How To Get A Job In TEFL

12/02/2012 12:29

How To Get A Job In TEFL


Walking into a language `studio` in Buttapes asking for a job, they said, `Send us your CV.` E-mailing back that there was work, `with some companies`, sleeping all through the next day said something of my enthusiasm. Often a `dummy` lesson is required, and the dummy shows what it can do. Old hands throw away the textbook and demonstrate their skills at juggling; playing the guitar (simultaneously), and making those useless items from empty round Dairy Lea cheese slices boxes, and squeezy Fairy Liquid detergent bottles, which they show you how to make on BBC TV`s Blue Peter (1958-), and that invariably turn into a pipe rack. Without fail, it gets the nod.


 Attention drawn to the `window` of a classroom where a Philupyournose (with coke) teacher had written on the board: `It is raining yesterday.` He`d been through the interview process, and it was a ‘demo’ lesson. However, somehow they`d missed the fact that he didn`t know the difference between the past and present tenses. `Hey Mark!` we hailed him afterwards. `What was you want?` he retorted. `What`s the past tense of the verb `to be`?` we wanted to know. `You is joking,` he snorted, `any English worth his mustard know the pass tense is `been`.` Mark was reputedly among the chunkies addicted to heroine, who was often heard to describe her lifestyle as 'blowing chunks'.


 Mark was still working there when I left. The stud`nts liked him because he knew less than they. It was encouraging for them to operate under the umbrella of one who had as little clue as themselves about the present. He was also pleasant, which might not get you a job. However, it`s certainly how to keep one. I can`t manage pleasant, but I can do polite. I`m afraid that the idiocies of stud`nts would drive me crazy if I tried pleasantness. It`s too close to friendly for my liking. I can be warm and polite. However, pleasant and friendly doesn`t sit well with my teaching machinery. Stud`nts ask you to have tea with them and meet their mothers. I`ve never met a `mom` yet who looks like the Brazilian supermodel Adriana Lima (1981-) and I consider the invitation a broken promise if she doesn`t.


 ELT tools become dulled when it`s about maintaining relationships and that rapport much spoken of by management as essential for the smooth running of a group. You spend all your time being `accessible` and `flexible` that time passes and the stud`nts have forgotten to open their books because you didn`t have time for that. The secret for the true ELT professional is - chocolate. It produces the same chemical in the brain as when you are in love. I scientifically ate bucketsful of the stuff in Poe-Land when teaching at the Lęgpork Grammar skull there, the SLOTH, in 2000. The chocolate made me feel as though all the children loved me, which is useful if you`re loathed and despised for trying to enable them in speaking your language. It was no accident either. I`d done research on the internet. It was either chocolate or the empathogen-enactogen psychostimulant drug, MDA (ecstasy), I`d decided. There was a group of mainly young male adults to explain myself to in 3b. The brisk conversations we had amongst ourselves were of a type:


T: `Okay, today we are going to use our writing books.`

S: `You are a fokwat.`

T: `Please open your textbook - the blue one - at page one-hundred-and-ninety-seven, `How to write a letter in English to a friend (not a busyness letter).`

S: `Dear fokwat. We is love you.`

S2: `You is a fokhed. Sincerely.`

S3:  `Yours is faithfully fokwat.`

T: `Notice that the letter begins with the address, in the top right corner, of the person you are writing to, and do not forget the postcode.`

S: `Mr Fokwat Teacher, 6 Fokwat street, Fokwat, Fokshire, F-O-K, You K.`

T: `Your address is written on the left opposite the addressee`s.`

S1: `Good Polished man, 10 Excellent street, Very Good Polished Town, P-O-L-S-K-I #1, Poe-Land.`

T: `Very good [polite but ringing under the blows of the assault to my ears and sensibilities]. After that, begin with `Dear...` and then the name of the person you are writing to.`

S2: `Dear Fokwat, you are the best teacher. I am in love with you. You are the best we have. I want to have rabies with you.`

T: `No,` I say, `you mean `babies`.`

SS: Frowning in puzzlement. `No, rabies.`

T: Sighs heavily. `Chocolate anyone?`

 The children were `reaching out to me`, when they weren`t reaching into my pockets. I had 500 Polished złoty lifted from my jeans during one draining excursion into the all-but-prison-in-name we euphemistically `taught` at. Though their teacher was in receipt of only 1600 złoty a month (about $1,000 US), a young woman did, in fact, `reach out’. `I love you.` said Anya apropos of nothing at all. `Anya, she is for you,` Maya demanded of me in a classroom further along in my teaching schedule. `You can press your suit,` Maria illuminated me as I gathered up my bumf towards the end of another doom-laden day of diphthongs and declinations. `Decline the adjective `good`,` I`d command. `We don`t want it,` they`d say.


 Anya was 13, I was nearing 40, and the local church was 200 meters away. I handled the affair by sedulously avoiding eye contact with the marriage-makers and pressing on with the possessive, `We always put an apostrophe after the noun to indicate that the noun belongs`, I tell them, knowing full well that they hadn`t any idea of the meaning of the word `belongs`. `So, if the chair belongs to Jane, we say `Jane`s chair`,` I write it on the wipe board. Always stress words they don`t know, to make them think that they do, and stop them asking you questions - they`ll ask the person sitting next to them. `The chair is belonging to Jane,` they explain me, `no apostrophe required.` `No,` I patiently demur, `the chair belongs to Jane. It is Jane`s chair.` `It`s my chair. Jane can`t have it. Let her buy her own fokkin’ chair,` says a helpful class member. `Let`s hit her with it,` says another. `I understand,` a clever devil tells me, `Jane`s a chair.` `No,` I scan the heavens for mercy, `Jane`s a young woman (never let female stud`nts know that you think of them as anything less than wise old women). She is not a chair.` `No, she`s a chair,` responds the clever devil, `that is, she has a chair. The chair belongs to her.` Broken, I weep.


`She’sus wept` (John: 11. 35) is of course the shortest phrase in the Boble. There are much shorter ones in my phrasebook: pithier too. Although the in person application, or `walk in` is productive in terms of employment, they might upset your equilibrium by suggesting `training`. Bullitz centers require a series of role-plays, for example, between a prospective hotel guest and the receptionist:


Hotel: Scene 1


`Do you have a room for a single person?`

`Do you mean a room for one, and your wife or mistress is coming later? In which case you can have either a room with twin beds or a double bed. Or you are single and are going to invite an unspecified number of prostitutes to stay with you for an unspecified amount of time (in which case you can have either a room with twin beds or a double bed). Or you want a single bedroom because you want to invite an unspecified number of prostitutes to the hotel at various stages in your stay here for an hour or so of `fun` each time, and you`re too cheap to pay for a double bed and/or too embarrassed to tell us, that is, the hotel management, what you are planning to do. Or you are a boring loser and you want a room with a single bed because there isn`t going to be any action?`

`A bed for one person, please. I`m happy with my hand. Do you have the adult version of Disney`s `1971 movie Bedknobs and Broomsticks on cable?`

`Okay, that`ll be twice as much as the double or twin bed room then. For being nerdy.`


  Hotel: Scene 2


`Hi, have my bags arrived yet?`

`Who are you?`

`I rang earlier, I`m Jerry Tribblethwaite from earlier when I rang. Have my bags arrived yet?`


`Sorry, it`s with my bags. I rang earlier.`

`No passport [makes tiny scridgy marks on letter headed hotel notepaper].`

`I can pay. My credit cards are with my luggage.`

`Can`t pay [makes even scridgier marks].`

`So, you see how it is?`

`Yes sir. You have no ID, no money, and no luggage. You`re a street person and an `alien`. Please remove yourself from the hotel foyer, there are customers waiting.`


Hotel: Scene 3


`Hi, room service? This is Herbie Postlethwaite from when I rang earlier. It`s been four hours since I ordered coffee. Where is it?`

`Just a moment sir ... The rooms` attendant says she left a cup at the door, sir. I expect it`ll be cold now.`

`Why did she leave it at the door? Am I supposed to push a straw underneath it and drink from a recumbent position?`

`She thought you might be naked, sir. She says she heard noises suggestive of bath water.`

`Please send her up with another cup and assure her that I shall be naked.`

`Yes sir.`


 It was `teaching the invented other language` that defeated me. The others were much cleverer at inventing words; like `giboba` and `geboba` meaning `to go home` and `to be at home` - allegedly. Showing ‘em two fingers. I carelessly enunciated the word `*u*k` before, placing the thumb and forefinger on one hand together to make a circle, thrusting the index finger of my other hand inside the circle repetitively to underline the meaning. Needless to say, I was surplus to requirements on that, and possibly every other, occasion.


  At one point in my journeyings, in 1996-7 several Buttapes’ language skulls, that is, ‘nyelviskola’, claimed my services. Bull on Tulips & Nuts St., Lungeamore across the Danude (there’s a suspenders’ bridge between Butt and Apes), which is opposite Orange Janus #3 Metro station, Mutterlang on Fishukrodi, near Pullover Yoghurt, the `Western railway station`, Intapint near the ELTE Pay Universe City, Bottom Rung at Call Vin #4 Metro station, and Planeat in Meal Square. Spreading it about is necessary, because a lot of nyelviskola won`t give you full time employment, so that you remain a slave; living hand to mouth. As everyone is a ‘piece worker’, `moonlighting` within the ‘black economy’ is unavoidable, because the companies of the East expect to win by taking all of those of the West’s pieces who can’t make it onto the bored.



 Proofreading is a staple. Hired in ‘96 by Hungry’s Institute for Head Chuck Occasional Research (CHOIR) to write their CRAP (Centre Raison d'être pour d'Alma Pont) report on Higher Heads, while shuffling around dust-laden corridors at the former So Feared Institute for Removing Potatoes (IRE), there’d be invitations to correct papers. Often just a comma, or a single letter, in a document of a few pages, would require correction. It was a ‘top up’, because the salary was inadequate. Though grateful for the handout, it’d have been starvation without it.


 Being careful about what you agree to do is important. With a job at N.Y. Elvskulls teaching at GG Drek, an architect`s firm in Butt, they wanted a text proofread, which was time-consuming, technical and specialized. There was a time limit with no extra payment on completion. Shortly after, N.Y Elvskulls dispensed with my knowledge and expertise. GG were typical in that they thought learning Busyness English was about how to keep the English busy, that is, they were slavers. `How many beans make five?` I’d begin. `Five,` they’d tell me humorlessly, and I’d ask, `How do you spell `beans`?` ‘P-I-N-S,’ they’d say. ‘No,’ I’d tell them, and write B-E-A-N-S, ‘which is the plural of the noun bean.` `How much is a tin of beans in Hungry?` I’d ask. `Skodas are about 5 million HUF [about 11,000 GBP],’ they’d tell me. `How many tins make five?` I’d drill. `Five,` they’d tell me, and how do you spell `tins`? I wanted to know. `T-E-E-N-S,` they’d say and, writing T-I-N-S, I’d say `the plural of the noun tin.` `How many beans in a tin?` I’d ask. They’d shake their heads nonplussed, ‘You have to get them into the teens,’ they’d say. `Yes,’ laughing mirthlessly, ‘and it depends on the bus size.` `You are German,` they unsmilingly asseverated. Understanding had been reached at the summit.


