Retirement

Since the abrupt end (a rather crudely executed end on my part) to my last relationship, I have enjoyed the many fruits of singledom including, inter alia, unused phone credit that rolls over to the next month and not being reprimanded for 'accidental exhibitions' of flatulence.

But even the sweetest of fruits grow bitter in time (and no doubt rotten) and my career as a bachelor has spanned two years and four months - that's two years and four months of being a wanker (take that however you will). Perhaps it's time to hang up the boots.

Given that I have not made any serious attempts to be in a relationship, my unwavering bachelor status during these years could mean only one of two things:

1. All the ladies have been trying their hardest to refrain from approaching me (and indeed, from clinging onto my left leg).
2. No ladies have been interested in me.

Speaking rationally, option one seems to be the more likely case, however if I am to make a serious attempt at ending my unbroken run of singledom, then I would assume the latter and take a prudent course of action - I will make the approach.

And thus ends my conscious desire to remain single. Ok ladies... you can stop trying to not approach me now... Hello? Anyone? My left leg is free...

Ah fuck.

I'm in for a long ride.

Holiday Season

After finishing my last exam on the 10th of November (for the year of 2010), I am now at liberty to do what I want. Having decided that I will try my hand at composition, I have opened up 'Garageband' (a program that came as default on my iMac) and have experimented with it a little. To my glee they have vocal effects:

A fun filled holiday I think.

"Hey man, what are you doing for your 21st?"

Oh joy, I have to plan a party. I'm almost as excited as Big Kev right now............. (he's dead).

I don't like formalities, the whole mumbo jumbo of a 21st birthday being a significant date has long been associated with traditions of gifts, formal wear and function rooms......I don't want that.

Personally, and with no disrespect to those that have/going to have their 21st parties as what I have described above, I see formalities as ways of marking and showing the host to his/her guests that this event is important to them and vice versa. I don't need that, the people that are invited (and actually turn up or have a legitimate and life threatening excuse) would already have shown their respect in the sense of being your close friends for the time they have known you. Would you want to leave a hole in their pockets due to presents?, Dance around awkwardly in suits? or worse..in a room....for SEVERAL HOURS.

As for the birthday, I know what'll make me happy, nice food in my stomach and having fun with friends, possibly getting drunk off my face (although the last time I did that, I ended up regretting it for over 2 years).

The five Ws you ask?, well just check your invites :)

Blockage

Ok there she is. Just act cool everythings gonna go awesome. Just me and her so there's no way I can mess this up. Ok here she comes,

"hi."

"hi"

Smoooth as an undetected fart.
(Honestly i don't think anyone gives smooth gas; it's coco pops or slippery slope, but alas i digress.)

After some teeming chit-chat, the stagnant ninja of the brain makes its move i.e., the lack of witty communication between brain and mouth function

" *A coherent personal incident*........so what do you think?" she asks.

I think
you're extravagant....
you're exceptional-
you're every word in my vernacular!

"hmmm. yes. i think you're right" I manage to say.

Well tie me to a wheel chair and call me Stephen Hawking, what kind of conversation was I turning this into? I think talking about the trees and the several layers of sclerophyll, chlorophyll, and bore-aphyll would've made for more amusing confabulation to her memory of the recount.
This was not my usual self, where was this blockage coming from?
Awkward? Perhaps

On a side note, why is that when we DO want blockage it never comes?
Why is it that, when the guy on the bus sitting next to me sneezes, he proceeds to go wide nozzle Ajax on my face?
At least make an attempt at blockage?
GOD BLESS YOU AND MAY HE HAVE MERCY ON YOUR SOUL AND GRACE YOU TO A LIFE OF ETERNAL DAMNATION!

Anywho, what to do?
How to rectify a situation like this?
I'm thinking (not that thinking has served me well) I could've done with some Irish car bombs earlier. Blast those Ninjas of the brain.

The Awkward Moment

An awkward moment need not stem from any positive action. In fact, it usually stems from inaction. Take for instance, the situation where a lively conversation is stifled by one's inability to perpetuate it. It is not by the positive action of any of the parties privy to the conversation that an awkward scene eventuates and a deafening silence permeates the room. It is because of inaction (in this case, to keep talking) that awkwardness ensues. Positive actions to dispel the awkwardness often does nothing but propagate (if not exaggerate) it.

Rewind a couple of days.

