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i look forward to reading this when i get home

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Here, this is funny.

 

"The First Entry: The Tards may be fucked up, but so are their parents

I am a special education teacher. Unfortunately, a lot of the parents don't care about their kids, especially the parents of my special education students. I say this because only about seven out of twenty parents actually come to their scheduled parent/teacher conference.

 

It is often a relief that some parents do not come. Coming up with nice things to say about their kids is always tough. Basically, I have to lie to their faces and end up feeding them a load of BS. I do this for two reasons. First, I have so many negative things to say about them and their children, that throwing in a positive every now and then alleviates the tension during these conferences. Second, I force myself to say nice things so the parents don't go home and beat their kid's ass. Seriously, this happens a lot where I work.

 

Only one of the parents showed up today to meet with me out of the six I had scheduled. And I am convinced that the only reason this mother showed up was because we have called Child Protective Services on her so many times, that she now fears losing her daughter, who the mothers meal ticket to government aid.

 

A few things you should know about this mother before I get into the content of the conference.

-She works at a convenient store.

-She has two kids from two different fathers, and has never been married.

-She lives with her two kids in a low income-housing complex.

-Her son is overall a nice kid, who I feel bad for because he has to play "mom" to his younger sister.

-Her daughter, who is in my class, was born addicted to crack-cocaine and with fetal alcohol syndrome. She is a cute girl, but can barely function. She knows about 25 words, two of which are "Fooker" and "Bitch". I work with her on menial things such as drawing lines, signing colors, color recognition, and counting 1 through 3. She has severe behavior problems. She kicks, hits, screams, bites, etc. Mostly, this is due to her inability to communicate any other way.

 

Today's conference with the mother proved to be something that I found worthy of recording.

 

It was my intention to recommend to the mother that her daughter be transferred to another school that has a Behavior Disorder program, where her needs would be addressed better. There is little I can do for her when I am instructing a class and she is sitting at the table screaming to me that I am a "fooker".

 

I told mom about this transfer and she flipped. She started to cry and plead that her daughter HAD to stay where she was. Why? I really don't know. Maybe she likes parenting barely functioning kids. Whatever the reason, it has to be serious, as she started giving me a detailed account of her past, leading up to the birth of her daughter. Here it is:

 

Six years ago she decided that she wanted to kill herself. She was an alcoholic, a drug fiend, and was injecting heroine into herself multiple times a day. She lived near a railroad, and had familiarized herself with the times that the train came through each day. She was going to have the train hit her. The night she decides to do it, she gets really loaded and pulls her car up to the train tracks. She parks the car, and proceeds to shoot-up heroine and drink alcohol. The time is nearing for the train to come through, so she starts her car, and prepares to pull onto the tracks. Just then, her car is hit VERY HARD by another car, driven, ironically enough, by a drunk driver. The impact causes her car to fly forward about 50 yards, past the tracks. The car that hit her is now on the tracks. The train comes through, blasts through the car, and kills the drunk driver. She freaks out because she is still alive and knows the police will be on the way. She has drugs on her, and is severely intoxicated. She drives home.

 

She decides that the next night she is going to attempt the same sort of death. She does the exact same thing; pulls her car up to the track, gets regally fucked up, and waits for the train. As she is waiting, a bus pulls up in front of her, between her car and the railroad tracks and completely blocks the way to the tracks. Just then, the train comes through.

 

This completely depresses her, and rightfully so, considering she is such a wasteoid that she can't even kill herself.

 

A couple days later, her boyfriend is getting all geared up to go hunting, as it is opening day for hunting season. BING! The light in her fried brain goes off, and she decides she is going to let a hunter shoot her. So she constructs herself a deer suit. Literally gets fur, and builds herself a fucking deer costume. She was describing this to me, and all I could think was Silence of the Fucking Lambs.

 

She completes her costume and goes out into the woods wearing it. She is out in the woods drinking, doing drugs, when she hears some rustling. She thinks that this is her chance, so she starts making some noise in the bushes, crunching leaves and shit, when she hears "Lady, WHAT IN THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?"