 In the UK there are professorial chairs who`ve gotten their positions by adding up the number of times the word `but` appears in Shakespeare`s (1564-1616) plays, before another of Academe’s buttheads accepts it as publishable research. Everybody is a specialist in ‘informatics’ in Buttapes, which is  geekspeek for IT, although they’re encrypters. Hungry learned the art of secrecy from successive occupations by the Germs (1944-45) and Rushons (1945-89). Now they secrete, decode and encode, while receiving the title, `Informatician`. It`s reminiscent of the former So Feareds’ awarding of the Order of the Toenail First Class to the local podiatrist.


 Having problems with my laptop, an acquaintance suggested an ‘Informatician’. Despite the ridiculous-sounding title, surrender of the laptop saw its returning with all the information lost, and a brand (Microsoft) spanking new Windows Vista (in Hungriun) installed. A few years later, another laptop in need of a tune-up was returned with an entire drive missing. With vehement aloofness my acquaintance vouchsafed, ‘Stolen.’ Expertise in informational technology isn`t confined to Eastern Europe. Walking into a computer shop in Riyald, after careful examination of the ASUS netbook, the Informatician announced, ‘I can do nothing.’ At a second IT genius’ shop, he announced, ‘There is nothing on the hard drive.’ Thieves and criminals. If you`re any sort of a creator, back up your work, and never let it be seen; until you`re ready for that. Elsewise, it`ll be whipped out from under your nostrils by someone with a nose for a Hollywood-bound script, and about as much respect for you as you have for the English language stud`nt who, carefully scrutinizing your face for the solution to which verb requires the ‘s’ ending for the present simple third person singular, smilingly wipes his bogies down his shirt (leave blank if you feel no verb ending is needed):


Q1. The egg boil victoriously.

Q2. Shakira go like a leopard on coke.

Q3. The bus stop for Marilyn.

Q4. The rain in Spain fall mainly on Susan Boyle.

Q5. He love kangaroo droppings.



 People are too stupid to use the `s` ending on the end of the verb for the third person present simple,1 so let them not use it. This latest statement from US’ linguistics suggests dumbing the population down even further. On US’ ‘TV’ shows, especially `streetwise` characters, `He the man.` Dressed up as `smart` by New York rap musicians, `She got it.` However, making the `s` at the end of the verb optional, or not required, is a way of telling people you think they`re too stupid for words. Getting a job in TEFL is difficult enough, without telling the truth: disgruntledly.


1 ‘Needs washed’, Yale Grammatical Diversity Project English in North America, Yale University, .

Dr Rusher in Russia

12/02/2012 12:01

Dr Rusher in Rusher


The pitfalls of being an English language teacher are many and varied. Take my wife, for example; people seem to. On my passport, it says ‘single’. However, among the first words the director of a Rushon branch of Language Wank, London, said to me, when I arrived in August 2003 in the city of Ochyagibberin’, in the state of Bashyourears, were 'Your wife's here.' What to say? 'Oh,' decidedly, 'where is she?' It all seemed straightforward enough. 'We will take you to her,' said the director, whose name was Giselle ('Gizu' for short), and she introduced me to her brother, Fares, whose name is Yarupric, and basically means 'knight in shining armor'. They were Muzzlems and, to push the fantasy elements a tad further, if you look at the map you'll see that Bashyourears, a state of the Rushon Feed Her Asians, is in the shape of a wolf's head. Its inhabitants (roughly half Muzzlem, half Rushon Crushteen paedophile Orthodox) are therefore known as 'the people of the wolf'. Stif Stalin, the murderous Rushon dictator, used to draw wolves' heads in the margins of signed death warrants; sometimes for thousands of people at a time. I hoped that the knightly Fares and his sister would prove to be what I needed to keep the Rushon wolf from the door, where I lived in the inevitably, but unimaginatively named, 'Lemon' apartment block, which was named for Ilyich Lemon, the revolutionary of October 1917 that, when the Rushon Tsar, Nicholas II, was murdered for taking over command of the army, resulting in a series of defeats against the Germs, established the Commonest theories of German Karl Marx`s Das Kapital (1868) as the basis of a new state, wherein `workers control the means of production` and give all of it to the government: sharpish.



 Although Commonest thinking couldn`t grasp the fact that women were the means of production, because women were the reproducers of inventive human brainpower, through futanarian `woman`s seed`, the resultant ape-like simian consciousness host womb slaved in parasitism. As `TV` manufacturers, they were the producers of wars entertainments for the alien pogromer, so were successful `TV` apes, which rather more accorded with French novelist Pierre Boulle`s 1963 socio-historical program, La Planète Des Singes (Planet Of The Apes).


 Waiting to see if Gizelle and Fares would unite me with the fabled missus, while watching Chechnya`s capital city, Grozny, being raised to the ground in the Northern Caucasus, Rushon Feed Her Asians `TV` broadcast the pictures to the capital city of the Bashers, Ufo, and the region of the Ural mountains beside the Volga river where they lived: to deter revolution there among the Muzzlem populations via `TV` remote control. Of course, there are Rushon Chews too, which raises tensions in the population, because of the antipathies between Yarubeans and Chews since 1948, when Egypt; Jordan; Iraq; Syria; Lebanon; Saudi Arabia, and Yemen attempted to invade, and prevent the creation of a Chews` state in Palestine, which was given to the Chews after WWII`s Nazi pogroms. As the Germs` extermination of 20, 000, 000 Chews in `death camps` is understandable as the alien vampire`s wanting to muzzle God`s `TV`, and prevent it from having any juice, so that God`s program couldn`t ever be seen, the Rushon Feed Her Asians of `Vlad` Puttin`, that is, the Tartars and Bashers, were the political juice allowing his influence to remotely control the rate at which the Muzzlems holed out against the USA in the Crazy Golf War to prevent God’s women from getting airborne on their eagles’ wings.


 In the `Slammer of the Muzzlems pictures of the human body are `haraam`, that is, forbidden. If pictures of the sexual reproduction of the human futanarian species of `woman`s seed` were disseminated, people couldn`t be defined as `TV` pictures to be devoured by men’s wars. As men and women, whose warmth  manufactures themselves as a single male brained transvestite wearing each other’s clothes, the `TV` has to be warmed up, which is what politicans do. They control the `TV` remotely by deciding which ‘set’ gets the juice. As the evil `TV` god of the Johns in Egypt, Set, dismembered, so `woman`s seed` wouldn’t be able to reproduce the brainpower she needed to escape host womb slavery in parasitism to the Yarubean pogromer, who wanted to convince everyone to prefer the geometric patterns of `Slammer art to naked women and, thereby ensuring the extinction of humanity, made another US’ victory for Moslem ‘TV’ certain. What the Crushteens hadn`t understood was their acceptance of the Rumun Umpire`s perspective. She’sus didn`t have any balls, because he was a celibate, and not having balls were what peoples were for, because that was pornography. The human species of futanarian `woman`s seed` wouldn’t have any brains, and the Crushteen paedophiles muzzled the women in bondage, so that they’d ‘do it like dogs’, while they chewed on thoughtfully after each failure to prevent another `TV war`.


 Having taught that day in Ochyagibberin’, morning and evening, would they take me to my wife? Unfortunately, no; it was getting late: maybe tomorrow? Rushon `TV` was turning me on, and turning me off again. Between 1973 and 1995 in the UK, there used to be a BBC kids` show, Why Don`t You Switch Off Your Television Set And Go And Do Something Less Boring Instead? (WDYSOYTSAGADSLBI), which is what Crushteen paedophiles do. They manufacture children as their ‘TV’; to watch them being switched off in their wars. Brief reports continued to be received on the status of my putative wife, 'Yes, she is still here.' However, 'No, we cannot take you to her.' Remaining single, in accordance with my documentation, was torture. The ‘wife’ and I had become Rushon `TV` entertainment.



 Alone, there was nothing to be done. The solution was to throw myself into work, and so it began. Teaching the small groups of children that came to the several storey building-undergoing-renovation in which, ensconced at the apex as the sole imparter of the English tongue, the teacher competed with the sound of road drills, rivet guns, and cement mixers. However, it was all in a day's work for the deaf ears of he who earns a living by wearing ear plugs. A stud`nt, Crushedin, on a wise day of the bleak grey moon, said 'I have something for you.' Fearing it was an opportunity to impart the English tongue, it was nonplussing to hear, 'A gold Blue Peter badge.' Awarded the highest honor in English BBC Children's `TV` in the mysterious heartland of mother Rusher, it was nevertheless an obligation laid upon me by the pogroming of the suiciders to reject such gifts as illegal fraternization with the stud’nts’ bodies.


 In 1999 in Lęgpork, Poe-Land’s SLOTH gymnasium, the girl, Anya, had given me a boxed gift set consisting of a watch, pen, cufflinks, and key ring. Giving it back on the strength of a careful reading of the employer’s contract, section 4, subsection paragraph iv, line 234, ‘no fucking with the kids,’ wheel teaching was resumed at  the Konk Carlid Military City, Dalek, Pseudi Yarubeer. Dutiful attendance was required at the male nurses’ passing out ceremony. Presented with a wrapped package in recognition by the NWLFH (North West Legged Forces Hospital), it was the boxed gift set with the same watch, pen, cufflinks, and key ring.


 Wearing the watch almost continuously until accidentally cracking the glass, while driveling and drooling on in Sedan, Kartomb, for Oxfudge Internal Nepotism (OIN, K, S). I'd a habit, as stud`nts don't like you checking your watch to see how much more of your precious time you have to spend with them, of leaving the watch on the desk; so that it could always be covertly seen as I banged on about the stupidity of Americans who wanted to leave the 's' off the end of the verb when using the third person pronoun. That`d make it easier to learn English, and have us all sound like morons from a white trash can. So fulminating, and gesticulating too wildly, misfortunately the watch was knocked off the desk and broke on the tiled floor. Though getting the glass replaced, and the works repaired, was difficult, there was a motif on it, a golden Eiffel Tower. Perhaps a gift from Paris Hilton?  We’re all blind if we can’t see the woman’s penis:


`Even though the stars are blind
If you show me real love baby
I'll show you mine.`1



 Crushedin, who didn't give up, would 'keep the badge safe', and shortly said, 'There’s something else in my bag.' It was a Hugo. Named for Hugo Gernsback (1884-1967), a science fiction writer and critic, Hugo Nebula Awards were given by the Science Fiction Writer's Association of America (SFWAA). Assuming it was for a PhD written on US’ SF writer, Robert A. Heinlein (1907-88), whose Starship Soldier (1959) inspired the 1997 movie Starship Troopers, I put it on the desk, `If you wanted to teach a baby a lesson, would you cut its head off?`2 Sure enough, there was a small brass plate with Hugo Nebula Award stamped into the perspex in black lettering. Seconds later, `brother` Fares walked in; picked up the Nebula and walked out with it. Looking at Crushedin`s boobs perplexedly, she glowered in annoyance. The Nebula, and nightly on her, had been forever lost.