"Lunch was beckoning and..."

Actually, let's rewind a few months.

I was lying down in bed with my eyes fixed on the ceiling, but they were empty and saw naught of the aged, white-washed roof, fraught with hair-line cracks that spread from one end of the room to the other. If one were to look straight into my eyes at that very moment, they would see through the shroud of mist that perpetually surrounded my hidden sentiments - safeguards from my subconscious yearning to liberate them; from the persistent clawing at the fortifications that kept them at bay. My eyes were visual portals to my heart. I was thinking of 'her'.

Fast forward a month.

I gave up on 'her'.

... And now that we have some context... Two days ago:

Lunch was beckoning, and it was a nice sunny day. I was sitting on some grass, which was slightly damp from the previous evening's chill, having a dying conversation with a friend and 'her' (who is also a friend but let's distinguish them for the sake of convenience). My friend, who was becoming increasingly restless from his disinterest with the topic at hand, sprung from his lazy posture, grabbed his skateboard and skated away - a 'rolling caricature'.

And so I was left alone with 'her' . Our dying conversation inevitably died with the exit of my friend; its ashes scattered by a comfortable breeze expected of a beautiful Spring afternoon, only to be replaced by deafening silence. Awkward.

"So, [Wanker], are you seeing anyone at the moment?"

Hah.

Awkward.

"No [haha]. I'm not."

"Why not?"

"Priorities"

(At which point I thought to myself, "What the fuck does that even mean?", but I'll leave that for another post.)

"Oh."

"But that's not normal is it? I should be thinking about these things at my age hey?"

"Not at all. Everyone has different priorities. Besides, these things just happen."

"Oh? I don't think so. Half the reason why I don't want to get involved is because I know I have to work for it, and if I have to work for it, I'm disinclined to go for it. Things don't just happen. You have to make it happen." And because I didn't work for it, I lost it.

"Awww I don't know. I mean my boyfriend and I kinda just happened."

Awkward.

"Well, that may be the case. But I've been single for two and a half years. Nothing has happened because I haven't made anything happened."

"I think that if you think about going for it too much, it won't happen, but things happen when you don't really think about it."

And therein lies the irony: the girl who slipped away because I didn't think about going for it, telling me that things will happen if I don't think about it. Yet here we are, physically close yet emotionally miles apart.

... At this point the 'rolling caricature', who had grown tired of skateboarding re-entered the conversation.

Awkward.

Note: there is a difference between thinking about someone and thinking about going for someone.

Random Quote of the Day

#1: "So this is your opinion of me? Thank you for explaining so fully. Perhaps these offences might have been overlooked had not your pride been hurt by my honesty in admitting the scruples of our relationship. Do you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your circumstances?"

Love this one.

Music that makes us go MMMMM......

As many of us have seen on Youtube, there are numerous music videos that tickle our pickle, float our boat, sinks our battleship, swings our string, creams our cheese, butters our biscuit and humps our camel but it isn't the music that shifts us from our stressful study to blissful fantasy but the voices that tickle our souls like syrens' wails, the gazes of....suggestive behaviour and bodies that makes us press the 'Replay' button after the video has finished. So after much discussion and plenty of review, the list of MVs that have left us...peeling our own bananas.

(in no particular order)

Secret - Madonna - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t6qGj_MECdA

Run Devil Run - SNSD - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z8uH1seeCL8&feature=fvw

Cabi Song - SNSD & 2PM - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=61pIlSwdYy4

Abracadabra - Brown Eyed Girls - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m6UfrV-hAiU

Satisfaction - Benny Benassi - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xsR2-Tpsqqc

Call On Me - Eric Prydz - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r7iaW9SWgcQ&feature=related

She Wolf - Shakira - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_dWB4dyl-lw&ob=av2e

Crazy - Son Dambi - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b1rgYuYWBdE

Ah - After School - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3ySAtg4CHLk

Good Girl, Bad Girl - Miss A - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kLy5ntN-eE4&feature=related

Please add to this list, I'm sure it'll all be greatly appreciated. Enjoy.

The wonders of production

It really is quite amazing what some reverb can do.

Just messing around with Garageband

Quoting Kafka

Meditation: The Rejection

When I meet a pretty girl and beg her: 'Please be so kind and come along with me,' and she goes by without saying a word, what she means is:

'You are no duke with extravagant name; no broad American, built like Red Indian, with level imperturbable gaze, whose skin has been massaged by the winds of the prairies and the waters of the rivers flowing through them; you have made no journeys to the great lakes and voyaged there, wherever these may be found. So why, I ask you, should a pretty girl like me go along with you?'