 

It was the fucking park ranger! He immediately radios for assistance, and she is literally drug out of there in her "I love myself" jacket.

 

All of this while she was pregnant with her daughter, who is in my class.

 

And people wonder why I drink so much. "

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4: The Half Day

 

Today should be a good one as well. Being a half day, the typical schedule is a bit jumbled. Tards DO NOT deal well with change. The last half day we had was the day before Thanksgiving, when I got socked in the eye by a distraught reetee.

 

I could probably compose a lengthy memoir about Francis, who was a student of mine last year. A brief description of just Francis, not even the shit he caused: 4th grade, 10 years old, 210 pounds, thick ass fucking glasses, a hearing aid, very slow speech, clothing that was always too tight, and the kicker: THE KID SHIT HIS PANTS MULTIPLE TIMES THROUGHOUT THE DAY!!!

 

Tomorrow, the special ed kids are going on a field trip (walking around the school, outside, picking up garbage, and collecting and dumping the recycle bins). We also sing stupid ass songs that I, as a professional, am too embarrassed to discuss. E.g., "If you're happy and you know it" is a favorite.

 

We have one on the first Friday of each month. At the end of each trip, I want to kill myself. Especially when we sit in a circle and we each tell about our favorite part of the trip. There is only one rule, the Miss Sped rule--"Use your words." I wish I had a tall can for every time I have to say this fucking rule.

 

Last month, one of my tards actually ran away and hid UNDERNEATH a fucking portable classrom. Unbelievable. It was dirt, trash, rats and a retard under Portable 12.

 

Today I had a tard refuse to get off the fucking bus. Because of this, the bus driver was going to be late for his next pick-up. I thought he was gonna strangle my little tard with the tard-bus equipped safety restraint belt.

 

I am now going to a Mexican restaurant with my co-workers. Our principal schedules these little staff events, and buys everyone their first drink. As luck would have it, the teachers who can't make it authorize me to have their "first drink." I love these events. A bunch of 40 plus year olds talking about curriculum, standardized testing, etc, and me, the kid on the staff, talking about all sorts of things that are supposed to be confidential, downing Margaritas like its Cinco de fucking Mayo. I will eat this time though, as the embarrassment of having our speech-language pathologist call a cab for me last time was just too much.

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9: Another Francis story

 

The school district does not provide snacks to the special services departments. Some tards bring their own snack from home and some don't. Because of this, I ask that parents donate snacks for the tards. The most common things sent in are goldfish crackers, animal crackers, pretzels, etc.

 

One morning Francis (see entry 4, for a description of him) comes into the room with two big boxes of Lucky Charms. How nice, I thought, for the huge fat kid to bring in snacks.

 

Upon further investigation of the Lucky Charms, I discover that both boxes are open. Also, there is not ONE FUCKING MARSHMALLOW in either box. NOT ONE!!!!

 

Put yourself in my shoes here, What the hell do you do? Ask the fat tard about the marshmallows? Call his mother? I mean, the cereal was donated. I ended up throwing it out. No marshmallows probably means that his little piggy snot covered hands had been in those boxes.

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i worked in a special ed. school for 2 years. most of the kids i worked with were either developmentally disabled or had emotional issues. but in many cases the parents were just as fucked up or more fucked up as the kids. sometimes it was funny, but most of the time it was just really sad.

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i remember this huge tard kid i went to high school with i mean this kid was big. fucking man child 6'3" 250lb of raging retard. one day this kid comes to our school covered in blood and crying like a lil bitch. turns out he beat the fuck out of the guy at the 7-11 for the slurpy machine not working. dont fuck with tards their fucking crazy

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we had one tard at our school who walked around hitting his forearms together

if you told him it was his birthday, he would literally fucking scream "ITS NOT MY BIRTHDAY!"

shit was hilarious, but sad at the same time

i think he had autism

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i never understood people who fucked with people who had mental issues. i would rather fuck with "regular" people, it's so much more rewarding.