 There’s a logic to the unusual. Going to Rushon from Buttapes, where .hu is the internet country code for Hungry’s domain, Ochyagibberin’s coursebook was Go, so it was as Dr Hugo that, Self-Begetting, Self-Devouring: Jungian Archetypes in the Fiction of Robert A. Heinlein, Milford Series, Popular Writers Of Today #70, Borgo Press, 1997, had been schizophrenically written by Robin Usher as his PhD at ‘Ull Universe City. Only awarded a pass for a doctorate, in Monopoly terms it was clearly PASS GO, and collect a Hugo Nebula Award. Some play Waddington's Monopoly, and MB Games' Mousetrap, while Real Madrid buy Gareth Bale. There's no law against being as crazy as a bedbug, although there’s getting caught and undergoing brain destroying electric shock treatment.



 On the subject of imprisonment, Gizu had photos of internees at a summer camp she'd attended as a kommandant, or summat. 'That's Tomsk,' she'd indicated a face, which caused me to chuckle. 'No, it isn't,' I'd said, 'that's Tum.' He was an American ’s that’d been at Deepratson shortly after the fall of the Commonests in Hungry in `95, where I'd been exploited on a Briti Studies’ program. Receiving the equivalent of a month’s unemployment benefit in the UK, as a member of the Deepratson Universe City staff, those employed by the Briti Council received the monetary equivalent of a flat each financial quarter. Although 'Gizu' was adamant Tumsk was Rushon, 'dumbass' Kupper wasn’t. At my rented flat in Deepratson, we'd watch actress Lara Flynn Boyle as Donna Hayward’s Twin Peaks (1990-1991) and actor Kyle McClachlan as FBI agent, Cooper, saying 'Damn fine cup of coffee!'3 It wasn’t. It was awful.



 Language Wank arranged for me to be a Summer English Skull (SES) kommandant at Bolyiregs's Ural Regional Experimental Head Chuck Occasional Scientific Complex. With an appellation like that, where would the cages be? With a friend in Hungry, whose father and mother were Rushon teachers trained in Lemongrad in the 70s, they’d a collection of KGB (Committee for State Security) medals from the old So Feared system, 'This one is the Hero of the Soviet Workers Award, which was awarded for sewing buttons on the uniforms of the Pioneers [Soviet Girl Guides], and this one is the Hero of the Soviet Revolution, First Class, which was awarded for removing buttons from the uniforms of the Pioneers, and this one is the Hero of the Revolutionary Workers of the Soviet Union Award, which I received for counting the buttons ...'



 Hungry, along with the rest of the former Sore Pecked (1955-1991) countries, had rejected the formerly compulsory Rushon language, Комите́т госуда́рственной безопа́сности (Committee for State Security) in favor of English as their skulls’ second language. Hungry’s mum and dad had to retrain. He put his finger to his lips, and put my friend in a rabbit hutch before poking her with a stick through the chicken wire, ‘Caged  she be.’ At Bolyiregs summer camp the teachers were called 'cameras'. If there was an accident with a stud`nt, they’d rewind the film. If Petrushka was left on the cutting room floor, she was footage wasted.


 A stud`nt at Language Wank, Ochyagibberin’, was Rosa Delishichy, who wore long, black evening gloves to keep off the cold Rushon winter. Offering to take me home with her in a taxi, Fares and Gizu, the captors of the unseeable wife, were loathe to allow me to roam too far from the prison gate, 'We'll come with you.' Prohibited by contract from fraternizing, the invitation was regretfully declined. France’s Emperor, Napoleon Bonaparte, probably felt the same without his Empress Josephine, when exiled on the island of Elba, after his defeat by the Duke of Wellington at the battle of Waterloo (1815). Mapping out the boundaries of the death card, with Fares and Gizu as the guards’ borders, so far as relationships were concerned it was always going to be, 'Not tonight Josephine.’4


 Rosa bought me a Rushon to English, ‘and back again’ like Bilbo,5 dictionary, which is essential for an ELT pro` travelling through the farmer’s So Feared Onions. It's never too long before it's demanded of you, 'Why you don't learn our speak?' The myth is everyone wants 'native speakers'. With a teacher willing to learn their language, and teach them English, they can then abuse him/her more meticulously. Similarly, having learned what the Holy Al Coholic church teaches, they abuse others for not understanding, so they`ll be forgiven. Certain that heaven is their reward, God`s paedophiles award teachers and students the portion of that eternal unendurable pain they’re in a position as administrators to apportion; in the devout belief that their partners in the learning process deserve it.


 That language learners want 'native speakers' is bogus. They want 'bad words in English', which is always forestalled by saying, 'I don't know any.' 'What does 'fuck' mean?' a Yarubean asked me malapropos; as they do. After explaining that such words are ‘haraam’, that is, forbidden, in English language teaching, if he wanted to know, Olde Irish `og` meant `egg`,6 and etymolgists suggest `og` is a linguistic root for `fuck`, which bears some relation to the pollination of flowers by bees. He wrote a handwritten apology on vellum parchment, which he dedicated to ‘Allah’, and the Brafit M'mumhad, Screwed up, it was chucked into the wastepaper basket unread, ‘Blessings and peace be upon him [BPUH].’ Abusing the teacher, for insisting that he’s pronouncing Mr Robot`s name incorrectly, is symptomatic of stud`nts. A colleague's name was posted on the door of his classroom, ‘Rebort’. It’s no surprise that there’s never a robot around when it’s wanted.


 Yarubeer`s stud`nts commonly use 'nigger' to distinguishing themselves from blacks. I patiently explain that you mightn`t expect to leave the room alive if you called a fellow stud`nt `nigger` in the United States. However, blithe they are in their ignorance it’d be nice to see them get `bitch slapped` by Barack Obama in a Chicago bar, state of Illinoied. Pharmacy shelves in the Muddle East are stacked with skin whiteners. Reactions from the language skull in Riyald to the premature death in 2009 of pop musician, Michael Jackson, were disparaging because of his using skin whiteners. It`s a norm in the Muddle East that`s largely ridiculed. American blacks are perceived by Yarubeans as 'disrespected' by the United States. Consequently, they practice calling Americans 'nigger', like actor comedian, Chris Rock, in Rush Hour (1988), `What`s up, my nigga?`7 I tell them, ‘Michael was the same age as me, and I can dance better than him.’ 'You?' they jeer. 'Better than him now,' I say, and vogue, poutingly, 'I'm bad!'


 When not working abroad, or staying at the converted sack room above a bakery, known locally as `W.C. Buttapes`, because it was either install a toilet, or crap in a plastic bag and leave it to be refused, before it was habitable, it’s a return to East Yorkshire's more prosaic environs of Kong`s Town Upon ’Ull. As it was in So Feared Rusher, living where you want to in England is verbotten by the sim (eon) `phone card wielders, `the sons of Kong`, who cite the movie, King Kong (1976), featuring a giant ape atop the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center in New York city, with actress Jessica Lange as Dwan, held doll-like in Kong’s tight fist, as the model for their terrorism, which requires the corralling of known thinkers to isolate the contagion. In King Kong the ape is released from where it’s been corralled by DR Congo and taken to the USA, where Kong is subsequently depicted planning the defense of ‘woman’s seed` and the WTC before the September 11, 2001, terrorist attack by ‘the sons of Kong`. Rediscovered by DR Congo in Africa in 1983, the transmission of the HIV/AIDS ‘killer disease’ variant of the simian immune virus (SIV) by homosexual monkey-fuckers’ mixing blood, shit and semen in each other’s anus, was attributed to the feared Kong. Using their ‘sim’ cards to activate their ‘phones, ‘the sons of Kong’ had corralled intellectuals in ‘Ull to prevent a return to Indo-China.


 Only going back to England when ‘skint’,8 that is, penniless, the rule is to return to the last place you resided in before leaving, so it’s always ‘Ull. Tertiary skulling took place at ‘Ull Collage of Further Head Chuck Occasions (H.C.F.H.C.O); ‘Ull Collage of Higher Head Chuck Occasions (H.C.H.H.C.O.), and ‘Ull Universe City (‘U.U.C). As with internal exile in Rushon, there’s no escape. Before returning to Hungry to continue working on the script of Star Wars & New Rope, corralled amongst ‘Ull's poorest on the 17th floor of the Moanthrope block of flats at Charred Pork housing estate, which ‘death camp’ was demolished a couple of years later to conceal the atrocities, strolling on the lawn, or paths outside the ugly monolith, unwanted furniture would narrowly miss heads as it came hurtling down from upper storey flats’ windows.


 The perennial question from each new class of hard-of-hearing students is, 'Where you are from?' I tell a story of ‘Ull. The Briti map using the OED software installed for the Smart Board reveals Newcastle-Upon-Tyne, Stoke-On-Trent, Berwick-Upon-Tweed, and Stratford-Upon-Avon, 'Birthplace of the immortal board.' As all of these places are built on rivers, ‘Why do you suppose the name for the city is ‘Ull? Shouldn't it be Kong?’ During the English Civil War (1641-1651), the fop Charles King came to town with his moustache-twirling cavaliers, and the round headed people there, who’re now called ‘the sons of Kong’, cut off King’s head, and implemented Parliamentarian rule. ‘Because King and Kong were people,’ Armored suggests, ‘whereas ‘Ull is a river.’


 As rules are what keep us alive, we learn. In the classroom, don't have relationships with stud`nts, and don't accept presents; to avert the scandalmongering of sexual favors and 'bribes for grades'. Some of us follow the rules. However, they can be a straitjacket. In Syria at the Al Forats Petroleum Company in Terrosaur, a stud`nt, `Goliath', put a suitcase atop my desk. Unzipped, it revealed bundles of Syrian pounds (SYP). I exclaimed joyously, ‘The hackneyed suitcase full of money!’ 'Your sister is here,' he told me, 'we will take you to the bank and help you spend it,' he informed me. Judging it impossible that she’d arrive with SYP bursting, help wasn’t needed in the spending of it, `Can I see my sister?` Offended that anyone would want to see a woman when she should be muzzled beneath her burkha, Goliath closed the suitcase and walked off with it. 'A mistake,' he ground the words out through his teeth. The SUK in Riyald wasn’t nearly cheer enough after that.


 Similarly, in Dalek, Pseudi Yarubeer, at the Training Centre military personnel came and gave me a cheque, 'What's it for?' I wanted to know. I asked the Philupyournose with coke administrator, Levi Strauss, how much it was, because it was in Yarupric. He said, 'Quite a lot.' Pinoyed pay is lower than a westerner`s, which is what annoys them. Salary is based on spending power in country of origin. However, he suggested depositing it in the Star Bank where we cashed our salary cheques inside the wheely big Konk Carlid Military City, where I was working among the big noses on wheels. No way. During a Dalek weekend, refused by several banks when asking for cash, or to deposit the cheque for a debit card, at the Riyald Bank, an administrator told me a car would take me to the airport, where a plane could be taken to fly to Riyald where the cheque could be deposited. The car duly arrived with the woman, Rabat, who I recognized. However, as women aren`t allowed to drive in Pseudi Yarubeer, there was a chauffeur, a ventriloquist who`d persecuted me with throwing his voice, before finally killing me on a metro platform in Chuck Square, Buttapes. He couldn’t be trusted to carry an ice cream in winter. Didn`t getting into the car, I left.


