Tuesday, June 08, 2004

Sexual Yeti
S****, the big, loud, unlikable, survivalist teacher from the fire, has been at it again. He eats lunch the same period as me. He does not however, eat lunch the same way as me, or any other civilized human-being for that matter.

He sits in the cafeteria hunched over his heaping tray, his broad, lumpy, back curled protectively over his chicken patty and string beans with a New York Times in his left hand. Meanwhile his right hand blindly grabs sloppy fistfuls of whatever it can reach, then angrily shoves the food into his big, droopy, face. Salad, potato-salad, macaroni, it doesn’t matter. It’s like watching a starving yeti tear into a rotting elk corpse.

Oh yeah, he also regularly asks out many of the younger female teachers, inviting them on secluded hikes upstate, or to grungy parks in the Bronx, for a “glass of beer.” He has yet to have an invitation accepted.

Finally, rumor has it he’s been sexually harassing a voluptuous young freshman in one of his classes. Whenever she leaves her seat, he sneaks over surreptitiously and discretely places there photographs of big-assed beach-babes in thongs.

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