[Washington D.C., 7/29/17]
Last month, a cosmetology teacher at Klein Cain High School in Texas was arrested for an enterprising prostitution ring. With her precocious 15-year-old son, 42-year-old Kedria Grigsby lured teenaged runaways with free hotel rooms, from where they could ply their new trade.
Forty-three years ago, my Northern Virginia high school didn’t have a cosmetology teacher, much less one who doubled as a job counselor. If we had an en suite whore house, I wasn’t aware of it. Paying attention to trigonometry and physics, we were so backward. After school, I merely practiced lefthanded layups.
We did have a biology teacher named Bado. If you think I’m just making shit up, consult Thomas Jefferson yearbooks from 1979 to 1982. Always upright, Master Bado never did anything unseemly.
According to the Houston Chronicle, two other Klein Cain teachers had also been snared recently for kiddie porn, with another snagged for indecency with a child.
Fox News in New Orleans on 5/2/24, “In March, police launched an investigation over complaints that 35-year-old Alexa Wingerter was having ‘inappropriate relationships’ with and ‘sending inappropriate photographs and messages’ to her male students at Slidell High School.”
Minneapolis Star Tribune on 5/6/24, “Madison Lynn Bergmann, 24, of St. Paul, was charged last week in St. Croix County Circuit Court with first-degree sex assault of a child under 13 in connection with contact with a fifth-grader at River Crest Elementary School.”
Also in Minnesota, 42-year-old Brandon Bunney of Savage was arrested for sex with a 16-year-old student. Months earlier, this same teacher was released by Hmong College Prep Academy over “boundary concerns with a student.”
So what, you say. Male and female teachers the world over have always stumbled across soft or bushy borders with boozed up students. Immigration is a human right.
Sherwood Anderson’s Winesburg, Ohio of 1919 has a teacher, Adolph Myers, who’s nearly lynched for touching students’ hair and shoulders:
Here and there went his hands, caressing the shoulders of the boys, playing about the tousled heads. As he talked his voice became soft and musical. There was a caress in that also. In a way the voice and the hands, the stroking of the shoulders and the touching of the hair was a part of the schoolmaster’s effort to carry a dream into the young minds.
Dream my ass! In the rain, a mob with lanterns in hands march to Myers’ rented room, but he’s so pitifully small and white, they let him escape.
In the same story, “Hands,” there’s also this passage:
The berry pickers, youths and maidens, laughed and shouted boisterously. A boy clad in a blue shirt leaped from the wagon and attempted to drag after him one of the maidens who screamed and protested shrilly.
Sounds like attempted rape! Why hasn’t Sherwood Anderson been canceled? Students from kindergarten to 12th grade would be better off just reading Shinta Cho’s The Gas We Pass—The Story of Farts and Debbie Levy and Elizabeth Baddeley’s I Dissent: Ruth Bader Ginsburg Makes Her Mark. Inspired by four glorious women of color, boys will less likely become homicidal incels, just gay, transgendered, asexual or aromantic. Useless eaters, they won’t breed.
Even butterfaces demand alpha males, though there ain’t none. Going their own way, men date sexy chatbots, with big spenders already rolling with robots. In this context, screwing students, pedophilia or sex tourism makes perfect sense. The powerless must fuck down. It’s best, though, to just die.
With this earth overloaded, fatherhood is misogyny, ecocide and genocide. You murder several whales and rape Greta Thunberg with each diaper you buy.
Even before arriving in the US, I had a taste of American television, but my indoctrination only began from July of 1975 to June of 1982. I’ve seen very little TV since. I remember my high school buddy Brian saying of The Love Boat, “It should be called The Fuck Boat.” America was still so tame. Now, preschoolers are enlightened about sex change and much more.
In Vietnam, there’s a controversy over Ocean Vuong’s poetry. An 11th grade girl at International School Ho Chi Minh City was given a Vietnamese translation of Vuong’s collection, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous.
With its vivid homosexuality, it freaked out her mom, “Though I’m a woman over 40, I still blushed, so you can imagine my little girl who’s only in the 11th grade and so innocent. Reading it, I was shaking and had to wonder why did the school assign such a decadent work, with its pornographic contents, to students?”
Charging 11th graders $35,000 a year, this school promises to “train each student to become a global citizen, a future leader, and a lifelong learner.” Since less than 25% of its pupils are actually Vietnamese, this lady’s daughter has been dunk into a deracinated stew. Screw Vietnamese values. Soon, we can only hope, the girl will come home with a new pronoun and a functioning penis.
Unlike her, I’m still very much in Vietnam. It’s extremely hot at 2PM, so time to dip my body and soul in salt water. The ocean is almost visible from Cóc Cóc Coffee.
Yesterday, I tried to straighten out its masked barista, “I’m old, but guess how many times I’ve been jabbed?”
“Three? Four?”
“None! I was in Africa for nine months during Covid. I hung out and shared glasses with strangers, but none of us died, so you shouldn’t worry.”
Today, she’s still masked, though alone behind the counter. Oxygen deprived, she’ll lose braincells or even die young, but perhaps her life is already more meaningful and fulfilling than yours or mine. Masked, she still has the brightest smile.
Shamed, Adolph Myers changed his name to Wing Biddlebaum, so he, too, self mutilated. Now, I go swim.
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