b3ta.com user Ejaculantern
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» School Projects

Mom had a school project when I was in grade 12 (final year of high school)
entitled "Keep My Son From Failing English 12".

The background:

I had grown up and done all of my schooling in Vancouver (British Columbia), but late in grade eleven my stepdad had got work way up north in an isolated tiny town (population 3600) and when the summer came the rest of the family moved up there too. I went from a graduating class size of 900 to a school with less than 500 people comprising grades eight to twelve.

I was able (mostly) to continue along the paths my schooling had prevously taken, although the physics and algebra were like an easier version of the previous year. The computer science class was so far behind what I was used to that I got to challenge the final exam/project and ended up with a free period.

English. English 12 was the only provincially required grade twelve course you were required to take and pass. The teacher didn't care for me from the start - I was told later that he tended to sneer about "big city" attitudes, and since I came from the city...

Anyway, he tended to mark me hard. If there was an essay, or even a few paragraphs that had to be creative, he tended to fail me. One that stands out was when we were preparing for the provincial exams towards the end of the year: one of the exercises was to write a thesis paragraph on what makes the world go 'round, three supporting paragraphs, and a conclusion. The point was to learn the style - the content was irrelevant. I wrote about greed.

We did these in class, then he handed out criteria and had our peers mark them first, then he marked them. I got two perfects from my peers, and a fail from him. Why? Because greed *doesn't* make the world go 'round, and he knew the provincial markers wouldn't like that I'd said.

The year was coming to a close and I had about 23% in his class. I had high marks, A's and B's in everything else, and a solid academic record, but I was going to fail the required class and not be able to get my diploma. There seemed to be very little I could do about, either. Guidance counselor would just talk about making it up next year, and the principal said it was up to the teacher to grade my work, and accusations against him would have to be backed by pretty strong proof. I resigned myself to being boned.

June arrives, and as I'm coming out of algebra I hear my name on the overhead speakers, and I'm told to come to the office. Also, it was the principal speaking which was odd, as typically the vice principal or office secretary would be the one making announcements.

When I got to the office, all of the staff were mysteriously absent except for the principal who had a bit of a wild look around his eyes. He ushered me into his office where another man was already sitting behind the desk. "Thank you, you can go now" he said, dismissing the principal from his own office.

"I'm Brian Greener, school superintendant for the Peace River district." Ah, the principal's boss's boss's boss. He was based about 500 km from the town I was living in.

"East and West Germany have just reunited (this was 1990), what do you think some of the effects of this will be?"

This caught me off guard. I was still trying to figure out what I was doing here with this man, and he throws this at me? Ah well, I'm good under pressure so I expound at some length, talking about cultural collisions and superinflation and such. It wasn't interactive - he just watched me and listened.

"Some car manufacturing companies in the States, like GM, Ford, Chevrolet and so on are unionized. Others in the States, like Toyota, Honda et cetera are not and, despite the non-unionized workers getting less pay, they have no interest in unionizing. Why do you think that is?"

Beat the he'll out of me - I was seventeen and didn't really know anything about unions or car companies. I gave it my best shot though.

I remember there was another question, but I can't for the life of me remember what it was.

When I was all done, Greener leaned back in his chair and said, "Well, you don't seem to be the fucking moron that [English teacher] would have me believe. "I don't believe I am, sir." I replied.

"You know you currently have a failing mark in English?" I nodded. "Do you want a chance to do something about it?" he asked. I did, what did he have in mind? "I'll give you the provincial exam from last semester (this school didn't have semestered English, so I hadn't taken this test). Whatever you get on the test will be your mark for English."

I agreed of course, and he administered the test on the spot. With no prep time, I was locked in a closet of a room with the test, and off I went. You were allowed two or two and a half hours to write the test, I did it in thirty five minutes. I remember the supplied topic for the essay at the end was "rings". When I was done, Greener marked it on the spot, and I got 98.5%. he went off to present it to my English teacher with a big shit-eating grin on his face. It occured to me then that possibly my teacher wasn't as universally liked as I'd thought.

When I went home, I told my mother about all of this. After listening, she told me that she'd made a few phone calls after seeing the continual anti-favouritism (not the right word, but I can't remember her exact term) that I'd had to endure all year from this teacher, and that she knew I didn't deserve a failing grade in something like English.

Thanks mom!

Apologies for choppy sentences - I'm typing this on my phone and it seems to be affecting my flow.
(Tue 18th Aug 2009, 3:25, More)

» Cringe!

Related to my story on page two,
I was over at the shagmate's... shagging. It was about 0130 and I felt something hop on the bed.

She didn't have a cat.

