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Mrs. Carver’s Kindergarten Class (Spring 2036 A.D.) (Louis Toliver, Jr)

            The young kids were chattering as Mrs. Carver sat at her desk preparing the morning English lesson. She flipped through the Modern Modernized English Teacher’s Manual. The section she browsed was called “Emotive Words and Phrases for Emotional Release.”
            “Alright, children. Today, we continue emotive words and phrases. As we discussed yesterday, there are certain words or phrases we can use to release emotion when we are frustrated.”
            Little Billy’s hand shot up quickly, eager to speak. “Ooooh, oooh, Mrs. Carver!”
            “Yes, Billy?”
            “Shit me!” Billy was proud of his statement. The rest of the kid’s started snickering and laughing. “Is that right?”
            “Not quite, Billy. Repeat after me class. Fuck you (she pointed to the class)! Fuck  me (she pointed to herself)! Fuck! Now, class. Your turn.”
            The class repeated in ensemble, “Fuck you (the children pointed to Mrs. Carver)! Fuck me (the children pointed to themselves)! Fuck!
            “Great class!” Mrs. Carver turned around to the dry erase board. She wrote the word SHIT on the board. “Now, SHIT is written in all caps and doesn’t every take a direct object. Simply just say, SHIT! The letters are emphasized. Jessica, why don’t you try?”
            Little Jessica looked around nervously. She wasn’t sure if she could pull it off right. “Shit?” she said with uncertainty. A few kids snickered.
            “Emphasize the letters, Jessica.”
            Jessica took a deep breath and closed her eyes, “SHIT!”
            “Everyone clap for Jessica,” Mrs. Carver said sternly. All the kid’s clapped and Jessica grew a larger smile, pleased.
            “Ooooh, oooh, Mrs. Carver!” Billy waved his hand in the air. It looked as if it was going to fly off.
            “Yes, Billy?”
            “My dad says that these used to be only bad words. He says it was when McDonald’s only served a billion burgers.”
            The kids all ooohed in curiosity. “It says over a trillion, now,” a voice was heard through the uproar.
            “Yes, Billy, your father is right.”
            Billy folded his arms proud of his father.
            “Can you say moist?” Little Rupert blurted out.
            Mrs. Carver came unhinged and pointed a corner in the room with a stool, “Rupert Michael McCoy! You get in the corner, right now!” Her hair frizzed as her forehead wrinkled. “You know very well that you can’t say that word!” Rupert dragged himself to the corner of the room and climbed on the stool.
            “Why?” little Emily asked out of curiosity.
            “Because it’s a gross word, Emily. Young ladies and gentlemen don’t use that word.” Mrs. Carver scratched her head. “Now, where were we? Oh, yes.” She turned around and was about to write another word on the dry erase board.
            “Moist,” a voice whispered, but Mrs. Carver heard it.
            “Who said that?”
            The whole kindergarten class was silent. Mrs. Carver couldn’t believe the upbringing of some of these kids. How could their parents allowed such filthy mouths?
At that moment Rupert urinated on himself and it dripped down the stool, “Mrs, Carver, I just pissed on myself.”
Mrs. Carver shook uncontrollably in anger while all the kids snickered and whispered. She was sure she heard moist again in the whispers.


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