11/23: The First Entry: The Tards may be fucked up, but so are their parents

I am a special education teacher. A lot of the parents don?t give a shit about their kids, especially the parents of special education students. I can 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 fucking faces. I feed them with a load of BS. I do this for two reasons. First, I have so many negative things to say about them, 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 is severely fucked up, and she will be the mothers meal ticket for the rest of her God-Awful existence.



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

1) She works at AM/PM

2) She has two kids from 2 different fathers, and has never once been married.

3) She lives with her two kids in a large, low income-housing complex.

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

5) 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 1-3. She has severe behavior problems. She kicks, hits, screams, bites, etc. Mostly, this is due to her inability to communicate any other way. Still, it?s ridiculous.



Today?s conference with the mother proved to be something that I found worthy of submitting to your site.



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 does the smart thing and 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 an "I love myself" jacket.



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



And people wonder why I drink so much.

wow, you work with special needs kids? I understand why your so angry too. Holy moly, i can't stand regular kids, special needs kids would make me go on a killing spree. Your stock has just raised in my book sir. (not that i think you give a shit. haha)

I did not write that . I just thought it was funny.

12/2: Tards and stickers

I teach special education, kindergarten through 6th grade. I think it is important to note that, just like candy, retards will do anything for stickers.



One of my kids is a highly-functioning autistic. He is very smart, but quite troubled. This was our sticker conversation today, (Brad is his name):



Brad: "Do I get two stickers today, one for last Wednesday and one for today?"
Me: "No, Brad, you didn't earn your sticker last Wednesday, you did not make good choices, and talked back to the recess teacher and kicked Fred."
Brad: "Fine. I hate you. I hate you so much. My Dad hates you to. Your a sorry bitch. My dad buys me all the stickers I want, so I don't even need more stickers. You are greedy and an asshole."



At this point I hit the button on the wall, to summon the principal for help.



Brad starts to tear his sticker book apart. Page by page, ripping it to shreds. This lasts for like 30 seconds. At which point he looks at me and says, "Now look what you made me do!! My dad is gonna be so mad at you. You owe me three months of stickers for this."



Needless to say, the tard will not get one fucking sticker from me. He will not get to chose from the Friday treat jar either, that Tweeker.

oh, haha i thought it was you. (obviously) Do you know this dude, or did you happen to stumble upon the "tard blog"? And is that what he actually calls his blog?

12/4: 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, 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 today. I kept asking him what the fuck 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 shit, 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 his little tard brain 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.

So, here I sit, Dave Letterman on the TV, Tucker Max 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.

Haha... My girl will get a kick out of this, she used to do this shit for a living.

that's a good read

my neighbor does this. she's a total babe. her roommate is also a total babe. these total babes were totally hanging out last night. but i digress..
she does enjoy her job taking care of autistic kids, to a degree. it's frustrating to her that they do so many things that are just unexplainable and destructive, and even more frustrating that 75% percent of the parents really just don't give one shit about these kids. and the other 25% are really trying to get ahead in the world and do what's right for their kids, with no light at the end of the tunnel.

it's strange that many mammals are born with instincts, a smart curiosity, as soon as they are born, know how to eat what is given to them and follow what their mothers do. a human baby isn't born with any of this, just a brain that is just starting to develop. children are a total mystery. i helped raise my ex-gf's son when he was 2 to 5, it was a great experience and he was smart enough to drive me totally crazy sometimes. i don't think i could handle a room full of retarded kids. what a nightmare.

my aunt is a 3rd grade teacher of regular students, and she said that regular students do shit like this.

this guy is gonna have an autistic child now i bet haha

i feel so bad for teachers now. i mean when i was in elementary school we weren't exactly angels but it wasn't anywhere near the level it is today. you wonder when there aren't going to be teachers anymore because kids are so fucked up from this PC society and shitty ass parents. i would not be able to contain myself, some little fucker would mouth off one too many times and i'd football kick the bastard.

these stories are unbelievable. I love the sticking the tongue out story.

12/5a: Francis: The Worst Tard Ever

Today should be a good one as well. Being a half day, the typical schedule is a bit jumbled. Tardies 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!!!



12/5b: Another long 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.

