A Letter To a Completely Good Teacher

Dear Mrs. Knipp,

I just wanted to let you know that -- from the bottommost pit of my arm -- I am sorry about what happened yesterday. I admit it was my fault that my paper was late -- I should have saved it on my computer or made multiple copies of it -- but honestly, what happened to it was not my fault!

I know you were a little upset at me when I tried to -- as you put it -- pull a fast one on you as if you were "A dead drunk floozy girl from New Orleans on Mardi Gras at midnight" (I was meaning to ask exactly where you picked up that expression.) But you've got to believe me! My dog really did eat my homework.

I know you got a little angry when you thought I called you an ugly face yesterday, but I honestly -- hope to God, dive to lie, stick a needle through my cornea -- did not! Here's the dialogue that went on as I vividly recall it: (I have a memory that's practically photogenic in case you're wondering.)

Me: Mrs. Knipp, I don't have my paper today.

The Great One: *Glowering from above* THEN THOU SHALT BE DAMNED!

Me: Mrs. Knipp, I have a legit excuse this time, actually--

The All-Encompassing Savior of Language Arts: THIS OUGHT TO BE A GOOD LAUGH! WHAT HAPPENED TO IT THIS TIME, PEASANT? WAS IT ACCIDENTALLY LAUNCHED INTO SPACE OR SQUASHED BY A MOOSE?

Me: No, actually. My dog ate it.

The Completely Stunningly Ideal School Teacher, Who Is Desired By All Men With Half A Brain: HOW DARE THOU MOCK ME! WHO DOTH THOU TAKE ME FOR, YOU UTTER FOOL? A DEAD DRUNK FLOOZY GIRL FROM NEW ORLEANS ON MARDI GRAS AT MIDNIGHT?!

Me: Certainly not, Mrs. Knipp! I've never even met a girl from New Orleans, much less one that is dead drunk and a floozy. Although I have met one from Baton Rouge come to think of it? But my dog really did eat my homework. Uglyface!

The Exquisitely Cultured Upper Class Savior: DID THOU JUST CALL ME UGLY FACE? HOW DAREST THOU?! THOU SHALT BE CONDEMMED IN THE PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE FOR ETERNITY!

Me: But--

The Completely Fair and Justice-Serving Queen Who Is Not Evil And Whose Magic Mirror On The Wall Says You Are Better Than The Fairest Of Them All, And Whose An Absolute Babe Too: SHUT THOU DAMMED LIPS, YOU DIRTY PEASANT OF MUCK! THOU SHOULDETH BE ASHAMED OF THYSELF! MARCH THOSE PATHETIC LEGS OF YOURS OUT OF MY CLASSROOM! RIGHT THIS MINUTE, DEMONCHILD!

Me: But--

The Most Intelligent Woman To Ever Roam The Earth, Who's More Intelligent Than Any Man Either, But I Didn't Want To Put That At The Beginning Of This Sentence In Fear That I Would Insinuate That You Are A Man, Which I Do Not Want To Do, Because It's Not True, I Don't Think: DON'T TALK BACK, YOU SAD LITTLE CHILD, YOU LOWLY CLEANER OF PUBLIC RESTROOM FACILITIES! OUT NOW!

If you would have quit acting so dang Biblical and let me get in a word that didn't have to do with the latter end of my digestive tract, I would have quite plainly explained to you that Uglyface is,
in fact, the name the name of my dog. Honestly!

Please be patient with me as I try to explain my wretched little self to you.

We got our dog about five years ago at the city dog pound. He was the most cutest and adorable little thing we've ever seen. He was even cuter when we removed all the ticks from his eyes and treated him for mange. As a memento of this Kodak-moment moment, my family decided to name him Uglyface.

Uglyface was a loving dog and he always has been. Every day when I came home from school, he licked my face for hours until it turned into a prune. In fact, he wouldn't stop until I correctly guessed what small, defenseless rodent he consumed while I was at school that day. It was a very fun game, and in it, lies some of my most fondest memories. Anyway, that has very little to do with what brought Uglyface on to eat my homework -- that's what I'm getting at -- just be patient, o Patient One.