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i never understood people who fucked with people who had mental issues. i would rather fuck with "regular" people, it's so much more rewarding.

 

perfectly put.

 

like how can you justify ripping on people who have completely fucked up lives. how more of a fucking child can u get?

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the elementary school i went to had a special ed class....there was this kid named Nolen....one day at the end of recess all the kids lined up when the bell rang...

 

except Nolen.....

 

he was sitting on the drinking fountain with his pants down taking a shit...

 

i never drank from that drinking fountain again.

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i remember this huge tard kid i went to high school with i mean this kid was big. fucking man child 6'3" 250lb of raging retard. one day this kid comes to our school covered in blood and crying like a lil bitch. turns out he beat the fuck out of the guy at the 7-11 for the slurpy machine not working. dont fuck with tards their fucking crazy

 

yo they got mad retard strength believe dat!...i had a slow man child in my class too, wasnt a full blown tard but definalty not up to speed. everytime he took a piss at the urinal he would pull his pants and giant tighty whiteys down to his ancles and let it rip from like 2 feet back. lol thats all

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So true^^^^^^^

 

My boy always told me this story about this huge kid with downs, and some hotshot kid said something smart to him. Kid with downs went "UGGGGGGGGGH!" and did a fucking gorilla on him and beat his ass viciously in front of the whole school.

 

My other boy had a neighbor with downs, and he smacked me in the face with his pokemon backpack at school one time. I was just like "Damn".

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hahahahahahahaha^^^^ yo i been reading this blog all day good stuff...

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i didnt read much of this but it strikes me a being written by someone who is completely frustrated with their situation and the things they deal with at work. thats really all i got out of it....that and this amazing story called "tard gets sassy"

 

"This morning, as all the kids were unpacking their things, I notice the old new kid was just sitting there, doing nothing. I said to him, 'You need to unpack your backpack.'

 

His response to me- 'You need to unpack your butt.'"

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12: Tard nearly ruins date

This is where I draw the fucking line. What happened to me last night was not part of the contract I signed.

 

I am at the grocery store with a guy I go out with sometimes. He had been studying abroad for the last year, so I was really excited to see him. We are getting beer to take to a Christmas party that we are going to, the location of which happened to be in the area of the school that I work in.

 

We are walking to the beer aisle, and I spot one of my tards pushing a grocery cart. He is with his mom and brother. All I want is for me to get the beer and get the hell out. I really didn't want to talk to them or subject my date to them. We make it to the beer aisle, pick up some Heinekens, and head for the checkout.

 

We are standing in line to pay when I hear a scream and a familiar voice yell "I love you Miss [sped]!".

 

I think about turning around, but am suddenly rammed hard from behind with the shopping cart. I had to grab the conveyor belt thing to keep from barreling over. The tard then starts hugging me tightly, while screaming over and over, "I love you Miss [sped]!" This continues for at least a full minute.

 

My date is dying--he is laughing so fucking hard that he is doubled over. People are staring at me and the tard that is embracing me and yelling. The checker has stopped checking and his full attention is focused on this scene. I cannot stop wondering where the fuck his mom is.

 

I know the solution to get him to calm down. But I am out with this amazing guy. I don't wanna do it. I really don't. But I realize the tard will not shut up and get off of me until I do...

 

Quietly, I start singing "The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round......."

 

My date is absolutely dying. Almost crying. But the tard shut the fuck up, and we got out of there, no retards attached to me.

 

 

:lol:

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This ones the best!!!:lol:

 

 

 

 

 

3: Even Riti Sped can be immature

I had quite an incident with one of my kiddos, "Tom" today. He has severe behavior problems, and is on major medication. He also constantly picks at things. Anything that can be picked at, he will pick.

 

Today he came to school and he had what appeared to be an adhesive like substance on multiple places on his body (face, hands, arms, chest). He could focus on nothing but the sticky shit all over him. I was getting so angry but nothing was fazing him. I was putting zeroes on his behavior chart, threatening to take away his snack, call his mom, etc. He just didn't give a shit about anything but the sticky stuff on his body. I kept asking him what was all over his body, and he kept responding to me, but I think in Russian or something. He has a severe speech impediment, you can barely understand the kid.