12/6: The field trip

On our field trip this morning, one of the reetees spotted a birds nest in a big bush. The whole gang tweeted. I cleared some branches out so the kids could take a closer look. There was one little egg in the nest. The kids were in awe. Especially when Jamel, my little Sudanese SBD child asks if he can touch the egg. I let him. He picks the egg up out of the basket and crushes it in his hand. At this, some kids are crying, others are wanting to see the inside. Jamel fucking licks the shit out of his fucking hand, then throws the shell on the ground, and smashes it profusely with his feet.



This is only one of many things that has occurred today. I am in my room, waiting for my 11:00 group to show up for math. It is 11:09, I begin to wonder where they are. Then I remind myself that they are retarded, and stop wondering.





12/6: The post field-trip

Today, after the field trip we sit in a circle and everyone tells what they liked most about the said field trip. Now, this is my barely functioning group, kids with IQ?s of 18 month old babies. Most of the kids only use one word for their answer (rocks, mud, stick, etc.) usually they will just say another students name and that?s it. Today?s answers were a bit different.

Me: "Emmy, what was the part of the outing you liked the best?"

Emmy: "Boots, mine" (She sticks her leg in the air to showcase her big ass yellow moon boots with fur on top).

Me: "I need everyone?s eyes up here looking at me. Thank you. Now, Emmy really liked being able to wear her boots on our field trip. Jamel, what was the part of the outing that you liked best?"

Jamel: "Eat birds."

Only two of the other kids understand this. One starts to cry and the other gets up, runs to the sink, turns on the water, and sticks his head under the faucet.

And it?s only 12:30 p.m.

posting in this thread so I can read it later.

Are you guys just hearing about this now? I first read this stuff like, 6 years ago.

Wow, like, you're soooo cool dude. We should all learn from your extreme internetness.

but, yeah, I knew about SEVEN years ago so nyah nyah nyah.
Doesn't make it any less funny. People seem to be entertained by it here, so I'm going to keep posting them.

Actually, I'm going home now. More tomorrow.

all right, one more for today



12/8: More parents stories

A sixth grader of mine, named Peter has come along way since last year. His behavior has improved (he used to do things like pull the fire alarm, not go in when the recess bell rang, chase girls and touch them inappropriately), his academic work is completed on time and with worthy effort. He is a good athlete, has a good sense of humor, and is an all-around great kid. He has no problems physically--he is just dumb as shit.

Conferences were the week before Thanksgiving, and his mother had a 4:00 conference scheduled with me. I was really looking forward to it, as I would FINALLY have something positive to say that was true. I had gathered some of his best writing, art projects, math tests, etc.

Four o?clock rolls around, and she is not there. I wait for her, thinking she is running late. A half an hour passes, and my next conference is scheduled to start (that parent didn?t show, either).

I re-file all the shit I had gathered to show the mother.

I had only seen the mother twice before. Once at a meeting that she HAD to attend in order to keep Peter from being expelled for strangling a girl in the library. I remember sitting there staring at her. It was the principal, the guidance counselor, his fifth grade teacher, two cops from the local police force, Peter and myself. She was definitely fucked in the head. She just sat there, staring into space. Every once in a while she would shake her head, or utter "damnit boy."

The next time I would see this woman, it became quite clear that she was for sure a fucking crack whore.

The Monday after Thanksgiving, Peter comes up to me and asks if his mom had come to the conference. I tell him no, and that it is a shame too because I had some really good things to tell her.

He looks at me in disbelief. He then tells me that on the day of the scheduled conference, his mom had gotten dressed up nice, and was putting on her coat. He asked her where she was going, and she told him that she was going to his conference.

Well, she lied. My guess is that she was heading down to stand outside Cinergy field to prostitute herself, as I had seen her there last May when I was going to a baseball game. She was dressed real trashy, with horrible make-up on, tons of gel in her hair, this little slut-like, sequined purse. And she didn?t have Red?s tickets. She fucking looks at me and turns away. She walks over to the Kettle Korn guy, and gets a popcorn sample. She then proceeds to walk across the street, and parks her big ass in front of The Ale House. She attempts to chat with every guy that was coming out of the beer garden. None of the guys really seemed to say shit to her. At this point, I need to go in, get two beers and garlic fries, as the game is about to start.

