So today was the first real day of my tour, and included: the drive from Syracuse to NY, with a swing by Binghamton to pick up a different rental car when the rental car we were driving developed an issue; an interview with Austin Considine, a wonderful young writer who has recently spent six months in Dubai working on a book about sex slavery in that country; the recording of a podcast for GQ
at their offices in Times Square; and a heartbreakingly beautiful dinner/book party thrown by Jim Nelson and Andy Ward at GQ
. Today is going to be a challenge. I have something like three interviews, a book signing, an appearance on David Letterman, and a reading. I have extremely limited TV experience, my throat is already scratchy from talking too much, I have an annoying asthmatic wheeze, and I have already exhausted my wit. But on the bright side, as we were racing past a school today, look what blew out the window and into my hand! A sort of missive from the Youth:
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Dear Principle Edwords or Edwards or However You Spell It:
You asked us to write a coarse evaluation of what happened and all with Mr Stone? Well hear it is. We hope you like what we have wrote about him. It is not only true but actally happened.
At first this class was a pretty easy class to take. The readings were interesting but often tedious. The kids in class always seemed paranoid about being struck down by others. Unfortunately this factor led to an awkward vibe which both contributed and caused the demise of the teacher. We enjoyed this class to the best of its ability. The books assigned were dull and dry though good. For example one by Dickens was to hard, Mrs Dickens should have kept it simpler. We liked the part about Tiny Tom though. He was cool but sad. We wandered why Tiny Tomâ€™s dad did not get a better job? If u r poor, get a good job! Do not just wine, especially if Tiny Tom is about dead!
When them ghosts came we did not find it scarry. Would have been scarier if one ghosts tongue had shot out and likked Mr Scrooge or Marley or whoever, that one guy who was such a tightass in terms of his money? We did like the part wear the guyâ€™s hat flies off and out comes lite. That reminded all of us of actual Xmas and the joy it bringz.
The class would have been good if it would have been better. But was always just the same. It was all dry about history things which supposably happened, yet who can prove it? As we were not there and neither was Stone.
Just before his demise, Stone got the sudden look of a weeper. Every day he was just shirking fearful in the doorway, a sad feel to him. Several of us said, dude, you are not that bad, there are plenty worst, for example, Miss Heinz struck Kimberly in the sternoid with a thrown globe of the earth. Compared to Heinz, we said, you have never thrown a globe of the earth at us once that we know of.
Finally his snapping point was, Brittany said how did Charlene Dickens even know what Bob Ratchet was thinking in his own personal head? Was Miss Dickens in that Ratchet house with them with a tape recorder? Which wasnâ€™t even invented, or if so, would have been the size of a whole entire room?
And Mr Stone gave Brittany this glare of like total evil!
And Brittany was like: I think he might be a cereal killer. Which she thought she was whispering it, only sometimes Brittany has this problem of: speaks loud! when thinking she is speaking soft.
When Stone herd that, he seized the snake cage and holds it aleft!
And we thought he might cereal-kill Brittany!
But no, he merely slams the snake cage down hard on his desk and damped at his eyes with his sweater, which was not on him at that time, but drapped across his chare.
Which was how the too snakes sadly dyed.
From him slamming them so severe we expect there snake branes got scrambled, a prety ruff way of dyeing, if we do say so as self!
We did not mean, when we said up above "demise," that Mr Stone dyed. He lives. He lives over in Grove Farm Estates, behind the JiffyLube, which we know due to as a pranc we have crypt buy there many nights and scene through his window him sitting in dismay in his Eighties sweater, with a look of deject on his pallor.
In summery, our future advice is, this teacher seems to have bundles of inside rage.
But anyways we are all graduating so weather he is kept by you or sent on his weigh, that is irregardless to us, as we will be long-gone, at collage, but we wish him the best of luck and that he does not go totally mental in his future endeavors.
The Class of 2007.
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Ah, Youth! See you tomorrow, Portland. Or tonight, if you watch Letterman.