It's 8 am or somewhere close to it, and I trudge my weary soul toward the gates of hell. And by gates of hell, I mean "professional development." Ask any teacher. They'll tell you just how deep the inner circle is, filled with meetings and data charts and stuffed-shirt presenters spewing out "exciting opportunities" (translation: torture) to learn
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I totally understand. I've been there.
The stories I could tell...
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You slay me.
I'm saying it again - you should be writing for The Daily Show.
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He got me back at our graduation ceremony. He was behind me in line, and before I went up, he said, "Alyce!" Then he made his eyes vibrate back and forth, which I had never seen him do before. I was laughing like crazy as I crossed the stage to get my diploma. Good one.
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God, I so want to see that picture.
Your analysis of The Giving Tree cracked me up, especially
you hack up the most important woman in your life, drag the body through the woods to dispose of it, and then spend your twilight years returning to the scene of the crime to re-live the glory days?
cracked me the hell up. It's so wrong, but so perfect!
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