Seventh inning stretch time and the Reds are kicking fucking ass. The beer is cheaper outside the stadium, so I suggest to my friend that we continue getting wasted at the Ale House.

We walk outside, and stand at the crosswalk, waiting for the signal to cross, when this old ass rusted car with primer all over it rolls up. The car was so hideous and smoky and loud (ever seen Uncle Buck?). Anyway, it stops, and out of the passengers side jumps the mother. Her hair is messed up, make-up gone. There is a big hole in her nylons.

I was too drunk to talk to her, and I really didn?t want to anyway. That was the last time I have seen her. She doesn?t attend any functions for her son. Not even plays and shit that he is in.

I had, for the most part, forgotten about seeing her that night, until the conference issue arose. I even called their house to try and re-schedule a conference with her and she never called me back.

I send home weekly progress reports that a parent has to sign. They serve as the only means of communication I have with some of the parents. I don?t have to do this, but I truly do want my retards to be as successful as possible.

This past Tuesday, attached to Peter?s (unsigned) progress report is a note from her. The note says, "Please do not send these green sheets home for me to sign anymore. I already know what Peter does and what he needs to work on."

All I can think is, "Right, kinda like how you came to his conference."

With a mother like this, Peter doesn?t have a chance. It is sad when you think about it. But then it's funny immediately following that.

I was just shocked that people who seem so up on the Internet didn't already know about this is all.

To start off today, here is the first of many stories of my favorite tard, Augusta:



12/10: Meet Augusta...but don't touch him

Augusta is a new student this year. He appears very normal. He is polite, social, ordinary looking and appropriate (for the most part). The kid is even kind of intelligent. But he hates going to school and he is fucking lazy. He's missed 13 school days so far this year. And when he is present, he is late. Always. There is no exception to this.



Augusta had major issues at his last school, which is why he transferred. Basically, no one liked him there, and, well, no one likes him here. He is overweight and German and his name is Augusta (pronounced Agoostah)--just like the fat kid in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.

The kid has severe issues with being touched. This classifies his needs as special, and that?s why I deal with him. During a meeting at the beginning of the school year, some co-workers and I met with his parents and his old teacher.

One thing was made abundantly clear at this meeting: DO NOT TOUCH AUGUSTA. EVER.

Don?t even brush by him, or remove a piece of lint from his hair. If you do, he goes fucking nuts and has to go home to shower and change his clothes. He is one of those "always wash my hands, afraid of germs" types. We have all heard of them, or have read about them in publications like TIME magazine. But this kid is 11. And is already a fucking head case.

Many times I have walked by the office and have seen him sitting there with his backpack, waiting for a parent to come and pick him up. I will ask the secretary if he is sick or something, and she just looks at me and says "someone touched him."

Everyone in the entire school knows not to touch him. It was even announced at an assembly prior to his coming to our school in late September.

During the middle of October we had an assembly. It was a couple of homo?s that were putting on a juggling show. The kids loved the guys; their tricks, and all the retard-type shit they would say throughout the show. At one point in the assembly, the guys asked for a couple of volunteers to help them perform a stunt. Augusta shoots his hand up , and, for the love of God, he gets chosen. He walks up to the front of the gym, and the first thing the guys do is shake his fucking hand while introducing him to the audience. I can see the mortified look on Augusta?s face. I can tell he doesn?t know what the hell to do. The juggler guys start handing him pins and bean bags and shit. They then take him by the shoulders, turn him around so that his back is to the audience. They blindfold him, and adjust the blindfold while it is on him. I am waiting for Augusta to lose it. A touch on the hand, the shoulders, and now the FACE!! I sit there, ready to jump out of my seat, waiting for his reaction. After they blindfold him they proceed to put objects in his hand and ask him to guess what they are.

This was the boiling point. Augusta drops the object, rips off the blindfold and throws it at the jugglers. Keep in mind that the entire school, kindergarten through sixth grade, as well as staff and parents, are watching this. He then violently kicks over all these bowling pins that were lined up on stage. He rips his shirt off, throws it on the ground, yells "PEOPLE AREN'T SUPPOSE TO TOUCH ME" so fucking loud, then runs out the side door to the parking lot.