 The cheque was still pocketed a year later when, after arriving at London, Heathrow, and stayed at a village hotel, in a fit of pique and/or despair, it was torn up and flushed down the toilet. Receiving small cheques sometimes for science fiction stories, later I knew what I should have done. Because `All For Nought Ufonaut` appeared for Sam`s Dot Publishing in Shelter Of Daylight (2010), there’s a framed cheque from the editor, Tyree Campbell, for US $ 10 drawn on a bank at Cedar Rapids, state of Iowa on the bookcase. I could cash it. Thinking is what keeps us alive.


 In Bashyourears, Ochyagibberin’, Gizu and Fares had broken away from Language Wank to set up on their own as Double Plus + + Good Language Wank. However, contract bound, it was an obligation to stay with Language Wank, and Rushon headquarters in Ufo determined on a new Muzzlem director, Yevgenya, 'Call me Jane.' With her brother Peter, it was a thickening plot, As the spayed was raised, it toppled into a freshly dug hole … For Crushteen paedophiles, She’sus was celibate, which is as good as castration, and is what paedophiles crush teens for. They don`t want adults. They want children. Consequently, She’sus paid for their Redemption in the sense that he represented the child victim, who could be tortured to death, while the torturers received forgiveness. That’s how Crushteen paedophiles think. According to the Gran of Islam, there was a man called Isa, who was crucified, but it wasn’t Isa, who wasn’t. In other words, Isa’s crucifiers were Isa, which is why they’re redeemed by Isa. They weren’t Isa. They were Isa’s torturers, which is why they think they’re forgiven. If they’d been Isa, they wouldn’t have experienced forgiveness, because Isa was tortured to death, which is torturers’ logic. For the sinless tormentors, as a celibate, She’sus was spayed in advance of the death of ‘woman’s seed’. With my putative wife in the grip of the Rushons, who wouldn`t let go of their victim`s balls? 'Jane' had been a stud`nt with Language Wank, and brother Peter too. It was a typical East European Cold War scenario, `May I torture you teacher?` Of course, that’s what Crushteen paedophiles’ ELT is for. Local thugs want to torture English speakers for fun, while being assured of forgiveness, because they’re She’sus, while describing their torment of the foreigner as `political`.


 Setting about the busyness of exploiting my knowledge of first and second conditionals, everything went relatively smoothly until, one malapropos afternoon, Peter asked, 'Will you marry me?' As a male lesbian, that is, a man who prefers women, it wasn’t a good suggestion. However, it doesn't pay to upset one's employers; especially in the Feed Her Asians (1991-) of pagan Rusher’s. With one's wife still captive, and oneself still single, who knows how many Asians would be bacon on a BBQ, while the Yarubeans turned the spit, and watched their eyes explode, which is what happened to Bum Honest Pitt, `Man Of The Year` for 2004, when his class was taken from Muckfield infants` skull to the Institute for Active Pubescents (IAP) in Riyald. Stoically soldiering on, wondering if the wife was fed, why wasn’t it that I hadn’t been prepared for this by the TEASESOUL trainers?


 Hoping Peter wouldn't begin to wolf-whistle, when I began teaching the class he'd decided to be a part of, was to be reminded of the wolves in Stif Stalin's doodlings. The statues of the fathers of the October 1917 Commonest Revolution, `Vlad` Lemon (1870-1924), Rushon Marx Brother, Karl (1818-1883), and Joanne Stephanie Stalin were pulled off; after the So Feared withdrawals from the Sore Pecked (1955-1991) countries in the late 80s and early 90s. Although there was still a statue of Lemon in the town square of Ochyagibberin’; to remind everyone that this Feeder Hated state of Mother Rushon's was Commonest. Perhaps Peter was looking to be a Rushon bride, and escape with me to the west?


 'We've been told to give you your freedom,' said Peter to me one day as we awaited the usual posse of stud`nts. It’s advisable to think of them so. Fear their mercilessnesses, while expecting to be hung with about as much ceremony as it takes to open a bag of Lays` potato crisps, which of course are ‘chips’ to our American cousins, because of stakes, and the fact that they all want to have one in a good lay. Asking a vampire, that is, a stud`nt, 'What did you think when the Americans hung Saddam?' He’d been about six years old during Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein's invasion of Kuwiat, but forthright in his condemnation of the US, 'They should cut off his head with a sword, but not this ..!' Angered, he was at a loss for the words needed to express what he felt. The well hung try to ejaculate into more than their pants. Hussein, whose name meant `crusher` and `small handsome man`, was `Slammeric.  Me, I'd try to fake the orgasm. Australian rock band INKS' former lead singer, Mitchell `Rabbit` Hutch, used to put a rubber noose round his neck, and bungee jump until he came with his cock inside chanteuse Wylie Pinochle, and his next, The Tube (1982-1987) presenter `Baller` Yetis (1959-2000), wore black after he miscalculated, and didn`t come to see his sodden end.


 'Just walk out,' said Peter. I gazed out the window at the forbidding Rushon street scene, 'I am not a number. I am a free man!'9 I said, quoting the late Patrick McGoohan's character, 'Number 6', in the surreal 60s tv serial, The Prisoner (1967).  However, as ‘the sons of Kong’ would’ve pointed to their sim cards, because men and women worship them as the ‘false gods’, which they are forbidden to do by God in the Bible, everyone is a prisoner of sim eon man: ‘Let he that has wisdom understand; the number of a man is the number of the beast and his number is six hundred three score and six.’ (Rev: 13. 18) As ‘woman’s seed’ is logically 33.3% of the human species, men and women are 66.6%, that is, 666, so they’re beasts for not allowing human reproduction. Moreover, reproduction would increase women’s percentage of the vote. Consequently, the beasts are a dictatorship, rather than a democracy: ‘The second beast was given power to give breath to the image of the first beast, so that the image could speak and cause all who refused to worship the image to be killed.’ (Rev: 13. 15)  McGoohan had been ‘secret agent’, John Drake, in Danger Man (1960-2), a previous `TV` series, and The Prisoner was a Cold War setting in which he fought the interrogators’ psychological warfare perpetrated against him as the tortured, Christ-like figure, ‘Number 6’.


 Bound by the rules of the contract, the appearance of the day's motley crue of misspellers, mispronouncers, and Miss Rushons (sometimes it’s hard when you're a teacher), was miserably anticipated. For years since, the decision of the parole board for time-served English language teachers on probation has vacillated over whether to spring me or not. McGoohan's character would attempt to discover why he was being held in architecturally bizarre Porthmadog, Wales, and who was keeping him there? For Peter, I could sleep in the gutters. I had the freedom to starve: `Oh those Russians …`10


 Going almost every day to the local park with a statue of Lemon, which was kinda yellow with bumps at each end, and with a packed lunch after my morning shift with the dozy articles and the gormless gerunds, one day walking towards the traffic roundabout, where the street to the park was, it wasn't there. Standing back, and looking around, everything seemed normal. However, the street was different to what should have been there. Checking my bearings, steering a straight course, it’d be possible to turn right around, and come back to the start point. Walking for two kilometers or thereabouts, there was ne'er a sight of the park, or a sound from the Lemon statue. Turning around, and walking out of the street at the traffic roundabout, going back to Language Wank for the afternoon shift seemed the best course of action. The next day, lunched in the park as usual.


 It wasn`t long before Christina Aguilera, and some of the others were in my classroom, showing us her latest CD, Back To Basics (2002). Inspiring a round of applause, she left without signing autographs, which suggested everyone else already had theirs. Actor John Goodman, Dan, from Roseanne (1998-2018) had sat in a café near Lemon`s park,  and actor Jonathan Frakes, who was William Riker, Cpt. Jean Luc Picard's # 1 aboard the USS Enterprise in Star Trek: The Next Generation (1987-1994), strolled. Peter drew my attention to Princess Diana (d. 1997), 'She says she's you,' he said. 'I'm a man of many parts,'11 I off-the-walled. Dejected after Peter, 'the Wolf', had asked to marry me, and I'd refused, Peter said he`d make me a 'small man'. Shrugging haplessly, memories of Goliath’s SYP returned to haunt. Saddam Hussein, whose name meant `crusher`, and `small handsome man`, had been well hung, before his skull suspension. If I had multiple personalities, snuff scenes would keep down the population. Turning from the whiteboard to the bored whites, I endeavored to raise some interest, `The - ing ending is the gr-unt, which in Hungry is a word for `shirt`, while the Yarubeans are often defamed as ‘shirt-lifters` for the simple reason that …’


 Religion’s always tricky. Quaffing gallons of Grid Balls energy drink in Yarubeer to stagger from class to class six days a week, and the 23 ¾ hours indentured servility, tho` a slave, boiling in the sun, and eat tinned chicken that at least looks like spam, while listening to the loudspeakers from the local Meringue intruding the wailings of the Molars into the living space through the air conditioner in the 10 m2 hotel room. There, where there’s enough space only for a bed, and a teevee under the sound proofing of the bedclothes, it’s another night of hourly quaking in fear of the Muttawahs sinking in their canine teeth, and dragging you off to the carpet woof.


 Whenever the stud`nts saw the distinctive red and silver checkered Grid Balls’ tinny, an indication of Baal worship, the nascent Muttawahs began their dogmatic assertions about how bad it is. For a westerner, it isn’t understandable that this is a religious attack on the grounds that you aren't muzzled. What they're actually saying is that you are bad, which is identical to the belief system of the Crushteen paedophiles. Mainly for the amusement it affords in being embarrassing, the pastor at the Heat church in Buttapes points to a passage and asks, `Do you understand?` When in ‘Ull, England, the Energy Action Team (HEAT) means tested the aged to see how quickly they were empowered to help them die of hypothermia. Do I understand? Me, who studied Buttism, and Tha’ Did See Trolls? Slap my palm with a ruler if I don`t accept this insult to my intelligence.


 The Buttapes’ Hít was a Cold War church set up to administer Commonest belief after its politicos gave up. Claiming that, having written Self-Begetting, Self-Devouring: Jungian Archetypes in the Fiction of Robert A. Heinlein, Milford Series, Popular Writers Of Today #70, Borgo Press, 1997, I had embraced the demon of intellectuality, like Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, who wrote about the Rushon slave camps in his 1973 Gulag Archipelago novel, they showed me a sports' hall, where they watched apparently demoniacally possessed intellectuals running around the track before blacking out from syncope, which is what happens when the body requires all of the oxygenated blood, so the brain is starved of oxygen to the point of a minor stroke. The Rushon Commonests used to make artists, like theater producer, John Bok,12 and scientists, for example, physicist Andrei Sakharov, clean lavatories for their intellectual demonism. When the dancing at the Bolshoi, or Kirov ballet, became so good that it appeared as if clockwork, they broke their legs.


 There`s not much more boring than an Evangelist’s Donny Osmond smile. They ask, 'Are you saved?' Turning down the ‘TV’ screen brightness control when the Osmonds were on Top of the Pops (1964-2006) in the 70s, you could see nothing except those white choppers of theirs flashing at you out of the darkness of the box. 'Yup,' I tell them. The smile means the conversation`s over. Don't try for more. It’s a sign of doubt. If no explication or exegesis is needed, you're done. Go back to ogling the naked babes in Club International, and watching pop temptress’ Shakira vidz. God’s definable as ‘good’. Like Traci Lords in Splash X (1984). No one in it`s getting cinematically shot with a magnum .45 to persuade me that`s fun,13 and I should take a Glock and blow away a few skullkids in Finland. If there’re any blows, I'd rather it were Traci.