My stepfather, whose actual name is Dudley DoRight, (and I'm not making this up) decided that going outside to get the newspaper every morning was simply too dangerous of a task.

Somehow, whenever my stepfather (Dudley DoRight) tried to get the morning paper, he managed to either run into a tree, be flattened by an approaching car, get smashed by an incoming meteor, or have an encounter with his deranged elementary school librarian who claimed he had a thirty-three-year-old late fee. I have to give at least some credit to the man, though, when he made the realization one day: perhaps he oughtn't get the paper anymore.

He asked me to do it, but I wouldn't get the paper for that bozo if my life depended on it. The reason? Well, I saw him do something to my mother that I simply did not approve of. I caught him
and my mother...in the bathroom...brushing each other's teeth. THAT is an image that I will NEVER be able to erase until the FORTUNATE day I die! I'm sure you don't want to hear anymore details about my mother and stepfather in the bathroom (I later caught those sickos cleaning out each other's ears with cue tips, but that's another sicko story altogether).

So, my stepfather decided to train Uglyface to get the paper every morning. Of course he had his fair share of mishaps along the way. One time, instead of actually getting the newspaper when being told "Get the paper, boy," Dudley DoRight somehow managed to get it across to Uglyface that he was supposed to get the actual Paper Boy.

As you probably already know, a recent scientific study proved that over 90 percent of paper currency contain traces of drugs (cocaine,heroin, Children's Tylenol, etc.) However the press seemed to have miscommunicated something: they suggested that 90 percent of these
bills had been handled by addicts, who had also handled the drug itself, and then the cash. Therefore, as the press suggested, traces of the drug have adhered to the bill. However, that is clearly false. The drugs are contained in the ink itself.

You see, when the ballpoint pen was founded in 1953 by Lucille Ball, the ink had to be of a thicker consistency because too many people were trying to squirt ink out at each other for pranks. This was causing a national crisis. So, Lucille Ball had the idea to put some kind of thickener in the ink to make it more difficult -- or impossible -- to squirt at people.

They tried flour, but creatures called adictus flourus (flour bugs) invaded the pen factories and ate everything (including the factory itself). What happened next is a bit difficult to explain, so I'll do it in a timeline fashion.

5-23-1953

Pro-Log: Lucy had a bowl of ink in her dressing room. She was going to eventually try testing the ink -- putting random powders into it so she could figure out what would give it that magical consistency. 

10:16 a.m. Little Ricky sneaks into his mother's dressing room.

10:18 a.m. Little Ricky switches that weird powdery stuff (you know, the stuff that women like to put on their faces so they look like vampires) with cocaine.

10:19 a.m. Little Ricky laughs.

10:20 a.m. Little Ricky is still laughing.

10:22 a.m. Little Ricky dies.

10:23 a.m. Mrs. Trumbull removes body and eats it. (I knew there was something weird about her.)

10:25 a.m. Lucy enters the room, unsuspecting of the switcheroo.

10:26 a.m. "Oh my!" Lucy exclaims, putting back of hand on forehead. "My *beep* nose is shiny *beeping* *beep* f *beeeeeeeep!*" (Contrary to popular belief, censors in the '50s actually followed everybody in the world around with a buzzer).

10:27 a.m. "Get out of my *beep* *beep* dressing room you *beeping* *beep* *beep* *beep*hole!"

10:28 a.m. Lucy knocks censor out with Big Ricky's bongo drum.

10:29 a.m. Mrs. Trumbull enters room and eats censor.

10:31 a.m. "Serves that *crash* right, coming into my *boom* *rumble* *swish* *scream* dressing room!" Lucy says. (Legend has it, there was a lone and desperate censor outside, pounding around, in the alley.)

10:32 a.m. Lucy finally begins to powder her nose.

10:33 a.m. Lucy continues to powder her nose.

10:48 a.m. Lucy still powders nose.

3:50 p.m. Her eyes turn red.

3:55 p.m. Fred and Ethel Merman enter the dressing room.