'You forget that no limousine carries you in long thrusts swaying through the street; nor can I see your escort of gentlemen, pressed into their suitings, following behind you in a strict semi-circle and murmuring their blessings on your head; your breasts are indeed neatly ordered in your bodice, but your thighs and hips make up for that restraint; you're wearing a taffeta dress with pleats, like those which delighted every one of us last autumn, and yet - with this mortal danger upon you - you smile from time to time.'

'Yes, we are both quite right; and to keep us from being irrefutably aware of it we'd better, don't you think, go our separate ways home.'

The Wanker's Modern Translation:

When I meet a hot chick and go: "wanna hook up?" and she goes by without saying a word, what she means is:

"You are no good-looking stud with fame; no African-American, buff, with mesmerising eyes and a big package; you have no fortune which I can leech off after a divorce, following a brief unromantic marriage. So why, I ask you, should a hot chick like me go home with you?"

"You forget that no limousine carries you around, nor can I see an army of hot guys trailing you, in their bulging tank-tops and skinny jeans, asking for your number; yeah, you have a nice rack but you also have tree trunks for legs and that floral dress was kinda last season, and yet - you reckon you're the hottest shit."

"Yes, I think we are both right. And to stop us from being aware of it (of our insufficiencies) we should go our separate ways home."

The Wanker was asked out (quick entry)

Ladies and gentlemen, I have been asked out by a lady to go home with her.

Rub your eyes and read that again.

The events transpired thus:

7:00 - left home without my wallet.

7:15 - realised that I left home without my wallet. Smacked myself over the head.

7:20 - told that the Cabramatta Station ticket machine was broken and that I should buy a ticket at Central.

7:23 - fell asleep on the train, mouth gaping wide.

8:10 - arrived at central. Woke with a fright, droplets of drool scattered in the air like shards of glass in the sunlight.

8:20 - Waiting in line to buy a ticket, behind some lady.

8:21 - lady turns around. Obviously a deranged hobo of some sort. Looks at me in the eye and begins muttering. At first, could not distinguish what she was saying, until discovering that she was repeatedly asking: "Wanna come home with me?"

8:22 - lady stopped asking me to go home with her, looked at me sternly and said that I was too ugly to take home anyway and hobbled off.

8:23 - woke from momentary shock. Felt dirty and insulted.

That lady stole my "chick asking me to take her home" virginity. God. It's like a shit version of How I Met Your Mother.

Indecision

Life assails us with a myriad of dichotomies. It's all too easy in theory to pick one side or another; after all, it's a fine line to cross when opposing circumstances, objects, or whatever it may be, are placed tangentially in perfect alignment. In truth, we often hover precariously over that line pondering indecisively as to which way to sway when faced with a boolean decision. To make things worse, we are so familiar; so conditioned; to the notion of a split choice that at times we assume, as if a dichotomising automaton, that there is a split choice to be made, when in fact, those two supposedly distinct elements, can be desegregated into gradients that eventually dissolve into one another, like a spectrum of light. Put simply, it's not always a simple case of yes or no; sometimes, there's a maybe. Sometimes there's a yes with a condition and so forth.

Indeed it is frustrating when one observes a person P (for convenience's sake) for instance, falling victim to their oversimplifying tendencies, for to an observer, it seems obvious that there are many options available, yet P's eyes are devoted solely to one direction or another, like a crossroads in a trail. P is the type, you see, who will fail to notice the escalator to the left of a treacherous path lined with thorned bushes because P thinks in two dimensions and cannot fathom the notion of travelling in a direction that is not a relative left or right.

Inherent in dichotomising a situation, is excessive melodrama placed on a decision. This is certainly justifiable. One cannot help but apply intense gravity on a decision when one believes that there are only two outcomes available, of which both are inversely related. What is not justifiable, is dichotomising the situation in the first place, to spur such unnecessary melodrama - self-induced indecision. If we were not so basic in our thoughts, we need not subject ourselves to the torture of indecision, and since we do not operate in a bubble, and necessarily interact within complex social mechanisms, we should spare others from the torture of one's indecision too. Open up your mind. There are more courses of action than you think.

