Kids hate them, and with good reason — I'm out to fail them. Yep, I'm out to get those little bastards. Teach 'em a lesson, show 'em who's boss, tell 'em that there ain't no room in no town for no two of us, and they're a-payin' me to be there, and not them rotten kids, no way.
I, on the other hand, love this time of year. We get a about a week where we (a.) don't have any classes to teach, (b.) only have to supervise a few exams wherein (c.) all our students are dead-silent and serious, for the most part, and (d.) the marking really isn't that bad, because I don't teach English. Sign me up!
I've enjoyed my classes for the last almost-five months, but it's time to kick them out of the nest and let them fly away. They're far enough along now for them to venture out on their own and deal with the predatory hawks of the real world. No longer will I regurgitate all those "partially-digested worms of knowledge" into their gaping, chirping mouths. And, I will now end this allegory before I start to talk about moulting.
* * * * *
Hey, so, how about that Parliament? Still nothing happening there, I hear. For the best, probably — Steve would probably be yammering on about how the response to the Haiti earthquake is playing right into Obama's hands and winning him kudos in both parts of the Black community: light-skinned and dark skinned.
(Whoops, that was Rush Limbaugh.)