President Darsh

I was going through a few of my old magazines looking for a collector's issue I could pawn for crack when I found an interesting article on a fairly recent edition of the Hippo. The writer was probably some stoned beard-faced know-it-all like everyone else who writes for the Hippo, I knew, but I thought since the article was on a pretty interesting subject, I'd give it a shot.

The article was called... crap, I sold the issue for crack. Anyhoo, the article was about how the economy is affecting children, and how the funding a given district receives may have an influence on how broad of an education a child receives. The following is my retort.

DUH!

Are you fucking two? Of course a school's funding has an influence on the kids. They're the ones going to that school! A better article would've been about how the school's funding has an affect on however many antidepressants the art teacher takes. Of course, the article was largely pointless. I mean, kids are stupid little sons-o-fucks anyhow; what does it matter how much money we throw at them? This brings me to my latest announcement:

I, Darsh, am running for President of the School Board. I'll just sit here and read porn while that soaks in...

All set? Good. Let's get lubed. That's my catchphrase. Like, when you see my ad on TV, you'll see me talking to black people, or me rolling up my sleeves waaaay up my arms so that I can talk to construction workers, and then you hear my uplifting voice saying the catchphrase: "Let's get lubed."

My platform consists of a one-step plan called the "I-Take-Your-Money-And-Run" option. It's an option because it sounds a lot better on a ballot. Like, oh, I see, this guy just has ideas, that commie bastard, but Darsh has options. That's my game-winner.

My option is simple: I take all the money set aside for school funding and I run. Away from the schools, that is. Y'see, children suck. They don't deserve our money. So I'm taking your money and investing it in a market that cannot fail: hookers.

So how will our little shits learn, you ask? My solution is simple: the hard way (heh heh... hard). No more of those sissy afterschool clubs. Nothing pisses of Daddy like having to hear about every inane and minute detail of what happened to the person who ruined his wife's vagina, especially since he's been working for the past ten hours just so his fat little bastards and/or bitches can gain more weight. Afterschool should not be playtime. It should be 'make-Daddy-food' time, followed by 'get-screamed-at-and-hit' time, then 'get-shoved-down-a-flight-of-stairs' time, and finally 'pass-out-in-basement' time.

Afterschool clubs won't be lonely in Hell, though. Joining 'afterschool' is 'during school'. No more classes, no more books, and no more teachers. We've been hearing lots of horror stories about teachers molesting kids lately. Now that problem's solved. Find another job, you philosophy major!

Out with the old and in with the new. And the new school is called 'Life'. In this new school, you will learn how to live and how to die. Survival is the name of the game, because school takes place inside three Hellginas spread across the Earth like Maya Angelou's legs spread across a black president's face. At the age of six, children will be taught by their parents to read. This will take about two months (any longer and they get a shotgun to the face; we'll tell them we're taking 'em to Disneyland). After that, we test the shits on what they've learned. The reading test is a pamphlet. Kids will choose one of the three schools to attend; Jungle school, in the rainforests of South America; Frozen school, in the tundra of Russia; or Ass school, in the smelliest parts of Turkey. I know Turkey doesn't sound too bad, but have you seen Midnight Express? Better tell Billy not to drop the soap.

If and when the little shits return home, they'll be ready for any task to which the Giver assigns them. Oh yeah, I forgot; we need Givers. But I'll get to that later.

My new plan is sure to pick up steam like a good ol' fashioned steam-picker-upper. But there's just one problem: I NEED FUNDING! So, here's the deal: send me your money, and your kid gets sent to the special fourth school. Called "Dirt" school and taking place in my basement, this select academy is for kids who want to learn the magic of cleaning my stuff, and also staying out of my boxes. So please, won't you give your child the future they deserve? And by that I mean no future?