Friday, September 11, 2015

Such a Petri Dish Would Collapse Under the Mass of the Culture(s)

Just when you thought is was safe to read Val's blog again after yesterday's retch-worthy tale...

A virus has been spreading through the hallowed halls of Backroadsia. Not yet the flu, with an occasional batch of strep, the sniffles and sore throat claim at least three pupils per class.

Yesterday, as I fought the updates clogging my laptop at the stroke of four-minutes-after-final-bell-thirty in a futile effort to enter the day's assignment scores...I glanced up to see The Pony sitting near the white board, facing me across a student desk, with his cell phone jammed in his mouth.

HIS CELL PHONE JAMMED IN HIS MOUTH!

I daresay Peggy down at The J. Peterman Company would have concurred that even after having her keyboard swiped across Elaine's butt, her doorknob coughed on, and her stapler swabbed with armpit sweat...the tools of her job were virtually sterile enough for the operating room (without need for the amazing antiseptic properties of Junior Mints) compared to The Pony's cell phone.

"WHAT are you doing?"

The Pony removed the thin metal brick from his pie-hole. "Nothing. Just holding my phone for a minute while I get my laptop going."

"I can't believe you had that in your mouth! Do you know how many sick kids have touched that desk today? And all the desks you've sat at? And all the germs that you picked up on your hands, and scrolled across your phone? THAT'S how you get sick."

"Meh. I didn't have it in my mouth. I was only holding it with my lips."

Guess who woke up with a sore throat and sniffles this morning. Uh huh. Y'all must be psychic. The Pony was so under-the-weather from his over-the-lips, past-the-gums stunt that he found the cough medicine and packed it in my school bag. He didn't want to take it before leaving for school, because he had a test 3rd hour and wanted to be clear-headed. A test in anatomy and physiology. Which surely gets into the immune response at some point.

A fact that (I'm no expert, we all agree) seems to be an example of irony.


12 comments:

  1. Well, it was just on his lips, not in his mouth.

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    1. That's what HE said. Heh, heh. The Pony must never learn of this reply. We shall never speak of it again.

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  2. Sometimes kids, even brilliant ones, have to learn some things the hard way.

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    1. I doubt that he has yet learned anything of the ways of viruses. It will take multiple infections to convince him, the invincible Pony.

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  3. Did you shout to The Pony, "I told you so"? If not, why not?

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    1. I did not. He was feelin' poorly. I hate it when he is off his feed.

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  4. I agree with Joeh and Stephen both! And Val, I tried catching up, but you are to prolific... I am WAY behind and hoping today to at least read a few posts from all my lovely friends. You are a hoot... and I really think you should write a book. Although with all you have to tell, you could write about five and still have more to write about... just saying...

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    1. Those guys are just too agreeable. The more I try to get them to stick their respective necks out, the nicer they are.

      You'll never catch up to me! I am open 24 hours, like a 7-Eleven, in case you want to dash in for a fresh cup of Hick-trashing.

      A book? Val is all about the quantity, not the quality. She is the Creme Between cookie, the Mountain Holler soda, the Marvella pasteurized processed cheese food. Filling, but not for gourmet palates.

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  5. Over the lips and past the gums....I am LOL, not at your sick boy, but at your word play and reminder of Elaine. You are a hoot.

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    1. I am no Chuckles the Clown, being bankrupt in the little song, little dance, little seltzer down your pants accounts. But I try.

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  6. At least he didn't pick his teeth with it. Maybe he should take a dose of Junior Mints. They're very refreshing.

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    1. Only because the thought never occurred to him. Nothing minty shall ever make it even as far as The Pony's lips. He abhors mint. Eschews it. Loathes it like Newman loathes a resale shop owner who won't buy an old man's records. Without the help of Kramer.

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