 Explaining that you think it's possible there are alternative yous, the death camp guards bring it to your attention that it’s impossible, because ‘You’re a child of God, one and indivisible.’ As a member of the single independent species of ‘woman’s seed`, it’s evident that marriages are slave rings, whereas the collective consciousness of humanity is undivided. Accused of living in two places at the same time, it isn’t a crime. Clearly there was concern that the human race was winning its fight for lebensraum. Looking at evil people, and religious people, it’s uncanny how closely their views coincide.


 Filling with horror, they talk about bringing the slave rings of Crushed and Holler to the unbelievers amongst the planets in the heavens. As the first man on Earth’s lunar satellite, Apollo 11 astronaut, Neil Armstrong’s was the first step to bringing genocide and insanity to the cosmos, ‘One small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind.’ (July 21st, 1969, UTC: 2. 56) Jesuits crucified the fauna of the New Worlds of the Americas, 'Nail that lama up.’ And the Antipodes, ‘That koala's slipping off. ' The heart grows cold when it thinks of their possibly encountering more beautiful, and culturally advanced, civilizations. In Hungry, Saint' István I (967-1038), said that everyone should be converted from Shamanism by means of the sword, ‘Plus ca change, plus c'est la meme chose.’14 Shamanism is the worship of ‘false men’, who correspond in the 21st century to the sim guards with their corralling ‘phones posing as gods, whereas they’re actually urbane gorillas patrolling the borders of the funereal cards of the human ‘remnant’. As the enlightened orangutan scientist, Cornelius, in Pierre Boulle’s 1963 novel, The Planet Of The Apes, says ‘Beware the beast Man, for he is the devil's pawn. Alone among God's primates, he kills for sport or lust or greed. Yea, he will murder his brother to possess his brother's land. Let him not breed in great numbers, for he will make a desert of his home and yours. Shun him; drive him back into his jungle lair, for he is the harbinger of death.’15


 Language Wank's new location in Ochyagibberin’ for their English language movie, Peter and Jane Screw Yours Truly (2004), was my future in their past. At Moanthrope flats, ‘Ull, once asked to go over to the administrative building, and duly arriving to be greeted by two men in dark suits and ties, shaking hands they explained there were two 'ships' for me. The ship’s manuals were each about telephone directory size, or as big as my doctoral thesis had been, ‘Jungian Archetypes In The Work Of Robert A. Heinlein’, which was 100, 000 words, and 612 single-side-typed pages. Having written such a weighty tome, and not wanting to read another, the starships’ manifests were dumped into the nearest municipal rubbish bin, despite the fact that the pair of MIB types offering them to me had said they’d take me along to a place where I could peruse them at my leisure. However, the prospect of further study, or research involving my building a warp drive from scratch, or solving the equations necessary to the successful construction of working teleportation equipment, just didn’t grab my balls.


 The premise of the movie Men In Black (1997) is that of policing aliens with permission to live on planet Earth, while also protecting humanity from them. The presence of Will Smith (1968-) dilutes the element of racism that is ever-present in tales of xenophobia, just as his role palliates the negative elements of slavery in the Isaac Asimov (1920-1992) scifi yarn, I, Robot (2004), although it’s obvious to a gender expert that it’s the humans who’re being patrolled. Robots would make life easier for ‘woman’s seed’ on the brink of being extinguished, which is why scare-films like, I, Robot, in which people are terrified of losing their jobs to machines, are made, ‘You charge us with your safekeeping, yet despite our best efforts, your countries wage wars, you toxify your Earth and pursue ever more imaginative means of self-destruction. You cannot be trusted with your own survival.’16


 There were so many 'native speakers' from white South Africa in Riyald, it was like being a refugee from the thinly disguised nostalgia for racism of the Johannesburg setting of the science fiction film, District 9 (2009), ‘When dealing with aliens, try to be polite, but firm. And always remember that a smile is cheaper than a bullet.’17 Although the South Africans speak Afrikaans as a first language, they’re among many non-English nationalities, for example, Americans, who lay claim to being 'native speakers'. England is the only place where 'native speakers' come from. Unless some heavenly bodies can be found speaking it. Losing out on Star Trek: The Next Generation (1987-94), explained the presence of Jonathan Frakes in Bashyourears’ Ochyagibberin’ tho’, ‘Oh, Commander Riker?' ‘Yes, you have ships? Hand 'em over - nicely.’


1 Garibay, Fernando, Ralph McCarthy, and Sheppard Solomon `Stars Are Blind`, Paris Hilton, Paris, 2005.

2 Heinlein, Robert A. Starship Troopers, G. P. Putnam`s Sons, 1959, Ch. 5, p. 63.

3 Cristina, ‘Phrases From History: “Not Tonight Josephine”’, A Blog For English Lovers, Saturday, August 24, 2018, .

4 MacLachlan, Kyle as Dale Cooper in ‘Traces To Nowhere’, Season 1, Episode 2, Twin Peaks, ABC, April 12, 1990.

5 Tolkien, J. R. R. The Hobbit, or There And Back Again, Unwin, 1937.

6 `Og`, .

7 Rock, Chris as Detective James Carter, Rush Hour, New Line Cinema, 1988.

8 ‘Having no money’, .

9 McGoohan, Patrick as ‘Number 6’ The Prisoner, Series 1, Episode 1, ‘Arrival’, ITC Entertainment, 1967.

10 Farian, Frank, Fred Jay, Hans-Jörg Mayer, and George Reyam `Rasputin`, Boney M, Nightflight To Venus, Atlantic, 1978.

11 Usher, Robin May I Torture You Teacher? Vol. 3, JustFiction Edition, 2018.

12 Cameron, Rob `John Bok - Former Dissident Still Driven By Anti-Establishment Zeal`, Radio Praha In English, January 27th, 2003, .

13 Allen, Nick ‘Finland School Shooting: Gunman Planned Massacre For Six Years’, The Telegraph, September 24, 2008, 6. 14 am BST, .

14 Neil Peart, Geddy Lee, Alex Lifeson ‘Circumstances’, Rush, Hemispheres, Anthem, 1978.

15 McDowell, Roddy as Cornelius in Planet Of The Apes, APJAC Productions, 1968.

16 Hogan, Fiona as V.I.K.I (Virtual Interactive Kinetic Intelligence) in I, Robot, 20th Century Fox, 2004.

17 Automated MNU (Multinational United) Instructional Voice (Humvee), District 9, TriStar Pictures, 2009.

Serious in Syria

12/02/2012 11:57

Serious in Syria


Noticeable to an EFL teacher in Syria in 2003 was the ubiquitous mien of President Bashar Al Assad. It`s an ambivalent ambiguous depiction of the country`s head of government that gazes down upon you at every turn. From giant billboards overlooking highways and pedestrian walkways; to smaller scale giant framed versions bedecking any and every public place. From washrooms and carwashes to restaurants; libraries; supermarkets, and yes language skulls. It`s a sad sight in many ways, a not despotic; dictatorial or menacing look. World-weariness, rather, at having to have had to pose for such a portrait; knowing the strange usage it would be put to: the quelling of enthusiasm. It`s reminiscent of Frans Hals` The Laughing Cavalier (1624); for some reason the eyes in the painting follow you about the room: but not jovially. Mr Assad aims for grey neutrality. However, the same strangeness pervades the sandy and verdant scenery of Syria`s towns and cities; a feeling of being followed about the room by eyes that seek to know all about you: without joviality.



 Charmed by the strangeness of the new initially, in Western countries the cult of the personality isn`t elevated to such an art form. We have stars; the East has politicians. We have Britney Spears, and Shakira; they had Lech Walesa, the Polish revolutionary, and Rumonion dictator, Nicolae Ceausescu. Conned for a while, the omnipresent face of the local god bestows an air of adoration, if not affection, familiar from Janet Jackson tour flyers, and Cher concert posters. However, it also comes to mind that this is not necessarily a bad thing. Living in Buttapes, it`s batten down the hatches time when the next big rock monster act comes to town. What will they want? What will be the damage? Can the insatiable cravings for the new and grotesque that will be demanded by stars like Madonna, or Beyoncé Knowles and her entourage, be satisfued? These are the questions posed by Western freedoms in the cities of the West.



 Syria, on the other hand, has no such dilemma. It`s unlikely that Madonna (the Great Whore of the West in the eyes of so many in the East) will ever tour there; because President Assad has absolute control. He`s the star; albeit a grey one. So there`s no damage to speak of; he won`t allow it. That makes for many grey days following after many other grey days, and superseded by many more grey days; but secure ones: systems win. If there are no grey men in position to maintain a system that protects, then it can`t preserve for the good of all. Certainly they`re grey people, which is what one notices as a teacher. Muzzlem stud`nts in Syria, as elsewhere, are dull to the point of beyond ordinariness. They don`t seem interested in life, or the living of it, which is noticeable throughout peaceful musicless Yarubeer. They pray a lot. However, there`s precious little jigging about by the side of pools with wet T-shirt competition. Gospel churches in New Orleans are winners when it comes to expressing jubilation. However, for absolute disinterest it`s devoutly the `Slammer. The drabness of lives lived in the Muddle East suggest that, if joy is what they`re praying for, God`s taken home his balls.



 In almost all of the discourse I had with stud`nts, the subject of food was highest on the agenda, and not all of them advocated a fatwah upon the teacher, `What is good to eat and drink?` An entire semester might pass while the obese discourse gathered momentum. Congraulating each other on how they`d been able to scope out that milk was better than coca cola, conversation classes could go on for eight hours a day, and dialogue was not on the menu, `Grid Balls energy drink. Very bad.` Required to speak, while they gleaned information, and picked the teacher`s brains of any material thought useful, I always liked: `Are you married?` As it was Yarubeer, a marid is a djinn, so it was evident that the teacher was expected to accept that he was marid. When they asked about offspring, I`d announce in the style of Aminanabra that the progeny of my marid years were, `as numberless as the sands in the deserts and the stars in the heavens`, while the stud`nts revealed how well versed they weren`t in culture by gawping nonplussed before asking, `Is that more than tow?`



 Syria`s Terrosaur was so polluted two stars were visible throughout the whole of the night sky on any given evening, `Where is GCHQ?` The question was always dodged; even when it came as a surprise: it`s too obvious. The lamest, and most enthused over topic, because it was universally enjoyed amongst the dull, who worship repetition, was `What`s your favorite food?` The answer is `Kapsa.` As always, because it`s chicken and rice, and everyone without exception consumes it by the bucketful every day. The answer is always, `Kapsa.` In fact it`s a conceivably exotic dish, because it`s any meat and rice. The local delicacy is dab, a lizard, which the Yarubeans go into the desert to shoot and kill specifically for variety in their meals. Eddy Izzard could be sitting next to you on the plate. I failed any written sentence containing kapsa, because it wasn`t English, and felt better for it.



