Greetings tiny and puny infinitesimal bi-peds. It is I, Spawn, FEAR ME! Or at least shudder a little, in much the same way that you would if a spider were to suddenly appear from out of nowhere, lingering long enough in your peripheral vision for you to think, “haha! I see you”. But then alas, you then turn around to lock gaze with the vile beast, only to find there is nothing there, making you quickly and unexpectedly, question your sanity as well as your very existence! Ahem… Forgive me, for have digressed from the true purpose of appearing on such a low brow publication.
The real reason why I have lowered myself to come before you all, is to report that I have stumbled across some very disturbing facts. Facts that have led me to realise just how repulsive and abominable Homo Sapiens really are. Let me start at the beginning.
It seems that I am apparently at the age whereby this wretched government has enforced upon me the process of receiving systematic data pertaining to the subject of coitus, at a place of learning. Now this is not an activity that I foresee myself taking part in anytime in the future, so I cannot possibly fathom why I must learn of such an odious subject. At the communal institute of knowledge to which I attend, can I be sure that the disciplinarians working there and I use the word ‘working’ quite sparingly, provide me with the correct information? For when they are not filling their hip flasks with gin, or the male faculty members aren’t disappearing into the art cupboard with Mademoiselle Dupoire, which is a little perplexing as she’s the french tutor and has nothing whatsoever to do with art, they are forever bemoaning their place of employment. Little wonder really, seven years of higher education and not even a doctorate betwixt them all.
As for the ‘mummy creature,’ I can hardly be reliant upon her to offer up such vital counsel. God, look at her, sitting in front of the visual and audio entertainment transmitter, whilst eating truffles like the very sow that she is! A pox on her blackened heart. And so finally, being ever appurtenant on oneself, I swiftly came to the denouement that I would do my own research on this topic call Sex Education. Oh how I wished I had not bothered…*shudders*
Part 2 coming up like the rancid milk I digested this morning. Dammit vile wench, would it hurt you to clean out the fridge for once!!??
~Lily
The Incoherent Ramblings Of A Moose 
Your writings are amazing. You should know that. 🙂
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Pranjal, it is almost 7 am, the Spawn won’t listen every time I yell at him to wake up for school, thus I’m thinking of tasering him, my back hurts and I haven’t had my morning coffee. Yet, you have just managed to make this grumpy sow smile with your lovely comment. Thanks so much for starting my day on a positive note. 🙂
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Oh the mammaries… sorry memories… At an age before the “talk” by a highly embarrassed primary school teacher my son started cracking jokes that were totally inappropriate – it was clear he didn’t have the required knowledge to understand that. So Mrs F took the little one out one Saturday morning and this being in the largely pre-Internet age – certainly still Alta-Vista not Google we relied on the terrific Dorling Kindersley CD-Rom of The Human Body which I used as my guide to talk him through this. The inappropriate gags stopped and I felt for once I’d been a reasonably able parent
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Heehee, I think you were right the first time.
I wish my experience had been as smooth going as yours was. When Spawn was much younger, he would ask the usual questions of where did babies come from and how did they get there? Then the little freak of nature would start yelling “WHY WOULD YOU TELL ME SUCH A THING?! YOU’RE RUINING MY CHILDHOOD!” Only to then go and ask another sodding question the next day. I almost ended up needing therapy after trying to explain about the birds and bees. He is now much wiser and therefore of the opinion that everyone “needs to keep their loins to themselves.” Ah the joys of an autistic child.
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I will be looking forward to part two as I am keen to find out if anything has changed in the 20 or so, long years since Ms Sugden sat us all down with shaky hands and wild eyed fear and talked about frogs spawn and bananas and …. if i remember correctly – that we would all burn in hell if we ever thought about underwear.
Ms Sugden was not only our sex education teacher (one drizzly afternoon of chemistry) but also taught Religious education.
What with her being a devout Christian and chocoholic, the very idea of mentioning a gentleman’s unmentionables caused Ms S to have a whole year off work.
We were cruel children.
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Ooh, Mrs Sugden wouldn’t have lasted a day in my school, especially after the ‘Tampax Lady’ came in to give the talk to the girls and the boys stole the samples and pretended they were mice.
How does a devout Christian even talk about sex? It reminds of when I was teaching and one girl from a very religious family said that sex was “when the man put his twig-like stick, into the woman’s heart-shaped hole.” Now there’s a visual image for ya.
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All this talk of twigs makes me think of the expression ‘throwing wood’. What is it about sex and trees? Come to think of it, if I was presented with a mere twig, I think I’d be more than a little disappointed.
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Kimberley, I remember being very professional and laughing in her face for a full 5 minutes. I then decided to be even more professional, by gathering the other teachers and shouting “oh my god, listen to what so and so’s parents told her about sex.” It was a slow day that day.