The gym is silent. Nobody knows what the fuck to do or say. The jugglers were stunned but then quickly continued the show, which shifted the attention of most of the kids.

I run out after him, along with the principal and guidance counselor. He is running down the parking lot, off of school grounds. We are all yelling at him to stop. He doesn?t. I continue to run, the counselor goes to the office to call his parents, and the principal gets in his car to drive and capture him. Somehow, I lose him. The principal can?t find him either.

About 15 minutes later, I am still looking for him, and the office receives a call. The caller says that there is a child behind her wood pile next to her house, that he looks really shaken up, doesn?t have a shirt on, and that she doesn?t want to approach him. She guesses that he is from our school. The principal drives to her home, only a half block away, and finally gets Augusta to get into the car, but not until bribing him with a fucking ice cream bar.

I am sorry that I wasn?t in the car at the time, because our principal says that Augusta gets in the car, picks up a container of Armour-All wipes on the floor, and starts furiously scrubbing his body with them. He is all worked up and out of breath, scouring himself with moistened automobile cleaning wipes.

Back at the office his parents are there to get him. They are all worried, and when they see him they are like "Oh, Augusta, we are glad you are ok, we were so worried about you." They make no mention of the fact that he cursed and exposed himself to the entire school.

About a week later, we receive a signed, 8 ? by 11 inch color photograph of the jugglers. "To Augusta: Keep Reading! Best wishes and our Apologies."

We call Augusta down to the office to give the photo to him. He takes one look at it, tears it up, tosses the pieces in the recycle bin, and says, just like a normal fucking person, "I didn?t like that assembly, I thought you guys knew that."

that story rules. wonder if his last name was gloop.

12/14: 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 12/5a: Francis, 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.

12/15: 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.

These stories are great, I'll have to take time and read them when I'm not a work.

The smack-head lady in the deer-suit is fucking priceless.

Jesus hell, I'm only half way through this thread. Josh, post the link to where you found this.

No wonder the sped teachers in junior high were always so pissed off. They'd spend all day trying to get the retarded kids in line, and then as soon as they got the chance to interact with the rest of the student body they'd spend the entire time screaming, and picking fights with the students.

12/16: Tard brings candy, flips out

The green cupcakes in the picture are from a kids 7th birthday that was celebrated during class.
(sorry, can't find the file with picture of the cupcakes, josh)



As he was passing them out, he actually tried to decide who he was and wasn't going to give a cupcake too. I told him that that wasn't a choice--everyone gets one or no one gets one.



He flipped out, took two of them, and smashed them on the lenses of his glasses.



The cupcakes were so foul looking. That weird shade of green, and there were these little white speckles all over the top of it. Speckles that were in the frosting already. I have no fucking clue what that shit is.

12/17: 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 "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 the tard and I. 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......."



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.

12/18: Tard doesn't like rat tails either

The naughtiest kid I had last year was in second grade. He did and said unbelievable things on a daily basis. One of my favorites was when he approached a non-sped fifth grader whom he did know and said "You smell like your mom."



In June of last year we had a fire drill. Somehow, this kid had managed to smuggle a pair of scissors out with him as we exited the building. The whole school lined up on the field out front during these drills. Everyone is also supposed to be silent.



I found it odd that during the drill this particular kid wasn't being noisy and annoying. I walked back to the end of the line where he was. In his hand he had the scissors and a chunk of human hair. He had cut the rat-tail off of the boys hair who was standing in front of him! (You know what a rat tail is--think 1980's white trash, a thin mullet that hangs just from the bottom).



I freaked out, not knowing what to do. I took the scissors and the hair from him, said nothing to the boy whose hair had been cut, and pretended that nothing happened. Surprisingly, nothing was ever mentioned about the missing rat-tail.

My two favorites from this site:

21: Augusta's fear of germs goes to a new level

Augusta has spent every recess inside with me this week, due to his candycane theft before break.

He hates it. I hate it more. Augusta smells like a hot litterbox. This is peculiar, as I never noticed it prior to the break. I honestly think that he is making himself reek in order to keep others away, lessening the chance that someone will touch him. I know, it sounds exaggerated to those of you not in daily contact with tards, but I know my naughty little reetees and I think this is the case.