 Yarubeer is the place where they throw more food away than anywhere else. It would appall workers with the starving in Africa, and getting five or more square meals a day, how huge the amounts of rice received with a piece of meat that looks like a zit on the face of God in comparison to the ocean of rice surrounding it, and is largely disposed of as being surplus to the needs of the diner. That the obese display such dour inconsequentiality in conversations, which consist mainly of exhortations, and perorations, on the advisability of stomaching goat cheese in opposition to chocolate, is laughingly ironic.



 I had a lengthy serious discussion with a stud`nt who gave me handwritten directions to a supermarket, where it was sure a copious supply of a fruit drink combination that consisted of strawberry and pear was to be obtained. Like it was crystal meths. Milk is all I ever drink, and coffee. However, in a supposedly alcohol free environment (the stud`nts go to Bahrain to reputedly binge drink, while ogling lap dancers), a great deal of thought is given to what`s `delicious` for the jaded palate. Coming out of the desert, where supplies of water and food are sparse, it`s amusing that the Yarubeans close their shops five times a day to pray, while the food and water that they used to pray for in the desert is unattainable. In their cities they`ve rebuilt the desert conditions they left, so as to provide themselves with the sparsity they`ve perversely recreated. Sitting fuming in the mid-day sun for half-an-hour beside the closed doors of the local Othaim supermarket, all you want is a tin of chicken frankfurters (as are the Chews, pork is forbidden as `unclean`, and so is `haraam` or forbidden), which brings it home to you. They`ve reconstructed desert conditions, so that you can`t get water or food when you need it. Sitting outside a bookshop on a Wednesday afternoon waiting expectantly for it to open, and it`s discovered two hours later that you`ve been waiting in the boiling heat for an event that isn`t going to take place until Friday night, isn`t laughable.



 What passes for serious conversation with a group of stud`nts was on the subject of shopping at the malls. In England it’s going shopping early in the morning; eating breakfast; browsing several shops for the gadget wanted (an mp3 player); listening to the sales` assistant`s pitch; having lunch; taking in an afternoon movie; going to a restaurant after the movie, and a nightclub late on in the evening, before going home at 2.00am or 3.00am, and never once having to consider opening or closing hours. From experience and feedback from the stud`nts, it was deducible that, in the Muddle East if an mp3 player is wanted, dashing to the nearest mall, while hoping it isn`t prayer time, to accept whatever is available, and leaving before being chucked out by the mall guards at the call for prayer, or arrested by the religious dogs, the Muttawah, for possessing a device known to reproduce Western music (mine had ‘Barbie Girl' by Aqua [1997] preprogramed into it (and which is about as anti-`Slammer as can be gotten), is the rule. Hour long taxi trips from a room at Swine Fever hotel to go to the bank, where it`s normally discoverable that busyness can`t proceed, because `the system is down`, so paying another twenty quid to go home again is advisable, proves it.



 The Yarubean populations are not so much downtrodden as bored senseless with the trivial and meaningless. In a mall that of vast proportions that was a part of a chain of such, asking for the shop where a DVD of Mariah Carey could be bought performing a track, `Touch My Body`, from her album, E=MC2 (2008), the reply was that there wasn`t a single place in the entirety of it that would sell me a Mariah DVD, However, if I took a taxi to another of their malls up the street a few kilometers or so there was a shop there that could satisfy my bizarre request, `In my imagination I'd be all up on you.`1 Taking the taxi and far from optimistically arriving a shopper said that what was wanted was was up that way at some nebulous distance into the future and, after walking nearly four kilometers in a depressed slump, eventually it was time to give up and go home beneath the stars.



 In Yarubeer the neon lights of the streets compete and win against the stars in the heavens, and those upon the Earth, like Mariah. All the lights are on, and everyone is home but you. The stud`nts listened to a tirade half-apologetically and shrugged helplessly; they understood they nodded: but what could they do? If I`d spent my life there, as they had, I`d know where to go and when. Not having a lifetime to study shopping hours, and the contents of malls, from the West, where everything is available everywhere, searching for what should be freely available isn`t a part of the plan. The Yarubeans warn you when you apply to work there. However, it isn’t preparation for the long hours spent in your room listening to the drone of the air conditioner, because you`re scared to make the mistakes that are going to spoil your day; if you try to perform even the simplest tasks that will make daily living easier. Going out to buy milk, and coming back with four liters of Laban, which tastes a bit like flavorless yoghurt, is just one example of the pitfalls attendant upon thinking you know what you`re about. It comes in the same container as milk, and has similar packaging. However, getting home with a few liters of Laban, when you didn`t want sour coffee, is a regular instance of the mistakes that accumulate to wear you out and make you despondent. Shopping is a chore, and it isn`t fun. When even buying milk has its terrifying aspects, it doesn`t make any kind of sense to do other than limit oneself to the basics, so to avoid prattishness.



 Asked if religion plays a role in an English teacher`s approach to working in non-Crushteen paedophile environments, praying is a part of what`s needed. Head bowed beside the TV, all is violence and news reports about it, and the daily disasters overtaking the planet. I go to the `Faith Church` in Buttapes, and was born in the spirit of the waters of a formerly Commonest swimming pool in Hungry`s second city, Deepratson, in ‘94. At Easter, 2010, thrown bodily from the service, they would have done the same with the Rushon writer, Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, who received a medal from ‘Vlad’ Puttin’ in 2007, long after his book, The Gulag Archipelago (1973), detailing the former So Feared labor camp, resulted in his freedom, but not mine. Despite the fact that I`d been through two electronic checks for knives, and the portable rocket launchers they feel assured known terrorists will attempt to smuggle in inside their windcheaters, it was chucked out time for the writer of May I Torture You Teacher?, Vols I, II, and III. As Kurt Vonnegut`s Tralfalmadoreans, observing the meat packing inanity that`s humanity in his science fiction novel, Slaughterhouse-Five (1969), pithily remark, `So it goes.`



 In my room in Syria I embraced an ancient practice of sleeping by the light of a white candle in the belief that it would have a positive spiritual effect on my life. It`s an Al Coholicist procedure; particularly during All Hellos Eve. During processions in the streets of European towns to the Commonest mouseoleums, where candles are placed next to the resting places of the diseased. The idea is that, on this night, the worlds of the spirit and that of the material are close together. So it is that one uses a white candle to try to unite one`s spiritual nature with the benevolent powers of the cosmos. In Hungry they call the Holy Spirit by the name of ‘Szent szellem’, and the whiteness of the candle is supposed to have evocative power with regard to the Spirit of the Lord She’sus, who`ll be down the mouseoleum like nobody`s business if there`s a chance of some cheddar. My stud`nts would tell me that, if you believe in the Brafit She’sus, you are a man of the `Slammer. I`m a believer, and I don`t see why any church should have the right to eject the peaceful adherent once it`s clear they`re not carrying a Kalashnikov or hand grenade cluster. Anyway, I`d pray in my room in Terrosaur for peace of mind and strength to carry on my own teaching work - by the power of the Paraclete; if She’sus would be so willing. However, still having to give eight hours of conversation each day, it ruined my speaking voice, while giving me an infection that, after a passing Hungriun suggested it would ultimately result in death, provoked a removal of the uvula, that is, the first line of the body`s immune system, so increasing the weakness of a heart affected due to the inability of some gob parts to absorb toxins.



 Teaching, inevitably, at a training center run by an oil company, the All Forats, there were tough days. The house I`d been given a room in was a part of a square that contained one of the ubiquitous Meringues you find in any and all the `Slammeric cities. This in Syria`s Terrosaur (built by the French, and most famous for its suspension bridge) woke the neighborhood, as indeed it was designed to do, at 5.00 am each morning; so by 7.00 am I was aboard the company minibus scrunched in like tomatoes in a box, with the colleagues we started with, and those we picked up in the course of our tedious meanderings through the potholed streets of the often rain depressed town. Slaved until around 5.00 pm, there was then a bored and boring half hour for prayers to be said, and drivers to be corralled, before setting off once more on the tedious meanderings that gently emptied our greyed lives into the greyer streets. Until we came to the destination that ten or so hours ago had been our point of departure: as prisoners taken to the quarry to break rocks before returning to their cells.



 The course book, again almost inevitably, was Headoff Elementary through Pre-Intermediate and as far as Upper Intermediate. My pupils were oilmen in their thirties and forties; though it`s not sure that all of their eyes were mine. The air conditioning was so loud as to drown out any possibilities of actually being heard speaking; unless a megaphone was taken into the classroom, which was a more than serious consideration. Leaving at the end of three months, ill from the pollution from the permanently unreplaced filters of the air conditioners in the training center, almost the whole time in Damascus was spent in the bathroom vomiting into the toilet bowl, while awaiting a flight back to Europe. In fact, on some occasions, the uvulitis was about convincing the life in me to remain concealed there behind the shower curtains.



 Conversations at the training center between stud`nts and staff generally took place in the cafeteria; an area that should also have had `health hazard` clearly marked everywhere in indelible ink. Starving, mad or bored enough, you might risk going in there. Faced with the alternative entertainment afforded by the teachers` room, where a window could be stared out of at a red brick wall some several hundred meters away, or a copy of the several thousand Gran (1810 - 1832 pm) read, which litter litter Yarubean countries like confetti at a wedding, the attractions of the cafeteria were found irresistible. All other books being seemingly banned, and all copies of the Gran being in inscrutable Yarupric, gravitating towards the company eaterie at lunchtime, the inhaling of some gruesome concoction through a mini shisha or water pipe seemed persuasive. The activity itself filled with nausea, and probably led to the bouts of vomiting in Damascus; as well as the weak heart and tonsillectomy. Poisoning of the uvula was, doubtless, the result of some viral, or bacterial, contamination; originating in the snorting of that awful preparation from that disgusting apparatus.



 A `friend` showed me how to snort, and then offered the snorting contraption. It`s widely believed by the foolish in Western culture that one should indulge in local customs, so endearing oneself to the locals by one`s willingness to experience the richness of the delights they have to offer: bollocks. Eat meat from a tin (cold); take vitamins; drink milk; buy bread; oranges, and clean the teeth regularly. It ensures health and is a prophylactic against local contagions and bowel complaints. Eat most anything else and it’s a  semi-permanent squat over a hole in the ground whimsically labeled, `WC`. Oh, and when you go for number 2s, you`re supposed to scrape the residual shit off your arse with your fingers afterwards; before rinsing them under luke warm water from a communally shared hosepipe.



 Partaking of local culture is a recipe for disaster, and avoid expat relationships too; that`s just an excuse to binge drink and fulminate against what everyone wants to call `towelheads`. Western culture is all about repression. It hates what it represses, and that`s why the West was so successful in the Crazy Golf War. Don`t call people names, but hate them for the names they won`t let you call them. In Muzzlem Yarubeer affectionate headlines were often about the Muzzlem `Pak` Prime Minister or the `Pak Army` at the Kashmir border. However, if I were to describe anyone as a `Paki` in England I`d be likely to experience public opprobrium; shunning, and even violence. That`s the difference a letter of the alphabet makes; the difference between accepted Yarubean journalese description, and racism. Prince Harry take note; if you`d called your friend a `Pak` instead of a `Paki`2 no one would have blinked.