It was her son, somewhat less than two years old, come to sleep in her bed. I froze. Not out of shame, and this isn't the cringe moment, but because I was trying to think of the least obvious way to dismount his mother and not leave him with any issues.

She says "Hi Kiddo!" and he proceeds to curl up on the other pillow. Quietly she says it's okay and we can keep going. I'm still poised above her, half in as I hadn't moved yet.

And that's when the little boy reached out and held my hand.


Mom started bucking her hips to get me going again, but I decided we were done.
(Thu 27th Nov 2008, 23:05, More)

» My sex misconceptions

It turns out...
that you don't actually blow when giving a blowjob. I wish I hadn't been the one to illuminate my then gf to this particular factoid, because when she performed the breathalyzer on me, she used both lungs and a running start.

Learning hurts.
(Fri 26th Sep 2008, 18:10, More)

» Cars

Near death experience + no wires levitation
Throughout the 1990s, Gord was my friend. You may in fact be aware of him if you remember the minor meme that was this site: www.actsofgord.com/ . This story is from before the store.

Gord and I were driving around visiting people, as you do, on a Saturday night. We were in Gord's red Mazda pickup, a stickshift, likely with crappy techno playing on his medium-range deck. We knew we weren't cool, but we were still enjoying ourselves.

While at someone or other's house, they mentioned they were on their way out to a party, and could we give them a ride? Sure we could, if she didn't mind squeezing between us in the cab. She didn't, and off we went.

Got to the party, Gord and I didn't really know anybody there and it sort of felt that it had passed the really fun part and was in the mellow/stunned phase that happens when brains are having trouble sparking through the neuropeptide haze. Gord and I decided to go, but then one of us got a page.

Yes, both of us had pagers. Yes, we wore them hooked to pockets. Yes, we thought this made us flash.

Another friend, another party, could they get a ride out? Sure, why not. Off we went.

Found the place, and picked up Kevin and Jeff. Jeff (very mellow when drunk, smiles with his eyes half-closed when toasted) got in the cab and straddled the gear shift. He did in fact take it in the nuts every time Gord hit second or fourth. Kevin (more aggressive drunk) got in the bed and lay down flat. Off we went.

So. Gord is a dangerously bit of a reckless driver at the best of times, but blessed with the kind of luck that makes you hate statistics. Partly to amuse himself and us, and partly to put a bit of a scare into Kev, Gord floored it and blew through some stop signs (residential late at night, so easy to see other traffic/people) and took corners faster than most people feel comfortable with. Then we got to Sexsmith road.

This is a long fairly straight stretch of road going down an incline with a disused railway crossing it. Gord accelerated it as much as possible, mostly to make the engine roar and freak Kevin out. Basic fun. Then we hit the tracks. What Gord hadn't really thought of was that the tracks were a level blip in an otherwise descending trajectory. We hit at full speed and launched into the air.

You have a lot of time to reflect on things when you're gracefully airborne in a light truck. How smooth the ride has suddenly become, the beautiful clarity of synthesizer notes against a drum machine, the sound that isn't quite a scream coming from low in the throat of your two companions. I also noticed, as the gravity loosened our tether that either the road bent just a touch after the tracks, or we'd picked up a bit of a sideways vector during launch.

In the midst of all of this, something caught my eye through the back window. Keven (still horizontal) had floated up to nearly the top of the glass and was gripping (I think) the rubber seal around it. I was pretty sure he was dead. I didn't have high hopes for the rest of us, come to that.

We landed entirely on the road, albeit just at the edge. Bounced and swayed. Kevin took the bedliner (ribbed plastic) in the face at least once. Gord brought the truck to a stop and as soon as our legs were able to support us and we'd checked for dryness, we were out the door and looking at Kev.


Drunken twit.
(Mon 26th Apr 2010, 16:54, More)

» Horrible things I've done to a loved one

When I was eighteen
my mom, brother, and stepdad moved into a new house with a sizable yard for an in-town place - 3/4 of an acre for those of you still stubbornly using Imperial measurements.

They extensively landscaped it and, as the grass was all new were watering it twice a day (underground sprinklers on a timer).

For no apparent reason, I took the cat out into the middle of this broad expense of lawn shortly before the sprinklers were due and dropped her there. She was happy enough to sniff all of the interesting smells.

When the first rumble of water flooding the pipes came she froze, trying to figure out what it was. Then two dozen sprinkler heads burst out of the ground with a loud hiss and began throwing water in all directions. And like Neo dodging bullets in slow motion, she shot across dozens of meters of turf, twisting and ducking streams and droplets until she was able to get to the safety of the driveway and the bushes on the other side.

Why did I do this? Malicious boredom.
(Wed 22nd Jun 2011, 3:39, More)
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