all right everyone sit down, shut up and listen closely because I’m about to tell y’all the tale of Ms. Mormino.
Seventh grade is a time most people don’t look back on fondly. I know I sure don’t—I tend to regard that era as nothing more than an unpleasant, acne-filled haze of fall out boy and poor attempts at pseudo-zooey deschanel fashions. But enough about me. Let’s talk about my math teacher.
Ms. Isom. Poor old Ms. Isom. Well in her 60’s, always plagued with some illness or injury, she was hardly ever even at school. Since many of her absences were the result of short-notice incidents—“falling down the stairs” was popularly cited— it wasn’t all that uncommon to not have a substitute on hand. Being a smartass honors class, we’d gotten away with several successful evasions of administration, walking cavalierly into class to pass the next 48 minutes doing just about nothing. Hell, for good measure, we’d sometimes even toss in a friendly “hey, Ms. Isom!” if any administrators were anywhere within earshot. So incredibly anti-establishment, you could basically call it another Project Mayhem, except instead of Brad Pitt and Ed Norton concocting homemade bombs, it was a bunch of tweenyboppers with iPhone 3’s and Justin Bieber 2009 haircuts.
We got pretty accustomed to our own little self-governing system that rolled around every second period, so we naturally weren’t exactly thrilled when administration caught on to our little Anarchy Act and strictly enforced the presence of a substitute every day.
Most of our subs weren’t terrible—most were friendly, gave us participation grades, and didn’t object to the independent attitude of our class (which, mind you, only had about ten students in it)
That is, until Ms. Mormino came along.
Four feet, ten inches of raw, undiluted evil, Ms. Mormino walked into class with a scowl on her face and a chip on her shoulder. When the girl behind me sneezed, Ms. Mormino’s immediate response was “NO INAPPROPRIATE NOISES!”
Although we all suppressed our laughter, we all knew from that moment on that, try as she might with her despotism and her draconian anti-sneeze policy, Ms. Mormino didn’t stand a chance.
The arguable beginning of the end for Ms. Mormino’s all-too-brief reign of terror was the moment I asked for a calculator; mine was broken. Mormino asserted that I could only borrow a calculator if I loaned her something of mine; at that moment, the girl next to me chimed in, saying she, too, needed a calculator. “I have a folder I can give you,” I offered. “I have a highlighter,” added the other girl.
At that moment, a puberty-creaking voice from the back of the room piped up.
Max.
We all know certain people have certain gifts. Michelangelo saw angels in every block of marble and devoted his life to setting them free; Einstein had a mind which saw the potential of the entire universe; F. Scott Fitzgerald wove intricate tales of decadence and depravity. Max, however, had a different kind of gift: he could make anything—anything at all—into a “that’s what she said” joke. More on that later, though.
Max pried off a Nike sneaker and held it proudly in the air, like a coveted trophy.
“I have a shoe."
Tottering in one-shoe-one-sock, Max dumped the sneaker on Ms. Mormino’s desk, retrieved a calculator, then tottered back to his own desk, a sort of smirk playing on his face. And, as to be expected—the rest of us quickly followed suit.
A small pile of shoes on her desk, Ms. Mormino grit her teeth and glared at us as we all sat back down, quietly victorious, a calculator in each of our hands. It wasn’t long, however, until we all began to silently plot our next act of minor mayhem.
"Can I go to the bathroom?” asked Tyler, who, despite being in seventh grade, was approaching his sixteenth birthday. In a combination of verism and admiration of Tyler’s devil-may-care boldness, we unequivocally accepted him as our leader. For reasons unknown, Ms. Mormino denied his request. Tyler, much like his Fight Club namesake, heeded no rules but his own and left anyway—Ms. Mormino, furious, locked the door behind him and smugly insisted that “administration will take care of him."
Tyler, however, was not one to be caught, and stayed close by, appearing in the window of the door whenever Ms. Mormino wasn’t looking. Waving, smiling, laughing, making faces and obscene gestures, Tyler had us all in stitches, but cleverly avoided Ms. Mormino’s sight—when she asked us what was so funny, we all refused to give Tyler away.
A girl asked to go to the bathroom, stating she “really really really” needed to go. Ms. Mormino, again, denied her request. Ms. Mormino, however, seemed to be uninformed about the side door—leading right outside, always locked from the outside but always open from the inside.
"Well, I’ll go myself,” the girl responded, and took off, hurdling three desks and darting out the door. Right behind her, two other students took off, pursuing freedom. The door slammed behind all three students, and they were gone.
Six of us were left. Among us, importantly, was Chris.
Chris was thirteen, but looked half his age; scrawny, wiry, he probably measured in at about four-foot-three, but no taller. “Late Bloomer” are words that come to mind.
Despite his diminutive size, Chris possessed the gall of someone like Tyler.
“I have to use the bathroom,” said Chris, standing.
”Do you think I’m going to allow you to go to the bathroom?” snapped Ms. Mormino.
”It’s an emergency!” Chris pleaded.
“Sit down,” Ms. Mormino growled.
Meanwhile, the entire class borders on hysteria. We have tears in our eyes, almost suffocating from choking back laughter.
“It’s an emergency,” repeated Chris, but it sounded more like a warning.
“Sit.”
Silence. Silence, Silence and more silence, until we all began to notice a dark stain on Chris’s khakis. The stain grew. And grew. And grew.