On Monday he spent all three recesses with me, in my classroom, with his head down. He fucking stank. Happy New Year To Me.

Tuesday he spent the two fifteen minute recesses with me. During the lunch recess (thirty minutes) I let him listen to a booktape at the listening station. I did this strategically, as the listening station is furthest from my desk. I didn't want my lunch to taste like the Augusta.

So here comes Wednesday, when Augusta proceeds to horrify me almost beyond belief.

It is approximately 10:30 a.m. when Augusta asks to go to the bathroom. I allow it, and set the timer. (They have 2 minutes to get back before they lose behavior points.) The timer goes off, Augusta is not back. Because he is a large child, I give him another 2 minutes. He still is not back. (The bathroom is directly next door to my classroom.) I send an aide out to get him. She comes back a minute later without Augusta. This is exactly what she told me:

"I yelled in and said 'Augusta, what are you doing in there?' In a deep, low mans voice, he says 'Go away, no one is in here.'"

Now Augusta is fucking with us. Being retarded and mentally disturbed, I do not find it odd that he is trying to play ghost in the bathroom with us. Now I am going to have to walk into the boys bathroom and haul his ass out. I walk to the door of the bathroom, which is always left open and say, "Augusta you get out here right now."

Augusta doesn't have a lot left to lose if he chooses to not follow directions. His behavior chart is already full of negative comments. He is already in at recess, with no snack, and I have told him already that he will earn no stickers for the entire week. I could revoke PE and Music privileges, but he hates them anyway.

"Do I have to come in and get you? Are you gonna be a baby?" (he is 11). Augusta doesn't respond. I brace myself and enter, only to see the most vile scene possible. This is the best way I can describe it:

The garbage can is in the middle of the floor. Augusta is squatting over it, completely naked from the waste down, one leg on each side of the trash can. His shoes, socks, pants and underwear are in a pile by the sink. His back is to me, his arms are straight out in front of him, and he is taking a dump.

I immediately turn and exit. I feel absolutely violated, like I had popped a few rohypnol, chugged a beer and laid myself on the couch at Phi Delts for all to have at. I then do what I do when I can't deal with what is going on, and push the alert principal button.

He comes down and goes into the bathroom. Augusta has dressed himself, and is washing his hands furiously. There is a pile of shit in the garbage can. The principal escorts him up to the office, where Augusta has a little one-on-one with the school nurse. My aide takes the bag of shit out to the dumpster.

Augusta's mom comes and takes him home, but not before a meeting with the principal. He said she was completely embarrassed.

The school nurse came down later in the day to talk with me. Apparently, Augusta doesn't want to sit on the school toilet seat because he is afraid of getting "butt germs". He used those two words! He will go pee at school, but will not sit down. I can only wonder how many other times this year he has had to take a crap.





57: Tyrell has problems with referees:

First of all, I wish to dedicate the following event to all my friends, with the exception of DW, who continue to ridicule, harass, and talk shit to me for encouraging and participating in the extra-curricular activities of my students; both former and present.

Fuck you guys. All of you passed up what DW referred to as "Better than a fucking Lakers game."

So it begins, Thursday, four o'clock, I arrive at Tyler and Tyrell's residence to pick them both up. I honk my horn a multitude of times, but no one exits the house. Fuck. I pull up into a handicap parking spot, leave the car running, and run up to their door. After several punches to the door, no one comes. I let myself in.

The home smelled like cats and smoke. The combination of T.V. and CD player almost deafened me. Both boys are on the couch, staring at the set. Tyrell had to be at his basketball game an hour early to practice. I scare the shit out of them both when I walk into the TV room. I ask if they are ready to go, and they say yes. We leave--the TV and CD player remain on, and the girlfriend remains on the dads bed. She is out for the count.

We walk out to my car and there is a cheap-ass rent a cop by my car. He begins to bitch at me for parking in a handicap spot. I need not respond to him, as Tyrell busts out with "Me and my brother have to be in special reading classes." I laughed. Not exactly the response he was looking for.

We all get in the car, the rent-a-cop continues to talk to me. He is signaling at me to roll down my window. I ignore him and slam the car into reverse. We have a basketball game to attend.