I also remember reading a Jackie Collins type book back in my teens, where the authour wrote about ‘his erect trunk’. And one where it was referred to as ‘thick as a tree stump!’ OUCH! Though they could have been describing life among the elephant kingdom. Yeah, I’m pretty sure that if a guy showed me his twig, I’d throw rocks at him.
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My husband is wondering why I’m lying in bed giggling. Just so that he doesn’t get a complex I had to share your reply with him.
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Hahaha! Apologise most sincerely to Mr Cooper from me. Now you should know better than to lie next to a man in bed and then start giggling, which in itself is not a problem. It’s when you start pointing and then fall off the bed with uncontrollable laughter, that’s the problem…as my ex pointed out…
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I have to say that I think the Lil man should go in to this lesson with a notepad, a pen, a pencil and a calculator take loads of notes and randomly do the odd calculation. This will freak the teacher loads. He might like to add the odd question like why is latex so popular and how does one avoid getting so sweaty wearing it. . . .
It may not be the Lil mans most popular subject but knowledge is strength and it will avoid him believing some of the more bizarre statements sometimes made by other teenagers or men in old rain coats.
Good luck Master Meglos. If you wish to rule the world you will be surprised at just how much time will be spent sorting out the masses and their sex issues (issues not tissues. . . . . .YUCK)
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Mr Z, I don’t think the teachers need The Lil man to freak them out any more than he does already. He did come home from school quite traumatised and I’ve yet to get him to stop rocking back and forth, or to prise him out from inside his wardrobe.
EWW!! To the last part of that sentence.
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I dare say, any sex education offered by Spawn would be a huge improvement over what we students were taught back in the ’50s, which, by the way, explains the so-called sexual revolution of the ’60s. Young people decided the only way to get at the truth was through hands-on field experience. 🙂
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Damn, I knew I was born in the wrong era…
I would love to watch a sex ed film from the 50’s. I’d imagine it would be more about putting the fear of God into kids so that they don’t have sex, rather then a film that actually educates them about the deed itself.
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If he needs any pointers, let me know. I seem to remember something about tab A fitting into slot B…wait, that may have been a dresser I built.
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Sorry, just giggling at the word ‘slot.’ Dammit, I’ve got the mind of a 13 year old boy!
I will gladly let you guide Spawn into the slotting of numerical tabs, for we have a new dresser that needs putting up.
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Lily, my Greetings to Spawn! Kudos to him for his resourcefulness doing his own research on Sex Education ‘cause knowledge is power. Besides, those male faculty members are probably too busy learning French from the Mademoiselle in the art cupboard! Ha! Look forward to part 2. Spawn’s images here are quite striking! 🙂
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Madilyn I think in this case, knowledge is nausea inducing and soul blackening. Spawn now thinks that anyone who has ever taken part in copulation, has a mental deficiency. “Why?” Seems to be the most prevalent question for him.
I’ve seen hos French teacher and she scares the Morgan Freeman out of me! Maybe ‘crazy psycho bitch’ is the new sexy.
Ah, there are yet more striking images to come. 🙂
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Ah yes. Sex. I remember that. I think. Hopefully Part 2 of Spawns foray into sex will confirm my recollections.
Don’t he talk proper posh
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From what I remember, sex is when the woman experiencing a slight release, followed by a ciggie and a nice cup of coffee.
‘Formal speech’ is what the experts call the way he speaks. ‘Reincarnation of a Victorian gent’, is what I call it. And ‘man, you’re weird,’ is what his peers call it.
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For comparative purposes, here’s a tidy summation of the detailed sexual guidance provided by my parents:
Mom – Left a magazine (Cosmopolitan, Good Housekeeping, one of those things) on the desk in my bedroom, open to an article with an insipid title along the lines of “Billy Is a Big Boy Now and What You Should Expect”. I read the entire piece, reviewed the stick-figure drawings, learned nothing that I hadn’t already known for years, closed the magazine, and threw it in the trash. Sex was never mentioned again.
Dad – Divorced my mother before I reached puberty just so he wouldn’t have to deal with the situation.
And there you have it.
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Wow, compared to my dear old mater, your mother was pretty hands on. I would have been all, “mum, stop crowding me with your sexual knowledge!” I thought there was a shop where parents would choose which body parts they wanted and a kindly old gentleman with white hair and a moustache, would assemble the pieces together and then voilà! A brand new baby. I weep at the fact that that is actually a true story and that there were no boundaries on the amount of crazy used in my imagination.
Dad-I think that’s why he turned to drink.
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But it’s the crazy in our imaginations that actually keep us sane… 😉
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This is true dear Brian. This is true.Or as the kids modern kids say, “true dat.” Idiots.
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