3:56 p.m. "Gee, Lucy" Ethel says. "Why, you have cocaine rubbed all over your face! You're a star. You don't have to take this drug to bring yourself to a dream world -- because your life IS a dream world. Why Lucy, you're the top!" Ethel Merman begins to sing "You're the Top" a cappella.

You're the top! You're the Colosseum. You're the top! You're the Lourve Museum. You're a melody from a symphony by Strauss, you're a Bendel bonnet, a Shakespeare sonnet, You're Mickey Mouse. You're the Nile, You're the Tow'r of Pisa, You're the smile of Mona Lisa. I'm a worthless check, a total wreck a flop, But if, Baby, I'm the bottom, You're the top!

3:42 p.m. Lucy continues to powder nose. Fred thinks Ethel is a loony.

3:43 p.m. "Oh, Lucy. Haven't you learned anything I told you?" Ethel says looking at Lucy shameful-like. Bing Crosby (with his top hat, fancy cane, tuxedo, big red clown nose, and whatnot) enters the room. The dressing room turns Technicolor.

3:43:30 p.m. Fred says "Wow! I'm in Techno color!"

3:44 p.m. The band begins to play loud and lavishly. The dressing room darkens and a spotlight shines on Bing.

Bing yells: "Oh Lucy! Don't you realize who you are? You have a lot of things going for you, Lucy. You really do. You have a smile that is so glorious that it looks like it can plunge a toilet. Your mix-ups and mishaps are as innocent as can be. And every time you dye your hair red, it turns gray instead. But Lucy, you're the finest. You're the unsurpassed sitcom queen. You're destined for countless years of reruns. Oh Lucy, can't you see? You're the top!" Bing begins to sing "You're the Top."

You're the top! You're a Ritz hot toddy. You're the top! You're a Brewster body. You're the boats that glide on the sleepy Zuider Zee. You're a Nathan Panning, you're Bishop Manning. You're broccoli. You're a prize, You're a night at Coney, You're the eyes of Irene Bordoni, I'm a broken doll, a fol-de-rol, a blop. But if, Baby, I'm the bottom, you're the top!

3:49 p.m. Lucy stops powdering her nose for a moment and considers the lyrics. She says: "Do you really think I'm a Ritz hot toddy, mister Crosby?"

3:49:23 p.m. "Of course, Lucy," Bing says. "And broccoli, too."

3:49:35 p.m. "Broccoli?!" Lucy exclaims. Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

3:51 p.m. Big Ricky enters the room. "Wow! I'm een color!" he exclaims. Big Ricky picks up bongo on floor. "Honey!" Big Ricky exclaims. "What's wron'?"

3:51:23 p.m. "Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" Lucy wipes nose on powdering-applier. "Bing Crosby thinks I look like broccoli!"

3:52 p.m. Big Ricky smiles and says, with the orchestra beginning to pick up in the background: "Oh Lucy! Why you so dow'? Ev'ryone loves Lucy. Your de star of de Uniteed States! Lemme 'splain somethin' to you honey. You're de greatest! You're de best dere ever was in seetcom comedy, and ever will be! Julia Louees-Dreyfuss, Shelley Long, Mary Tyler Moore, Ellen DeGeneres -- dere people you've never even heard of yet dey are all *rumble'n'tumble*kers compared to you! Oh Lucy! Can't you see? You're de top!" Ricky begins to sing and bong his bongos to "Cuban Pete" despite the fact that the background orchestra is playing the music for "You're the Top."

4:02 p.m. "You *crash* shit moron!" Fred exclaims at Big Ricky. Fred leaves the room to raid studio refrigerator.

4:03 p.m. Alley censor is shot by censor company.

4:04 p.m. Mrs. Trumbull eats censor and censor bullet.

4:05 p.m. Lucy continues to powder nose.

4:06 p.m. "Now Lucy!" Ethel Merman exclaims. "Quit using that cocaine!"

4:07 p.m. Lucy continues to powder nose.

4:08 p.m. Ethel Merman dumps cocaine into Lucy's bowl of ink.

4:09 p.m. Lucy experiences withdrawal symptoms.

