compilation of sexy girls gone fishing, which made me laugh because I know one of the women. Well not "know"-know, but rather met-her-once-know. The blonde in Number 16 is the wife of Captain Ben Chancey, and that's a pic he submitted for Saltwater Sportsman Magazine's "Fishing Babe" segment, sometime around 2005'ish I think. They're a his and hers fishing team that's been around for awhile, sorry guys. So like the old saying goes, there are plenty of other fish in the sea. Meanwhile in Seattle.

Here's a thankful Fathers' Day card. Charley

Hi Ernie, Long time visitor. Never had anything I thought would be worth sending your way until i came across this gem. Some girl from high school i haven't talked to in years posted this weird video on her facebook. Keep up the good work. -Doug (Atlanta, GA)

Speaking of Atlanta, every year Money magazine publishes a list of the best places to live in America. These impossibly pastoral towns are usually ranked by how well manicured the town's lawns are, and how many white, upper middle class families they can catch smiling on camera while doing white people things. But what if the towns and zip codes of America were judged by things that real people actually cared about? What if the greatest zip codes in America were ranked by something other than their American flags per capita or golden retriever population? Here are the greatest places to live in the USA, ranked by categories that real people find important. Hat tip to Doug: while yes Atlanta won for most satisfying sex, if you like to eat food and shoot guns, then New Orleans is for you. Meanwhile, I'm packing up for the whores of Las Vegas. Meanwhile in Canada.

Hey Ernie, regarding your paragraph about the NHL: "...young Canuck fans, who took to the streets and set several overturned vehicles afire a few blocks from Rogers Arena where the game was played. The Canadian military was called in to cut things short... " As a Vancouver Police Officer who was involved in helping restore order, I'm not sure where the information came that the military was called in. Numerous other area police agencies came to assist but there was no military involvement whatsoever that I could see. It's a shame what happened and that it took away from what the important issue should have been... a hockey game and championship being decided. Your loyal reader, David

oh I know, I just needed a way to work in that link to the Canadian military, so I editorialized a bit. And PLEASE tell me you're the one who fired the flashbang into that guy's nuts, because that was AWESOME! - Ernie

That Canadian military page was excellent, absolutely no offence taken on the editorializing! I wish I had been the one who fired that shot, I watched that video over and over (and then forwarded to a few friends who would also enjoy it)! Unfortunately/Fortunately I was on a day off and at a buddy's place watching the game and shut it off afterwards. It wasn't until a bit later when his wife had the tv on downstairs and called us back to watch that I saw the police cars getting smashed and made like Earnhardt to the police station to help out. I'm not sure how closely you've been following the aftermath, but the police car with the post-it notes of appreciation on it is one of the coolest things I've ever seen, and a great showing of the public support that is often so lacking in our media-rich world. Hope you don't mind me attaching a shot of that here. Thank you for your reply, David

Between this year's Stanley Cup and last year's G20 riots, you Canadians sure do need to work on your anger issues. Maybe take up baking or some other domestic hobby? Pecan pinwheels are buttery little bites of pecan scrumptiousness. The flaky puff pastry pairs impeccably well with the spiced pecan filling, making a delightful end to your savory meal. Finish with creamy caramel sauce or a sprinkling of confectioners' sugar for an added pop of sweetness. Yes, pecan pinwheels are the perfect addition to your Father's Day menu for Grampa. Meanwhile in Iraq.

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