Tag: politics

Parent Teacher Cage Matches

The sixth-graders mixed screams and stomps into the pounding cadence of the school fight song as it synchronized with the garnet and gold strobe lights.

 Ian Cziger was enthralled. Not with the spectacle, but the young lady one row up and four seats to the right. Maddie Campbell was all Ian wanted to see forever.  Her white sweater and smooth skin changed color under the flickering lights. When she turned and smiled, he was able to confirm the rumor of breast buds. A shiver rampaged through him. His groin stirred.  

Confused by his body and numbed by her smile, he did what any boy that age would do. He put his thumbs in his ears and wiggled his fingers. Maddie shook her head and turned around.

“That was stupid,” Ian thought. “Why?”

There was no time for self-pity.

“ARE YOU READY FOR TEACHER CONFERENCES!!!” screamed the principal from the wrestling ring centered on the basketball court. “I CAN’T HEAR YOU!”

The students roared. It took three tries to win back silence.

“Henley Marauders let’s give a Marauding welcome to the 47th President of the United States Donald J. Trump and the Secretary of Education Linda McMahon!

“We are honored Mr. President and Madame Secretary that you chose Henley for the first parent-teacher conference under this new federally mandated format.

“Madame Secretary, as a founding member of WWF, your decision to blend the format of outdated parent teacher conferences with cage matches has brought excitement and transparency to education. Parents now feel they are in control of their children’s education. This is truly an innovation!”

Ian stirred again when a beautiful woman with long legs and black hair climbed into the ring. Her sequined top pushed into view what he hoped would be Maddie’s future. She held up a large card and walked around the ring. The other side of the gym gasped then cheered. Ian did not cheer. He wanted to slide under the bleachers.

“Cziger vs. Hahn!”

Fireworks went off. The lights and overbearing song returned. Smoke filled the gym. Classmates slapped his back; Maddie booed. He was in a daze when Coach Morrow led him to the ring where Ian’s parents were sitting.

In her final year of a four-decade career as an English teacher, Sylvia Hahn struggled into the ring. Her bad right hip made it difficult to walk. Grey-haired and portly, she was Mrs. Claus. She baked cookies for the school during the holidays.

Coach Morrow put his shoulder into her and rolled her up into the ring. “Sorry Sylvia,” he said helping her to the desk. “I’ll be in the corner.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Cziger it’s nice to see you.”

The President interrupted. “Get on with it.”

Hahn leaned across the desk. “Ian I am surprised. You have an A minus.”

“I’ll speak for him, you gimp,” Joe Cziger. “We’re here because that minus should be a plus. And don’t give me any of that ‘he didn’t follow the rules crap.’”

“That’s better,” Trump yelled as if he was having a spasm. “Don’t forget ‘Sleepy-like Joe’ or “Fatty fat Chris Christie’”.

“You heard the President,” Marissa Cziger seethed. “You should be executed for treason.”

“My, my,” Hahn said. She reached deep into her experience of overbearing, obnoxious parents. She smiled. “I doubt you know what treason is. This isn’t it. Ian’s exercise required the successful application of the Oxford comma.

“Ian did not do that.”

Joe sprang to his feet and grabbed the chair. “Oxford comma? This is ‘Merica you comma Commie! We got rid of that with King George!”

The chair met Hahn’s head and shattered. Stunned, Hahn couldn’t resist when Joe lifted her with a chokehold. Marissa bolted around the desk and began to slap Hahn in the stomach.

While his classmates screamed, the strobe lights raged and music thumped, Ian sat paralyzed in a silent, slow-motion cocoon of chaos.

In the VIP box, Trump was feigning punches. McMahon was jumping and swinging her arms.

“All of this because of a comma,” Ian thought. He told his parents he didn’t want an Ivy. He would follow Maddie.

The tables turned with a single blow. Hahn’s sharp elbow found Joe’s groin. He staggered back into the ropes. The ensuing upper cut found Marissa’s chin. She dropped to the canvas.

Coach Morrow raised Hahn’s arm.

Ian’s classmates swarmed the ring. Maddie approached.  That ecstatic shiver returned when their eyes met. Her voice broke the silence.