 

All I knew was that he was covered with this stuff, and smelled like Denny's or something. We were not getting anything accomplished, so when recess rolled around, I told him that because he wasted my time, I will waste his recess time. He had to finish his work during recess (his work consists of tracing letters, cutting out shapes, coloring pictures IN THE LINES, and putting a series of 3 pictures in the correct order--its not as if I was teaching him algebra or anything).

 

When he figured out that he wasn't going outside with the other kids, he absolutely fucking lost it. He starts kicking anything he can, pushing over chairs, breaking crayons, spitting. I immediately hit the button on the wall to summon the principal.

 

Now he really freaks out, and proceeds to strip naked. Absolutely fucking NAKED. He then plants his naked ass in the indoor classroom sandbox that has rice grains in it instead of sand, and is screaming out one word that I cannot, for the life of me decipher, and kicking rice all over the place. At this point, I refuse to be within 20 feet of him. Our principal walks in the room and asks "What is the problem?"

 

At this question, I can only wonder if the naked, screaming retard in the rice box is a figment of my imagination.

 

Our principal puts on his principal voice, grabs Tom's arm, and pulls him out of the ricebox. He then asks Tom why he keeps yelling "syrup".

 

He demands Tom put his clothes on. He puts on his underwear and pants, and refuses to put on anything else. The principal grabs his shoes, socks, shirt, and starts walking out. Tom freaks out. "Give my shirt" and "Not for yours" is all he is yelling as he follows the principal up to the office.

 

About 3 minutes later, as I am straightening the displaced furniture, one of my autistic kids comes in to do math with me. He is obsessed with staples, and fixates on looking for staples in carpets. He actually gets rewarded when he goes one day without crawling around on the carpet looking for staples. Anyway, he comes in my room and sees the rice grains all over the place.

 

He freaks out.

 

He then spends the next 15 minutes of instructional time picking up rice--grain by grain--and putting then in his pockets. He gets all the rice picked up, also cuts the shit out of his hand digging a staple out of the carpet. I walk him up to the health room so he can clean up his scraped up hand.

 

Tom's mom is in the office, picking up Tom. She was pissed too because she had to leave work to come get him. I say something to her about Tom picking at sticky stuff on his body. She tells me he had pancakes for breakfast, and offers no other explanation. Welcome to the world of special ed.

 

Her and Tom start walking out to the parking lot, I walk back to my room, following behind them like 50 yards. Tom turns around and sees me (his mom is still facing forward) and I stick my tongue out at him. (I know, very immature, but geez I am 24, ok?) He belts out the loudest fucking screech, and his mom whacked his ass so fucking hard, picks him up, and carries him, kicking and screaming, to the car. She also is screaming at him that we do not yell at our teachers.

I was so pleased with myself for the tongue stick out. I love these kids, but sometimes they drive me nuts.

So, here I sit, Dave Letterman on the TV, TuckerMax.com on the computer, and a stack of papers full of scribbled names and backward fives and twos.

 

Thank God tomorrow is a half day. Drinks will begin promptly at noon.

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10: Tard nearly kills old person

Last spring, we used to have senior citizens from the local retirement home volunteer at our school. Every Thursday morning the retirement home's shuttle bus would drop them all off. They stopped coming to volunteer because of this incident:

 

In case I haven't already made this clear: Tards get extremely attached to things, but it is very hard for them to express their emotional attachment appropriately. One Thursday morning, I am walking four of my 1st grade tards to the gym for "adapted P.E." One of them spots one of the grandmas getting off the bus. He freaks out, lets loose an ear-splitting scream, and charges her like a fucking bull, knocking her to the ground, really, really hard.

 

I run over and pull him off of her. She is laying flat on her back on the pavement in front of the school, writhing in what is obviously excruciating pain. The office ultimately had to call an ambulance, and she was taken to the hospital with a broken collar bone and numerous broken vertebrae.

 

All from a tard trying to give her a hug.

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