The Asian Fail

It is conceivable that the idea of the asian fail was born from an asian fail. Some unfortunate, illiterate asian parent somehow mistranslated the chart of grades such that instead of:

85-100: High Distinction

75-84: Distinction

65-74: Credit

50-64: Pass

0-49: Fail

It looked more like this:

85-100: 很 好 (very good)

75-84: 好 (good)

65-74: 剛好合格? 不可能接受 (just passed? Unacceptable)

50-64: 你說什麼？再說一遍 (what did you say? Say it again...)

0-49: 你知不知道我花了多少錢對你的教育嗎?! 你這樣對待我? 我很失望! 你的頭有問題嗎? *%&^%* 你不是我的兒子!

(do you know how much money I've spent on your education? And you do this to me? I'm very disappointed. Is there something wrong with your head? [Profanities] You are not my son!)

... And as is so often the case, the misinformed asian parent imparted his or her 'knowledge' of grades to other asian parents, and thus the asian fail was born.

Those who are not inclined to accept the 'asian fail' as a true 'fail' in literal terms, have difficulty understanding why it is the case that some asians treat a 'pass' or a 'credit', with such hostility. Here's some personal insight.

My idea of a fail is not so much an exaggerated grades chart, but an indication that I have not achieved what I am capable of achieving. I don't give a fucking rats ass if I performed relatively well. I am self-centred. It's all about me. (What do you expect from a wanker).

"But why take it so personal? Who gives a shit about grades? It's such a superfluous thing."

I take it personal. I give a shit. I give many a shit. Every 'fail' is a slap in the face with cow turd. Consider this: every person would like to think they possess an exceptional quality. We hate to think (though it is often the reality...) that we are yet another human in a cluster of humans; another ant in the colony. Our qualities define our identity. Me; I wasn't born with great physical abilities. Nor was I born with great musical talent. No dashing good looks, no sense of being sociable. What I did get from my genes however, was a slightly oversized head, which I always took to mean that perhaps I had a brain slightly larger than normal. Win. I pride myself on being 'smart'; I work hard to be 'smart', so you bet I take grades personal. It's extra salt in the wound when you discover that someone has succeeded where you have faltered, with so little effort. It's like a white guy running a 100m sprint, pushing so hard that he's about to pee his pants, but in the corner of his eye, he sees some black guy breeze past him with nonchalant strides and a sparkle in his smile (ding).

All of what's been said would have you believe that I'm just some vain little bastard who whines about nerdy shit all day in front of his computer. True. I am a vain little bastard who whines about nerdy shit all day in front of his computer. But cut me some slack. It's all I can whine about.

Needing Someone

It was only recently that I was privileged enough to be requested by a good friend of mine, to act as a tour guide for a group of Japanese students around Sydney. He told me with arched eyebrows that seemed to oscillate up and down around their positions of equilibrium, that if I was lucky, I would be allocated to a group of excited young Japanese women. I would like to clarify two points before I continue. One, I have no particular affinity for young women (and indeed no affinity at all towards… well you know). Two, I would never (never) possess any alternate agenda other than to be a decent tour guide (never). That aside, I was nevertheless slightly disheartened when I learned that I was allocated to a group of excited young… men. Damn. So close. I was only missing the ‘woo’ (phonics people) and indeed I could do no wooing that day. It was only later that I discovered that I was purposely allocated to an all male group. My friend had cunningly allocated all those that were already engaged in a relationship to guide the groups of excited young Japanese women. Needless to say, I was not one of those that were already engaged in a relationship. If only I was in a relationship… oh wait. That would defeat the purpose. Regardless, I puffed out my chest, grimaced a smile and introduced myself warmly (as warmly as I could for it was after all a cold day… in many respects) to these boys and as it turned out, I had a wonderful (if not rather quirky) day.

During the course of the tour, I was approached by one of the boys (giggling, ironically, like a bunch of school girls) who eventually braved whatever consequences he thought might occur subsequent to what he was about to say, and asked “harro Sunny. Do you have a girlfriend?” My initial reaction was to give him a quizzical look. Why is it that he is asking me this question? Is he practicing his English? Is he wondering whether I am proof that men with ‘dashing good looks’ (lol) always have girlfriends? Do I appear homosexual? Is he homosexual? I brushed away all these thoughts and laughed. Funny question. “No. I don’t,” I replied. “Oh…” He murmured. Did I sense a hint of disappointment? The response was followed a short period of silence. “I am sorry,” he says after a while, breaking the silence. And again, I gave him a quizzical look. Sorry that I do not have a girlfriend? Or sorry for asking? If the former, why be apologetic?