“She’s my favorite teacher and we can never be together now!” Maddie screamed.  

 Ian stammered. His excitement drained. He said the first thing he thought.

“That sentence needs a comma; it sounds like you are dating Mrs. Hahn.”  

Another perfect call

The assistant poked her head into the office.

“Mr. President?”

She hesitated. The desk was vacant. The president’s favorite high-backed, green leather chair sat to one side.

“Sir, it’s the president-elect.”

She scanned the silent, high-ceiling room. She caught the miniscule swivel of the chair as she turned to leave.

“President Zelenskyy?”

She crept to the desk and leaned over. What she saw under the writing surface left her in shock. The man she admired for rallying a country in the face of Russian aggression was in the fetal position. His face against the carpet.

“Ah, there you are sir. It’s President-elect Drumpf.”

Zelenskyy, attired in his olive-green t-shirt and pants, turned to face her.

“I lost my pen.”

“That’s okay, sir,” she said. “I can help. There’s no need to keep looking.”

She felt his reluctance to leave the wooden cocoon.

“Yes certainly,” he said and crawled out.

“Orange one is on line two,” the assistant instructed.

Zelenskyy became stern. “What have I told you about showing disrespect for 45Drumpf?”

“Keep it up!”

They laughed.

“Hey,” he said as she reached the door. “It was a coincidence; dropping my pen when I heard his voice.”

“Works for me,” she said.

Zelenskyy moved his chair to the desk. Before he could speak, his caller’s voice filled the room.

“Voldy, this is the Dah-nald.  I’m back for another “perfect” call. This is gonna be beautiful. They say it will be the best presidential phone call in history. Imagine that, even better than when Abe Lincoln would call Jeffy Davis. I tell ya, those two got into it. But we’ll see what they say. Who knows.”

Zelenskyy suppressed the bile filling his throat.

“Congratulations on another term…” was all he was allowed.

“Yup. Fight! Fight! Fight! You and me buddy. I fight those soft, nefarious treasonous Americans who don’t like me, and you fight the Russians. Did you hear someone shot at me? Has anyone shot at you?

“Turns out, I didn’t need you to go after doddering Joe. Time did that and we got his son anyway.”

Zelenskyy coughed. He was feeling uncomfortable. “Mr. President-elect ….”

“Now, now Voldy, I won both the electoral and popular votes. I hear Ukrainians are calling it the most beautifully run election they’ve ever seen. They liked the balance between offensive snark and attacks on that woman. I tell ya, no one can beat a woman like a Drumpf.”

Zelenskyy heard whispers from the U.S end of the call.

“I did?” Drumpf said. “I don’t do this often but I need to clarify something. No one beats a woman in an election like a Drumpf. That’s what I meant.”

“A clarification,” Zelenskyy said. “Truly historic. Is there someone with you?”

“Yeah, Elon,” Drumpf said. “God I’ve always loved the smell of musk. Not sure if I like him or it’s just an association with that fragrance. I’m telling you; interesting things happen when the colognes are near the women’s dressing rooms.

“Hey, Elon. Maybe we should do our own? We could package ’em with my leftover Bibles, teddy bears, trading cards and steaks. Should be a lot of demand for the ‘ol Drumpfster between Christmas and Inauggy Day? We start with a potential market share of 75 million votes. You put up the money, okay?

“Hey Voldy, you want in? For a licensing fee we can give you rights for whatever’s left of Ukraine on Jan. 21st.”

The Ukrainian’s blood was boiling. “January 21st?”

“I promised folks I’d end this thing on Day One. That would be Jan. 20th. But since it’s a half day – it doesn’t’ start until noon – I’m giving myself through the 21st.”

Zelenskyy knew the walls weren’t moving but they felt closer. “Ukraine is open to a realistic solution that protects ….”

“That’s great,” Drumpf said. “Elon’s in charge. He’ll work it out with Vladdy and be back in touch.”

The line went dead before Zelenskyy could object. He hadn’t noticed his assistant near the desk.

“What are we going to do?” she said. Her voice raw with fear.

“We will fight,” Zelenskyy said. “Fight! Fight! Fight!”