Fists at his sides, stoicism in his face, and a cold, proud, triumphant glint in his eye, Chris locked eye contact with Ms. Mormino.
And pissed right in his pants.
The entire class erupted into a laugh only comparable to the detonation of a bomb.
We laughed so hard for the next five, ten, fifteen minutes straight that Ms. Mormino gave up. Surrendering, putting her head on her desk, she waited until the hysteria finally subsided.
Finally looking up, defeated, pathetic, Ms. Mormino glared at us all and wailed:
”This is too much, this is too hard, too hard, Jesus Christ, this is too much for me!”
A lone voice sounded from the back of the room. Guess whose it was.
“That’s what she said.”
Ms. Mormino officially retired from teaching that afternoon.
The earliest habitation supported by archaeological evidence dates to as early as 300 CE, whereas the 1778 arrival of British explorer James Cook was Hawaiʻi’s first documented contact with Europeanexplorers. Cook named the islands the “Sandwich Islands” in honor of his sponsor John Montagu, 4th Earl of Sandwich.
Because things only exist when Europeans discover them smh
On September 4, 2013, University of Central Florida (UCF) college student Victoria King was pulled over by UCFPD Officer Timothy Isaacs for a minor traffic offense – a bad tail light.
The officer became obsessed and incensed by Ms. King being reluctant to roll down her window “all the way” to receive her bad tail light ticket.
The officer then escalated the traffic stop to violence, breaking out the car window, and charging Ms. King with two felonies and a misdemeanor.
The two felonies have been abandoned by the state attorney.
All the officer had to do was hand the woman her ticket and go on about his revenue collecting. Instead he opted for a power trip.
Instead of simply citing her, he began to require the woman to obey every verbal command he gave, regardless of having a legitimate function to his issuance of the citation.
Orlando criminal defense attorney John Guidry (www.jgcrimlaw.com), sums up the officers command:
“The officer’s command to roll down the window ‘all the way’ does not sound like much of an imposition. But it is an unlawful command, and as such, it is not much different than the officer telling Ms. King to stand on her head. Stand on her head? What possible connection does that have with writing a citation for a broken tail light? Well, it has none, as does the officer’s claim that a partially rolled down window is somehow a safety concern. It is not. The officer’s order was arbitrary, is not for the safety of the officer, and, in fact, serves no purpose whatsoever.
“If Ms. King is accused of ‘resisting an officer’ for her failure to roll down her window fully, Florida Statute 843.02 requires that the officer be engaged in the legal execution of any legal duty. It would appear, then, that before Ms. King is required to obey the order of the officer, the order must be legal from the beginning. Clearly, this officer’s order was illegal, and as such, Ms. King’s charges should be dismissed.”
its always really weird when i see pictures of places ive lived like ill see a picture of hong kong or greece and suddenly im sucked back to that time in my life
but i have to play it cool else i bug people by ‘showing off’ that ive lived in a bunch of places
This man, James Verone, robbed a bank for one dollar. Why only one dollar? Because he knew that in prison he could get the medical care he could not afford with his part time salary as a convenience store clerk. He was approved for food stamps, but they did little to help his finances. Between his back problems, carpel tunnel, and arthritis, he simply couldn’t handle the pain any longer.
On June 9th, he sent a letter to his local paper, the Gaston Gazette, that stated: “When you receive this a bank robbery will have been committed by me. this robbery is being committed by me for one dollar. I am of sound mind but not so much sound body.”
He then took a cab to the RBC Bank, and handed the teller a note asking for one dollar and medical attention. He quietly took a seat in the lobby and waited for police to arrive.
Since Verone only stole one dollar, he was only charged with larceny. His bail, which he doesn’t plan to pay is set at $2,000, reduced from the normal $100,000. He’s scheduled to see a doctor this Friday, and hopes to get foot surgery, back surgery and to have a protrusion on his check treated.
To me, this is the perfect example of how disturbingly corrupt and unjust our health care system has become under HMO’s. For this man, or any person for that matter, feels that he needs to be imprisoned just to see a doctor, is ridiculous.
This is exactly what I hate about America. Why is it that you can buy an entire house with money you don’t have, but still can’t apply for health care if you don’t meet the requirements? That’s messed up.
So we’re now at a time where people will LITERALLY commit a crime, granted it was tiny scale but a crime regardless, JUST for the sake of getting medical attention because it’s THAT expensive.
where did this website’s sudden obsession with skeletons come from
From inside ourselves.
fcugn no first of alll;, you do not come into my house with your bullshit skeleton puns do u wanna fucking fite I could take like 5 shitty skeltons don’t test me
What if Sock went missing, but Jonathan didn’t know because a rogue demon (likely siren or incubus) took his place, and Mephistopholes was running around all the while to find Sock? Or if Sock just decided to follow Jonathan around while being naked?
For people who are actually interested in how viking music might have sounded, “Drømde mik en drøm i nat“ (/I dreamt a dream last night) is the earliest music (and lyrics) known in Scandinavia preserved on the last page of the (~1200-1300) Codex Runicus as rune notes.
The song and melody is still known and used today in most of Scandinavia, as a sort of folk-standard. This version, deceivinglyslow in the beginning, is presented as close to the original sound of the years 900-1000 as historians think they can come.
This song might have survived because it was a gigantic hit, like the viking’s very own “Billie Jean”. A total pop slayer that stayed around long enough for music notes to be invented.
TG: “Rose, I swear to God I will-“