As I pondered that question alone in bed, I was reminded of several instances where I was asked similar questions. “Sunny, what’s wrong with you?” my sister would ask from time to time. “Everyone else your age has a girlfriend. Why don’t you?” The same response would ensue each time: a shrug of the shoulders followed by a cheeky “why don’t you have a boyfriend?” End conversation. “So are you in a relationship?” a newly acquired acquaintance would query. “No, not really looking for anyone at the moment,” I would reply. “Not even for the hot hot sex?” No response.

I don’t get it. Is it a crime to be single, or dare I say it; desire to be ‘single’? For so long I have convinced myself that I do not need a ‘partner’ to be happy, and indeed, arguably, I am happy. But as these questions are posed to me, my stubborn stance falters. Hairline cracks begin to form along my stoic, emotionless surface: I begin to doubt myself. Where once I was absolutely certain about my position on this topic, I now wonder whether I have subconsciously created a ficade of immunity to (and I am saying, or rather typing this, with gritted teeth) ‘love’ so realistic that I truly believe I am immune to it. Am I delusional? Have I constructed a concrete veil to shield a plethora of insecurities?

I venture further into the recesses of my memory. Many of my recent conversations revolve around highlighting the fact that my circle of friends (or at least a portion of my circle of friends) is experiencing terrible form in the relationship game. Am I also a culprit of imbuing a sense of doubt into others by asking the very same questions that have been posed to me?

Darwinists would point and ridicule at my sentiments. One must breed to survive. One cannot do so without a partner. Silly human. Perhaps we are all Darwinists; in which case I should be pointing and ridiculing myself… what a loser. Doesn’t even want to survive. Though conversely, if one does indeed adopt a Darwinist approach, one might argue that in order to survive one should aim to be single. I am referring to those who get whipped in relationships (cough Yang).

Whatever. Walls are easily plastered and so I will plaster it for the umpteenth time; the cracks never truly disappear, but I have become a pretty decent DIY guy. You know, I really detest contemplating such things. Truly. Especially when I am in holiday mode, as I should not be using my brain at all! I am happy in my own little bubble and I believe it. Now back to perving on Korean girls on allkpop. God bless Korean idols.

SK III: The Preview

Pitchy? Yes. Terrible? Arguably. What's in stall for SK III? Definitely.

Serenade King...

They're out to terrorize your ears again ladies...

Quick Entry: Cutting Conversations

Readers, I am alive; slightly dazed, highly jaded, extremely volatile, but nevertheless alive. (C'est la vie, for uni students).

I would indeed still be buried under my waste repository of notes and textbooks were it not for my need to share with you some interesting (and rather bemusing) conversations that I have overhead or engaged in over the past week. Without further ado...

Conversation 1.

Wanker's sister: "Mum, why aren't you going overseas?"

Mum: "I can't leave wanker at home by himself."

Wanker: "Mum don't worry about me, go."

Wanker's sister: "Wanker wants you to go so he can bring his girrrrrrrrrrrrlfriend over."

Mum: "If he could get a girlfriend I'd be happy."

Conversation 2.

After some light conversation about uni subjects...

Girl: So... do you have a girlfriend?

Wanker: Hah. No, can't say I do.

Girl: Why not?

Wanker (trying to think of a good reason without sounding homosexual): Just don't want to get involved in all that stuff at the moment.

Girl: Really?

Wanker: Yeah.

Girl: Not even for the hot hot sex?

Wanker: ... (struggling to find words) ... yes?

N.B. (this girl has a boyfriend so don't take this out of context)

Conversation 3.

Wanker: OK kids, the next word in the spelling test is 'massive'

Indian Kid 1: Massive. Just like Indian Girl's Head!

Indian Girl: THAT'S BECAUSE I HAVE A HUGE BRAIN!

Conversation 4.

Cador: Clancy and I were discussing the possibility of considering Alison's breasts as property.

Wanker: Well, I suppose if you have rights over it that you could exercise to the rest of the world...

Cador: I think that would go to her boyfriend.