We arrive at Tyrell's middle school and drop him off. Tyler and I go get McDonald's. We hit the drive-through, and I buy them both dinner. Tyler eats his in my NEW car, spilling shit all over the place. I ask him to be more careful. He says OK, and continues dropping french fries everywhere.

We then go pick up my friend DW, who has expressed great interest in attending one of the games. DW was a baller in High School, but I actually met him in college, where he continued to star on the court. Sadly, he relied way too much on his image, and not enough on the actual game, so his post-college career has been pathetic. But, at one time, he was quite a star, especially regionally.

Tyrell knew who he was, and it was going to be a surprise for him when we arrived at his game with DW.

So we arrive back at the school, it is 5:00, the game was to start at 5:30. I have DW take Tyrell his food. Tyrell was speechless, all he could muster up was "I saw you on TV." Tyrell then spouted out something about DW and I getting married and adopting him and his brother. This was too much for DW, so he returns to the bleachers.

The next twenty minutes is filled with DW bitching at me, Tyler asking DW what it is like to be "really black", and Tyrell trying to show off on the court for DW.

The game finally starts, but Tyrell is not a starter. We could see him bitching to his coach about this, but could not make out any words. Tyrell then points to DW, the coach looks over, Tyrell jumps up and down in temper tantrum, and the one of the starters is pulled. Tyrell is in.

All is normal for a long ass time. Tyrell is on his best behavior, and is playing a great game. Half-time rolls around, and Tyler is throwing his Ju-Ju fruits on the court. He is aiming for the center. DW is encouraging this behavior. I do nothing to stop it, because it is funny. Finally it is announced on the microphone that "anyone throwing objects at or on the court will be asked to leave."

Second half begins, and immediately Tyrell is shoved by a kid on the other team. They talk shit to each other throughout the next 5 minutes of the game. Finally, after the kid makes a remark about his dad being in jail and his teacher having to take care of him, Tyrell's dam breaks.

In the angriest, loudest tone I have ever heard come out of that kids mouth, he screams "Don't make me cotton candy your ass, Mother Fucker!! I'll cotton candy that shit right now, Mother Fucker!" The referee blows his whistle, and throws Tyrell out of the game. Tyrell will not accept this. To the referee he says, "You want your ass cotton candied too mother fucker? Cuz I will cotton candy that shit, and with a capital K."

Yes, he said with a capital K. One of his spelling words last year was cotton. I am a poor teacher.

Everyone in the gym is angry, mothers are covering the ears of their children. DW stands up and shouts out "Cotton candy him kid. Candy dat ass!!"

DW is now ejected. Tyler then stands up to contest both ejections, when he is also ejected. He calls the ref a "Pansy ass mother fucker." DW then repeats it, except a lot louder.

At this point, everything is chaos. Tyrell is refusing to leave the court. All his teammates are cheering him on, as is DW. He is loving the attention. He then decides to drop his shorts, grab his penis, and tells the entire visiting side of the bleachers to "EAT THIS".

DW was barreled over laughing, headed toward Tyrell, I was in shock. DW actually goes out onto the court, and tries to coax Tyrell off of it. Tyrell looks at DW, again grabs his penis, and suggests that DW "suck my twelve-year old cock."

DW looks up at me in the bleachers, gives me a seriously apologetic look, and signals for me to get down there. I grab my bag and Tyler, and we head down. Everyone is staring. I refuse to make eye contact with anyone.

Tyrell's coach is nearing him, when Tyrell announces " Coach get away from my cock!!!" I have never in my life seen a kid as out of control as Tyrell was at this point. I was truly amazed.

The coach warned Tyrell that the police had been called, when Tyrell decided to pull his pants up. He walks over to the bench, gives some of his teammates a high five, then exits the gym.

DW, Tyler and I follow him out. DW asks Tyrell him for an autograph. Tyrell agrees, we get to my car, and he scribbles his name on the McDonalds bag that was still in my car. He proudly hands it to DW. DW then says, "Kid, you have no idea how famous you really are."

I pull up to DW's house. Tyrell demands that DW kiss me goodnight. I about shot myself. I told Tyrell that this was inappropriate. He announced that his Dad's girlfriend kisses her friends all the time. DW laughs, kisses me on the cheek, and gets out.