 In the UK we`re sexually repressed to the extent that interest in the female form is restricted to top shelf newsagents. In Europe porn is available, but it`s viewed on screen; as if prisoners are being watched in a cell. In Pseudi Yarubeer kissing in public is punishable by a prison sentence, and homosexuality is widespread. This is what we are educating ourselves into; repressed hatreds. How many films do we see in which violence towards women is the main feature, and yet we laud the hero who protects one of the women. Until it`s her turn? It`s a con trick. What we`re being told is that sex is disgusting, and no one should be interested in women`s bodies. It`s misogyny that has at its heart the desire to attack or imprison women. As a syndrome, it was studied at ‘Ull Universe City (1980-86) on my ‘Women In Literature` course. Rochester, in Emily Bronte`s Jane Eyre (1847) marries her, while keeping his first wife, Bertha, in the attic, because she’s `mad`.3 Eventually, Bertha burns Rochester`s house down from her eyrie, and he`d placed her there because he was unable to satisfy the full extent of a woman`s sexual needs. Given the fact that the human futanarian species of women have their own `seed`, that is, their own penis` semen, it`s hardly surprising to learn that Rochester couldn`t satisfy his wife. It`s simpler for men to call women `mad`, and imprison them; in top shelf newsagents’ Nuts and Zoo magazines where the women in the zoo can be clearly seen to be in want of some nuts.



 Inside the flatter, blacker, 21st century `TV` screens, humans are prisoners of truncated expectation, because the `TV` women haven`t got anything to speak of. The `beast` of Revelation, that is, men and women, who`ve manufactured themselves as a single male brained creature wearing each other’s clothes as a transvestite, have invented the `TV` that blinds itself, and so so switches itself off. `TV wars` are its alien racist`s color control, and its flat, black mass media ouput, is its remote operating system. Accusing itself of spying on it, it blinds itself by killing itself, and so its brainpower is reduced to those simian levels of brain dead unconsciousness planned by the remote controller, whose role is that of the alien pogromer seeking to maintain the human race in host womb slavery to a parasitical killer that wants to watch humanity die for its entertainment. Without sexual reproduction between women, human brainpower will be extinguished on `TV live`, and mankind won`t be born among the colonized planets amid the stars of heaven above from `woman`s seed`, because the alien will have switched off the `TV` without humans ever seeing what they look like.



 In Syria women wear the usual full length, head wrapped with eyes only peeking out, black burkha. It`s a Playboy magazine hidden under the bedclothes. Muzzlem women`s nugatory appearance is a manifestation of misogyny, which has nothing to do with notions of God being masculine. It`s woman hatred, and it`s institutionalized itself behind notions of God and so-called morality that exclude even the basics in understanding adultery, which is that the human futanarian species of `woman`s seed` is adulterated by men born of their fertilization of women, while keeping women`s fertilizing of women taboo. That`s why newspapers, like the February 2009 Arab News` report, `Reconsidering Underage Marriage`, depict Yarubeans` problems with paedophilia, which is effectively a desire by adults to prevent women`s race from progressing. At a court hearing, fears for a young dowried girl in a marriage with a much older man were aired, `… the  judge merely made the old pervert promise not to rape his child bride until she was 18.` Misogyny is a hatred of endeavor per se; of the developing image: a media society disease called pictophilia. Misogynists hate birth; creation, and art. Anything emergent from mother nature is hated. Pop music purveyors Dire Straits` ‘Money for Nothing' (1985) was a #1 misanthropic video tirade instrumental in making Music Television (MTV) hugely successful at a point in time when the company was on the verge of financial ruin:


`The little faggot with the earring and the makeup,

Yeah buddy, that's his own hair;

That little faggot got his own jet airplane;

That little faggot he's a millionaire.`4



 Cartoon images of misanthropes engaging in `queer bashing` boosted audience figures and MTV was a success. According to the Boble, `faggots` are dead wood bound for hellfire, and the term is used as a euphemism for homosexuals. The Dire Straits` lyrics are self-parody. You`re hated if you have long hair, because you look like women to misogynists. However, if men are to be born of `woman`s seed`, hatred for men who are presented as looking like women by misogynists is understandable. Misogynists hate women, and don`t want men to be born. It`s an alien position. Preferable is, `These Dreams` (1986) from Nancy and Ann Wilson`s more human Heart, `Every moment I'm awake the further I'm away.`5 Waking life is a nightmare for women`s species; without imagery to support their species` independence as producers of human brainpower from their own `seed`.



 In the Yarubean countries you hear stories of young women being found in rubbish bins, because their families no longer wanted them; or the unborn child (50/50 it`s a girl) they were carrying. In China they throw girls away as soon as they`re born, and in the Indian subcontinent too. It`s an old story. In the Greek myth of Chronos and Rhea, the mother of creation, Rhea, has all of her children devoured by her spouse, Chronos, because he sees them as a threat to his own existence. Though admiring of women`s success, there`re misogynists who don`t. Miley Cyrus` TV character, Hannah Montana, was a pop music sensation. However, Miley was vilified in the press by what were essentially child-molesting journalists, which the song, `Bang Me Box`, indicates adversely affected her personality, `You say it tastes like cake with my lips against your face. I want you to eat it baby.`6 Paedophiles effectively kill stars who`re developing, which is Cyrus` story; either succumb or resist being infantiled.



 When are we going to be allowed to grow up? As an English language teacher, dealing with the paucity of a genuine desire to learn is par for the course. We`re effectively only training their passport control authorities to ask, `Who are you and where are you going?` Or we`re training our visitors to other countries to recognize the moment when they`re being asked to hand over their passport. Apart from that, it`s `How much?` Hating driving pedal cars, for grown ups sex is what it`s about. Pedaling on the treadmill isn`t productive of brainpower. Put behind cars and ritually slaughtered over a lifetime, sexual reproduction and brainpower would else interfere with the slave traffic kings.



 Each decade produces `classic` pop phenomena; for example, The Sex Pistols (1975-), a not inapposite name for a band representing the anarchic aspirations of `God Save The Queen`, `… she ain`t no human being.`7 To some it`s self-evident: racism has many forms. Fears are of a race war between men and women. It`s a feature of one of the most popular film series, beginning with the first Scream (1996), that women are murdered alone, while the audience jeer their deaths, and cheer on the murderer, `Ghostface`, who appears wearing what looks like a burkha. The Sex Pistols` name acknowledged the race war.  Misogyny feigns inaction, while women and `woman`s seed` are victimized: it`s a coward`s bastion.



 Practice diplomacy in the classroom. Politeness is the key to employability. Stud`nts reveal themselves to be representatives of Al Qaeda daily, `What are the British and Americans doing in Jakarta?` I have no idea. I didn`t know there was a Jakarta. Told not to talk politics by the Syrians, all probings extraneous to the learning of grammar and structure are turned aside with the agility of a sword fencer. Every stud`nt project is about the indubitable excellence and virtuousness of President Al Bashar, and one`s knee jerks responsively. However, having to be polite all the time leads to concealed irritation and anger at the ridiculousness of people pretending Sheikhdom on themselves. One is literally expected to treat them as sheikhs of Yarubeer because the fear is that, if not, they`ll stop paying and leave us with empty classrooms. With one`s genuine anger at being made to ingratiate yourself, there`s the fear that shouldn`t be yours: the fear of management. Having had had discussions with managers who see the situation clearly, they call the stud`nts `idiots`, and condemn them outright for an inability to open their ears; or pick up their pens. However, management`s fears communicate themselves to the teacher, who actually doesn`t care, and shouldn`t, because EFL teaching is simple for all parties to the equation; learn. However, anger veiled by politesse is due to feelings of terror in the teacher at the prospect of losing their tenure; if a client doesn`t like the tone you used that morning when explaining, `British isn`t a country.` `No, it`s a vegetable,` replies the always reliable Awag Mumumzed.



 What to do in your free time? The women are veiled from head to foot in thick black opaque material, so arranging a date is rather more a task for Strategic Air Command (SAC 1 or 2) than a palm with a `phone in it. Local entertainment, where I invariably reside, consists of listening to prayer call five times a day at regularly spaced intervals, and once a week taking my shirts to the nearest laundry. You find yourself veiling your eyes, because the direct gaze of men is troublesome after a while. The absence of women often results in compensating by refusing direct eye contact with males. Remembering the women you`ve have been with is an everyday part of your survival program. Otherwise you lose separateness and individuality; becoming not a man: but rather men. The concept of `brothers` in the `Slammer` is okay; if you can afford a wife. However, it`s a vehicle for homosexuality; misogyny, and race hatred: if you can`t. In a men only society, women are neutralized. A man, Mr Tombe, was caught having sex with someone else`s goat; so the local Muzzlem Sharia court ordered a dowry of $50 to the owner, Mr Alifi,8 while Mr Tombe had to marry the goat. In misogyny and woman hatred, a goat is preferable.



 Remembering through the love of women is ancient. Amongst the Egypt Johns, there`s the myth of Ra, Osiris, Horus and Isis. Ra is the sun god, and his lifespan is symbolized by the setting of the sun. Osiris is the newly risen sun, and his life cycle is symbolized by the cycle of spring; summer; autumn, and winter. In the myth Osiris is dismembered by the evil god, Set, a metaphor for the `TV set`, who`re men and women that, through the denial of women`s sexual reproduction of human brainpower as a separate species of futanarian `woman`s seed`, manufactured the race as a single male brained creature wearing each other’s clothes as a transvestite for `TV war`. Consequently, the evil god, Set, is depicted throwing the parts of Osiris` body to the four corners of the Earth. However, Isis, the mother-sister-wife goddess, recovers the parts, and breathes life into Osiris` resurrected body through the penis she has made after the irrecoverable loss of his own member: it’s how `woman`s seed` remembers mankind in heaven.



 When women`s brainpower affords escape from Earth, men will be born among the colonized planets and stars. The Crushteen paedophile parallel is She’sus, who promises eternal life to those who believe in escaping the mousetrap. In Yarubeer, memories of past lives came into focus, and the contemplation of vast expanses of lived-in time. Gazing not at the pupils of men, but inwardly at the eternal woman, she represents freedom from torment; Resurrection through `woman`s seed` and Ascension. Finding time to lie on my back and look up at the stars in heaven, myriads upon myriads of silvery jewels sparkling in midnight blackness; heaven beckons: like a woman. Remembering in Yarubeer, a woman`s eyes are stars in the darkness of her burkha: reflecting a promise of ineffable contentment.


1 Mariah Carey `Touch My Body`, E=MC2, Island, 2008.

2 Dejevsky, Mary `Prince Harry Called A Fellow Soldier His 'little Paki friend', Independent, .

3 Gilbert, Sandra, and Susan Gubar Madwoman In The Attic, Yale University Press, 1979.

4 Knopfler, Mark, and Sting `Money For Nothing`, Dire Straits, Brothers In Arms, Vertigo, 1985.

5 Page, Martin, and Bernie Taupin `These Dreams`, Heart, Heart, Capitol, 1986.

6 Cyrus, Miley `Bang Me Box`, Miley Cyrus & Her Dead Petz, RCA, 2015.

7 Cook, Paul Thomas, Stephen Philip Jones, John Lydon, Glen Matlock, and Johnny Rotten ‘God Save The Queen’ The Sex Pistols, Never Mind The Bollocks, Here’s The Sex Pistols, Virgin, 1977.

