Teacher gets owned by a 12 year old
Unfortunately the teacher was me.
A couple of years back I was teaching in a rather deprived area to say the least. Most of the kids had unemployed, junkie parents who spent a lot of time in court. Funny enough, they were nice kids at heart, but rough as fuck, stoned in class, breaking windows, nicking stuff etc. Most of them, if they came to class, had no books or paper and were spazzed out hyper.
You can imagine my delight when over the course of the year, I get them to settle down and actually take interest in the lessons. They were even doing work that wasn't assigned, craptastic but nonetheless it brought a tear to my eye.
I had spent a week teaching them about verbs, "action words, something you can do", I explained this in very simple terms and I was pretty confident that they had it nailed down.
I decided it was time to see my shining scholars demonstrate their new found knowledge, perhaps followed by standing on their desks and declaring "O captain, my captain." Sorry if this goes on a bit, but feel free to skip all of the poem after the first stanza. (I just thought you might like the poem)
Me: Ok, read the following poem and underline the verbs.

Digging


Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests; as snug as a gun.

Under my window a clean rasping sound
When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:
My father, digging. I look down

Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds
Bends low, comes up twenty years away
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills
Where he was digging.

The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.

By God, the old man could handle a spade,
Just like his old man.

My grandfather could cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner's bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, digging down and down
For the good turf. Digging.

The cold smell of potato mold, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I've no spade to follow men like them.

Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I'll dig with it.

Looking around the classroom, the little unchins were really making an effort, a whole generation of underacheivers sticking it to the man and rising above the shit. The head hyper nutter was buried in the poem, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth, eyes focussed, smiling like a mong, hands grubby with ink, even his lice were behaving. Suddenly he sits upright, looks straight at me and beams "finished sir! ask me."
Me: Alright Sean, what's the first verb?
Sean: "Finger" sir.
Now you can see where this is going, but I had put blood sweat and tears into teaching these chavs verbs, and by fuck, verbs they will learn. The blood pressure went through the roof.
Me (eyes popping out of my head, veins in my neck): Sean, what in the blazes is a verb?
Sean: An ackchun word sir, summit' you do sir.
Me: Then how is "finger" a verb? Have you ever seen somebody fingering?
Sean: Yeah, I saw me cousin fingering that slapper Jenny from number 27
You can imagine the uproar. I cut the insides of my mouth trying not to laugh.
It broke my heart to give him detention, genius.
(knackerz is skinning up, Fri 13 Jun 2008, 4:44, 7 replies)

A+
gets a click
=)
( olivier8 (euroloon), Fri 13 Jun 2008, 9:15, closed)

I say 'almost'
Almost worth the wait - *click*
(bazmorningstar efil4nat3b, Fri 13 Jun 2008, 9:47, closed)

Ahhh
Seamus O'Heany, I had to do this poem for GCSE. I was in the top set of quite a good comprehensive and we still found him funny so i wouldn't worry too much, although none of us came up with that litte gem!

*clicks*
(Petite chien is going to do science to it, Fri 13 Jun 2008, 10:19, closed)

I got owned by some year 11s once
I was talking about phones with my year 11 german class, and I told them I had 'a pair of Nokias'.

I have disproportionately enormous boobs, of the type that enter a room before me, so obviously that went down well with a bunch of horny 16 year old boys.
( b3th Not shit. Not mod., Fri 13 Jun 2008, 11:50, closed)

@ PETITE CHIEN
who the fuck is seamus o'heany??????
(little lord muthafuckin fauntleroy, Fri 13 Jun 2008, 12:32, closed)

ambition
On another note this kid was priceless, one of my parting pieces of advice to him as I left the school, for sunnier climes was as follows:
Me: Sean, you have great potential, you'll either end up a millionaire or in prison.
Sean: Funny you should say that sir, but I always wanted to do some big bank jobs, maybe I'll end up doing both.

It will be a pleasure to "visit" him in the future.
(knackerz is skinning up, Fri 13 Jun 2008, 14:48, closed)

Whoops!
I thought the whole poem was a double entrendre: "Between my finger and thumb the squat pen rests" oo-er
"Straining rump among the flowerbeds"
"The shaft against the inside knee" - must have been hung like a navvie.

sorry.
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Tue 17 Jun 2008, 15:11, closed)