The boys then fight over who will sit in the front seat. They begin punching each other. I stop the car, remove my seatbelt and turn around--just in time to see Tyrell clock Tyler so hard that his mouth starts to bleed. All over the back seat of my new car. I scold Tyrell and give Tyler my jacket to soak up the blood that is now gushing from his mouth. I did about ninety all the way back to their home. Luckily, his mouth stopped bleeding. I then turned them over to the care of the 20 year old girlfriend who asked me if I "had a smoke she could bum." I told her I didn't smoke. She asks "What do you smoke?"

I said goodnight and got the hell out of there. Next Tuesday I take them to see their dad in jail.

way to post shit out of order.

Cotton candy that shit

It's not my fault you didn't read this shit years ago.

I did. I've had this shit saved since 2001.
But you feel compelled to fuck it up for everyone who isn't as internetty as you are.
If you want to show how hip you are you should've of thought of posting this first instead of being the annoying kid-brother going "look look I knew about it too"

but I digress:




12/20a: Even punishments can be funny

If the tards are bad at recess, they have to sit at the "ball box" and untangle the jumpropes. It is virtually impossible for them. I make them do it so I can watch them get frustrated and kick and grunt. These are the small pleasures that make my day tolerable.





12/20b: Every student is funny in their own way

Emily ALWAYS unties her shoes. Due to retardation, she was unable to re-tie them. It got old fast.

Her mom used to send whole oranges, cold spaghetti, slabs of fucking beefstick, etc. for her lunch. Nothing is easy in special ed land.



Lewis is another case. Truly, a case. He is in fifth grade and likes to flap his arms like a bird. He is amusing though, because he will say things to you like "Do you have a hyperlink on your website to the Parkland School District."



One time I said to him "Lewis, so funny you are." He stops, thinks for a while, and says "You said 'so funny you are' instead of 'you are so funny'..........I like that." He recently said, "wouldn't it be funny if you snuck a camera into Costco and secretly took a bunch of pictures of fat people. Then put them all on a website and call it www.piggiesatcostco.com. [Ed. note-This is not a real website].





12/20c: Tard flips out, makes a mess

A lot of tards need to have a plastic grip on their pencil in order to develop necessary hand coordination and writing skills. Tom likes picking at his grip and taking it off. I told him that if he continued to fuck with it, I would take the pencil all together. Well, I took the pencil. Predictably, he freaked.

12/23: Riti's favorite tard:

Last year I had the best tard ever, but sadly, she moved away over the summer. I always think about her. She was always so happy. She smiled, did whatever you said without question, and never, ever abused me. She was cute, too. She had cerebral palsy that caused her to sway randomly and bob her head around for no apparent reason. She also loved me.



One day I got mad at her because during her typing time, she was messing around and pressing a bunch of keys down at once, going real fast, etc. I told her I was disappointed in her and she started to cry. I actually felt bad about it. The only thing that really bothered me about her was that she asked lots of random, pointless questions, and at unacceptable times.



This was the scenario one particular day last year:



I am working one-on-one with her doing sequencing activities. Her and I are the only people in the entire room. She is continuously asking me "Miss [Sped] what did you do over the weekend?"



First of all, she is unable to comprehend anything complex. Complex includes past tense, future tense, and basic language recognition and association. Secondly, if I honestly told her about the debaucheries of my weekend, I would have been fired on the spot.



Anyway, I am trying to do the lesson with her, and she keeps asking me about my weekend. I would make up a few simple activities, like going for a walk or brushing my teeth, and tell her I did them. She would then ask, "What else did you do over the weekend?," over and over.



We were getting nothing done, it was a hot day outside, the classroom was hot because the a/c was not working properly, and I was getting angry. She then looks at me and asks, "Miss [Sped], What did you eat over the weekend?"



After half an hour of her, this question put me over the edge. I look her straight in the eyes and say "Poop!"



She gasped, totally in disbelief of what I had just said, and responded, "Miss [Sped] I?m going to tell your mom on you."

How is it fucking it up when the stuff is still on the Internet clear as day for anyone to read?

http://www.tard-blog.com

LOOK I AM FUCKING UP THE THREAD WOW WOW WOW