The leadership skills displayed by the Republican presidential candidates inspire me. I am a teacher and I recently applied GOP leadership techniques in my classroom. They work like a charm! I share my story with you in the hopes that these practices might filter into your workplace. As a community, we shall instill valuable GOP lessons in America's youth.
On the day that I applied my new Republican mindset, I strode with confidence to my Shakespeare classroom. A small crowd of students stood in the doorway. One girl was wearing a head scarf- a weird religion thingy. This made me uncomfortable. Wouldn't this be a distraction to the others who were there to learn about the Bard? Why was this girl even taking this class? Someone like that would not be interested in literature. She must have had another agenda besides learning. Security was called and she was removed. For good measure, I asked them to haul away another girl who had a wool scarf around her neck. She was probably wearing the scarf because it was cold, but I didn't want to take any chances. The girl was ugly anyway, so who needs her?
The first order of business was returning mid-term exams. I did not grade the exams myself -- I have people who do that for me. Most grades were so-so. This is to be expected since none of them are as smart as me - my IQ is one of the highest. One of the students failed. The kid's name was Dewey. As I handed him his exam, I boldly announced in my most commanding voice, "Hey, Douchey - you got a 61! You are a LOSER! I don't like losers! I like winners. Get outta here, loser! The classroom is no place for dummies."
If the kid was smart, he would have bargained for a better grade. Everything is negotiable. But instead, the little wimp cried and ran out. That'll teach him! Life is tough. Don't be a loser.
The pansy crybaby is a product of a common core education. I hate the common core. No, I mean, I like it. No, I hate it. I hate the common core and I believe we should de-fund the Department of Education so that learning is local. We have to stop churning out these freakin' pantywaist kids.
Now that the scarves and the losers were gone, we could focus on the day's lesson: Macbeth and the art of the deal. Most teachers characterize Macbeth as a ruthless, ambitious cut-throat. As if that's a bad thing. I, on the other hand, teach how Macbeth can inspire young Americans to achieve.
My eye was drawn to the back of the room where five students were seated together. These students were black, and a few of them wore black t-shirts. Black skin, black shirts. What did that mean? Why were they sitting next to each other? What were they doing in my class in the first place? I called security and had them ejected. It's my class and I have that right.
Twelve students remained. They were all white, as it should be for a Shakespeare class.
I don't have a lesson plan. I like to feel the vibe of the room and then I riff on whatever seems popular.
A pretty little girl started flirting with me - which is to be expected. To impress me, she started listing Lady Macbeth's admirable qualities. One of my top students stood up, got in her face, and loudly proclaimed, "How can you even talk about Shakespeare with that face of yours?! Your make-up is like stucco!" The men hooted, supporting this disruption.
I beamed! This is education! Students want - and need! - solid debating skills. A good retort is worth a thousand Shakespeare plays.
Pretty Girl took the bait: "Oh, yeah?! Well, you got a small dick, dickwad!"
Not the most nuanced response, but it was enough to garner an "Ooooooh!" from the crowd. Not bad for a girl!
The ball was back in Smart Kid's court. "Hey, Rosie O'Donnell, your flop sweat is making that clown make-up run down your chubby face!"
This stung - Smart Kid is good! Pretty Girl crumbled and fled. A bunch of other girls followed. Loser girls like these are not gonna make it in the real world.
I am going to have a wall built outside the classroom so the riffraff can't back get in. Nobody builds walls better than me. And I'm gonna make those loser kids pay for the wall.
Seven young white men remained. I was so happy. Their faces shone with adulation for me. They reminded me of ... me. We had a productive discussion about how political correctness is the root of all evil. I taught them effective one-liners that I have used to skewer my colleagues at department meetings. I threw in a few pithy Shakespeare put-downs, too, because I know a lot of big words. By the end of the class, they were jokingly insulting each other ("cankerblossom!" and "fustilarian!"), patting each other on the back, having a grand ol' time.
I then went to a boring faculty meeting where plans for an Anti-Bullying campaign were discussed. What a waste of time.