Wanker: Not necessarily. You see, if the 'ethereal' documents establishing the chain of ownership of her breasts were never transferred to her boyfriend (with the alleged legal title), then do you see, that if she misled you to believe, that she still retained legal title over her breasts, and thus entered into a contract of sale with you (and you thereby acquired a fully fledged equitable interest), then her boyfriend's gross negligence in failing to acquire the 'ethereal' documents would be deemed to have contributed to the misleading conduct of Alision, which would mean that his legal title would be postponed by the courts of equity, and so, if we consider priorities of equitable interests, you may indeed have an equitable claim to her breasts, provided that you entered into the contract on a bona fide basis without notice of the other party's acquisition of the legal title.

Cador: DUDE ARE YOU ON POT?

Conversation 5.

Wanker: Guys, start the test.

Female student: Oh my God. This test is too easy.

Crazy Fucker: No you're too easy. (Laughs maniacally).

Wanker: Exam conditions guys.

Is it depressing that these are the only five interesting conversations that I have had over the past week? Indeed. It is testament to the extent of my ostracism from society. Exam period sucks.

Quick Entry: Unfortunate Children

Swiveling on my chair, 10AM in the morning, waiting for my student to complete his differentiation of trigonometric functions, I chance upon a bundle of notices pinned up on the (rightful) teachers' noticeboard. The documents detail various medical conditions that particular students have and fuck me dead, I thought I had it bad (at one point I had some dermatitis condition on my face. Even though it has recovered to a degree, my face now looks like... my face). There are really some poor kids out there:

• Student A: Allergic to peanut butter
• Student B: Allergic to mosquitoes
• Student C: Allergic to bee-stings
• Student D: Leukemia
• Student E: Severe eczema
• Student F: Tourette syndrome
• Student G: Allergic to sunlight

That last one must really suck.

Someone once told me: "You can always have it worse." It was the last thing I wanted to hear at the time.

Someone out there is saying: "Told you so."

FYI, I tutor kids at a primary school.

Children

If there is one vitiating factor inherent in long term relationships, it is the prospect of having children. Cue backlash from promising mothers and pedophiles.

My cynicism is justified; it has been fostered by my occupation: part-time tutor, teaching classes (hordes) of adolescents (miscreants).

Rewind to last Sunday. A boy, herein referred to as "Crazy Fucker", and his arch nemesis (another boy, herein referred to as "Problem Child") are (as usual) misbehaving. Both are age 10.

PC: Sir, Crazy Fucker stole my glasses case again.

Wanker Guy: Crazy Fucker, sit down and give him back his property. Don't talk to Problem Child. Don't look at him. Don't even have your face positioned towards his general direction.

CF: This is mine.

PC: No it isn't! He's lying.

Wanker Guy: I saw you taking it Crazy Fucker. Give it back and sit down.

Moments later. The class task is to make as many words out of 'imprisonment'

PC (giggling): Can I show Crazy Fucker a word sir?

Wanker Guy: ... Sure...

CF: You bastard! You wrote penis on my paper!

Wanker Guy: Hey! No swearing! Problem Child, go back to your seat.

Some Girl: Penis? You can't spell penis from imprisonment. There's no U in it.

Wanker Guy: Actually...

Another Girl: Are you even allowed to write that word?

Wanker Guy: Well I guess technically it's a real word...

CF: Penis.

Wanker Guy: Look Crazy Fucker, I don't want you swearing or mentioning human genitalia anymore. There's something wrong with a kid who does it so much at this age. Where do you pick this up from?

CF: I dunno. School.

Wanker Guy: Well, I might have to speak to your parents.

Silence... Momentarily.

Some Girl: Sir! Crazy Fucker called me a lesbian.

Wanker Guy: Crazy Fucker, I don't want to tell you again. Stop calling Problem Child gay, stop calling the girls lesbian, stop saying penis and vagina, or I'll send you out.

CF: But the math teacher called me gay!

PC: He just implied that you're gay.

CF: Same thing. Is he allowed to do that?

Wanker Guy: Well... I don't think he's meant to verbally abuse you...

CF: So should I dob him in?

Wanker Guy: No.

Crazy Fucker continued to intermittently (and vociferously) mention human genitals throughout the rest of the class.

In retrospect, the events that ensued were rather comical,but I've found that often when one finds something comical in retrospect, the said event is often contemporaneously... not so comical . Teaching such students is not as funny as it sounds. I hate children.