4:10 p.m. Lucy looks at ink.

5:12 p.m. Lucy continues to look at ink.

6:54 p.m. Bing Crosby dies of boredom.

6:56 p.m. Mrs. Trumbull is full, lets Bing rot.

7:25 p.m. "Eureka! I've found it!" Lucy exclaims.

Fred comes shooting through the dressing room door. "Gold?!" he asks.

7:26 p.m. "No, silly, the answer to my problem!" Lucy exclaims looking at the ink. "This is it! This is how you get ink at a think consistency without using flour! Cocaine! Cocaine is the answer!"

7:28 p.m. "Uhhh, Lucy, honey," Big Ricky says, confused. "I think someone ate our son."

Anti-Log: So that was it. Lucy's ink formula caught on world wide. Not only is this cocaine-enhanced ink used to make the ballpoint pens and paper currency, it was also used to make newspapers. I bet you're asking, o Wonderful Teacher, what this has to do with why Uglyface (my dog) ate my homework.

As I mentioned earlier, my stepfather (Dudley DoRight) trained Uglyface to get the newspaper every morning. And like every newspaper-fetching dog, it carries the paper in its teeth. In doing this, the cocaine-enhanced ink managed to run on his teeth and cocaine gets into Uglyface's digestive system. This, of course, gave him a buzz, so he started flapping his arms like a bee. About two weeks into Uglyface's newspaper duty, he was addicted to the drug and started eating the newspapers. Three days later, Uglyface ate every single paper product in the household (including the wall paper).

Of course you might be asking why this isn't a common occurrence among all canines -- I'm sure billions of household dogs get the paper every morning. Well, cocaine actually doesn't normally have an effect on canines -- the only exception is Uglyface's particular mixed-breed.

You see, in order for a canine to be addicted to cocaine, it has to be a mix of three breeds. In mixing these breeds, it forms a connection with three essential cocaine-related regions of America. The dog has to be part Columbian-Saint Bernard, a branch of the Saint Bernard breed that reproduced in the wild (they originally had escaped from Saint Bernard ranches the Iroquois Indians raised in the Columbian region.) The dog has to be part Chihuahua (originally from the area in Panama
that is located below the equator and 254.43 miles east of Iceland). And the dog also has to be part Golden Retriever, who have been specifically bred never to poop (they originate in clean Midwest, urban domesticated homes.)

Now, look at this connection:

Columbia - The Columbian Saint Bernard Dog - where cocaine is grown and processed. 

Panama - The Chihuahua Dog - Where the cocaine is generally transported from Columbia to the U.S.

The U.S. - The Golden Retriever - The typical dog of America

It's strange that MY dog happens to be a Columbian Saint Bernard-Chihuahua-Golden Retriever. It's scientifically evident that when the dog is culturally connected with ALL THREE cocaine related areas, the same connection is made within the dog's brain, therefore Uglyface is susceptible to cocaine addiction.

See, Mrs. Knipp, o Fair Grader of Papers, o Most Beloved Teacher in the School Practically, o Grand Inspiration To Us All, my paper had absolutely NO chance of survival. How was I supposed to know my dog was Columbian Saint Bernard/Chihuahua/Golden Retriever? How was I supposed to know he was going to get addicted to ink and go psycho? How was I supposed to know he would eat every single paper product in the house? And how was I supposed to know he was going to do this THE NIGHT BEFORE the paper was due? 

So please, o Gracious Patron of My Heart, o Compassionate Humanitarian of My Soul, o Exquisitely Lovely Teach of My Dreams, know that I did not insult your ineligance or call you an ugly face. Have pity on me! I IMPLODE YOU!

Please let me turn in my research paper tomorrow, for 100 percent and full credit. I ask, deeply and humbly, to be allowed free from F-dom hell and be allowed to flutter peacefully to my rightful place: A-dom. It's the only just thing to do. Being the humanitarian, great, and luscious person that you are, I'm positive you'll come to the proper decision.

Thank you for your time, effort, love, peace, and moonshine,

Steven P. Hannibuuk