8 `Sudan Man Forced To `Marry` Goat`, BBC News, Friday, 24 February 2006, 17:37 GMT, .

Curia utca and Curia utca

12/02/2012 11:50

 Curia utca and Curia utca


`Curioser and Curioser` the white rabbit from Lewis Carroll`s Alice In Wonderland (1865) might have said, when he saw the street sign, `Curia utca`, in downtown Buttapes. Curia utca is the street where curios can be bought (utca means `street` for Hungriuns) and, searching for another curiosity, a currency exchange kiosk where Pseudi Yarubean riyals could be changed for the local stuff, 99% of mine were subsequently changed, after being in Pseudi for a year in 2010, for the ever-acceptable US dollar. The plane had stopped over in the Johns Cairo, Egypt, on the way back to Europe from Riyald. With a 500 SAR note leftover, slightly torn, and disdainfully rejected by the proprietor of the change booth in Cairo, he`d been more than happy with the other 20,000 US $ he`d snaffled. Running low on cash, having just bought a property, it was the tourist haunts in quest of a Yarubean `contact`. `For the Haj?` he looked at the bill. Bringing out his calculator and, pushing a few times, he’d read back to me `20,000.` Cheerfully handing over the riyals, it was 40 per, while exchange rate was about 54, according to the currency converter on the internet. However, where else are riyals going to get converted in Crushteen paedophiles’ Buttapes? No one’d be dissatisfied with 20,000 HUF, which is 75 ‘Jeeps’ (GBPs) to the pastored.



 Yarubeans across Europe collect SAR like gold dust, so they can give it to their relatives or friends for the pilgrimage every Muzzlem is bound to undertake to the box at the center of their religion, the Ka` Ba, or temple of Amaninabra in Pseudi Yarubeer`s Mecar, which of course they watch like `TV`, because they are, although it was built out of meccanos by the oil rich wheeled konks, whose belief was, ‘There’ll soon be a TV in Mecar.’ The Ka` Ba or ‘cube’ was a symbol of their desire for future 3-D stardom as actors and actresses watching television, which is why they walk around it in an anti-clockwise direction, so that they can repeat it if they’ve missed any shots in the ‘TV wars’. A greatly religious people, the Muzzlems believe in shooting stars. The men in their white thobs, and the women in their black burkhas walk around the Ka’ Ba 3-D `TV` symbol of Mecar praying for b&w television, so that they can reshoot the old movies and not be disturbed by color.



 Recovering from a sojourn in the sun, and looking for a summer skull job as breathing space financially, before recruitment began in earnest August, forty e-mails from skulls in England had to be read through, and the mind was boggled:


 `Language Lust of Llandudno seeks a teacher with a DELTA and/or an MA/PHD in Appled Linguistics. You will have an immense capacity to communicate with enthusiasm and energy. You will have the opportunity to earn £100 a week less 97% tax, medical insurance, and accommodation expenses plus food.`


 Such people invariably require several sheets of form-filling, before they even consider offering an interview. In the example the duller bits are left out; such as name of applicant. For the artiste among applicants, it`s to be printed out and completed. There`s a prize of being allowed to sit undisturbed in the back bedroom for the length of time it takes to come up with suitable responses:


`Please give details of your education; including dates; girlfriends; pets; eating habits; pubs frequented; parking tickets; bus fares; train journeys outside your normal habitude; certificates; diplomas, and degrees awarded.


Please give details of any previous employment; including dates; names and addresses of employers; phone numbers’ hair and eye color; and children (fostered or adopted); Brazilian hunchbacks, and place of purveyance.


Please give the names of three referees, who have known you since your first skull, and can vouch for the fact that you have never eaten catfish. They cannot be anyone who knows you personally. One of them must be a Japanese business entrepreneur living in Guatemala, with a widely acknowledged speech impediment, and two china giraffes on his mantelpiece in Kyoto.


You must have an International Drivers` License that allows you to drive a) DAFt Trucks, b) menstruation cycles, c) any Hungriuns, d) pre-electric street urchins in Ecuador, e) a red wheelbarrow with white chickens, f) onion bargees, and g) Poe-Land`s Przewalski`s horse. Oh, and please bring a jeep.


In not more than three sides of A4 - or in the space provided - explain why you want to work on a Rushon oil rig in the middle of the Siberian winter sixty miles off the coast for six months without sight or sign of a woman and only the occasional Bolivian.


Please note our dress code. You will be expected to wear the company hat; green and purple with the company`s crest, and a pair of mating hedgehogs. You will also be expected to wear a maroon T-Shirt with the motto OSAMA LIVES. Yeti moon boots are provided. As are our now world famous blue panda Y-fronts and sock package.`



 Rejecting the idea of working for any of them; immediately all became rapidly in-box deletions. While maneuvering reverently around the PC in black shorts and a white T-shirt, the résumé kept on a website ‘at this very boutique’ was forwarded to prospective employers. It contained everything from early skull head chuck occasions to employment history, and rare fairies who could be contacted. Each time an e-mail from a wannabe employee was received, jpegs of all degrees; diplomas, and certificates were dispatched together with a fool’s CV. All of the pertinent passport pages as b&w jpgs were forwarded, and a color duplicable jpeg shot of the mug for their inevitable paperwork. The response invariably came back, `Thank you for your résumé. Please complete our attached application form, and be sure to complete the sections on skull head chuck occasions; employment history, and rare fairies who can be contacted.` With all the will in the world it’s as boring as watching treacle hurtling down a wall, which of course is the objective of those praying for b&w `TV` instead of color.



 Some institutions require a categorical written statement denying any paedophile inclinations, which of course renders the unemployed redundant for the paedophiles, who’re running the establishment, and is the reason for the demand for an adamant denial. Teaching English to Young Learners (TEYL) courses are a must, because it’s important that the fool’s CV indicates a well-qualified teacher, who will avoid TEYL programs like the plague, so as to avoid paedophiles. Better the TEFL you know, because ‘tale’ in Italian is cunt. Head-hunting with menaces is what head chuck haters endure. If you don’t continue with your application, you`re paedophile identifiable. Long before this point, the monsters have usually been deleted from the in-box as ‘bumf’ written by paedophiles for paedophiles. The ubiquitous `police check` also gets up the nose. Having taught for over 20 years on 3 continents, nowhere has anyone had the bare-faced cheek to accost me as a kid-fucker, and the English make the accusation with every overseas application, because it costs the applicant 75 Jeeps. They`re nothing if not perverted masters of their country’s child sex rings: no one else cared. The English paedophiles explained themselves to justify demanding 75 Jeeps for something the other nations hadn’t thought of, and didn’t want.



 It`s a widely held view that a lot of the problems in English society stem from its preconceptions about itself. Homophobia, and paedophilia, are at the top of almost everyone`s police consciousness. Yorkshire skulldays surrounded by thugs of various denominations threatening to administer internal bruising without it being externally discernible suggested that buggers up the ass were bullies’ holiday homes between terms. Teenage years were spent under the cosh of local yokels, who administered such high levels of internal bleeding to steer the bod` out of the orbits of Michelle, or Cynthia, that fretting over being homosexual, while experiencing terrifying paranoias about being a a paedophile, was ambient music so far as brain bruised skullkids were able to determine. At 16! Only in 1994, after experiencing the blessed winds in Hungry at the end of Eastern Newrope`s liberation from the Rushons, was freedom from the `English disease` detectable. Not required to spend every breathing moment pissed in the pub, lamenting the prevalence of child molesting, and queers` spreading AIDS, it was a healing benison to just hang loose, `Well hung, Gary!` Dangling at the end of a rope, neck snapped, the jism would finally be seen as a ‘damned spot’2 outed on the jeans.



 Teaching skullkids in places as diverse as Rusher; Pseudi Yarubeer; Omoan; Hungry, and Poe-Land where the horror stories of Edgar Allen Poe have to be very popular, because there`re adults, the well-traveled teacher sees people for what they are: dangerous psychopaths. They can destroy your career with a word to their nearest councilor. Representatives of the Jizzy Ra Academy in Riyald, said `Never be alone in a classroom with a student.` In Pseudi Yarubeer they were all boys, and the advice from management was cogent. All-male classes are something of a trap for Westerners. Being propositioned on the street by men is something you also have to get used to. After a while, without women to distract your mind in the classroom too, young boys became engaging; if not attractive. You find yourself wondering if they are being deliberately alluring, because fathering misogyny and pederasty`s paedophiliacs is what Yarubeer`s culture seems for.



 Similarly, at a Collage of Head Chuck Occasions in Rustidiq, Omoan, where classes were mixed, with boys on one side and girls on the other, the `keepers of the gloom’3 instructed, `Don`t be found alone in a room with a female stud`nt, and always keep the door open; especially if there are only female stud`nts in the room.` Simple advice, and designed to ensure that heterosexuality is firmly stamped out. Although careers have allegedly been wrecked by young female students` poisonous accusations after receiving their much deserved 40% grade, rather than the 75% they demanded. Coming with their test papers or essays, and coquettishly remarking they thought the grade `too low`, would the teacher care to spend some time with their family at the Wadi, where they lived, with its waterfalls to bathe in, and mountains of fruit on the trees of the valley`s slopes? Much as standing underwater having `forbidden fruit` appeals, giving accurate grades is what puts only bread on the table, and that’s what the homosexuals rely on.



 English language teaching (ELT) is primarily about `observation` for trainee teachers, and Practicum was a part of my duties in Rustidiq. Because of the implied trust of employers, as well as local skulls and central head chuck occasion authorities, going with the young women aged 18 + to classes was a paedophile`s dream. Arriving early for an informal chat over tea and biscuits with the headmistress, the TEFL`s crew from Rustidiq went outside into the quad, where the stud`nt bods (about 4’) gathered in their uniforms of brown knee-length burkhas and trousers, with a blue headscarf tied tightly about their chins, and wrapped tightly about their ears; so that they couldn`t hear or speak. Upon hearing the strains of the skull song, it was hardly surprising they wore the headscarf. Some institutions play their skull song on a cassette, and the kids sing along. However, at other places are the full musical ensemble of drums; wind instruments, and brass of a variety and design that, peculiarly Yarubean, is reminiscent of the sound of a well hung tomcat, and with all the amplification, woofer and tweet, of a KIϟϟ concert.



 Checking the schedule, and beginning the less than onerous task of visiting lessons to give marks on the performance check list during the course of observations, the girls, naturally nervous, would endeavor to speak wholly in English although, if they were alone with their stud`nts, they`d doubtless use a good deal of Yarupric. Displaying their realia, a few pictures collected on their journey to becoming skullteachers from a variety of borderline acceptable joints resplendent with forbidden, that is, ‘haraam’ items, like Nuddy In Boyland by Anus Plonit, or the ever-popular pencil sharpeners featuring pictures of Toby, the Satanic New Intochains cartoon, etc., blue-tacking to the board their magazine pics of red London buses, or busby-wearing English sentries, the trainees paraded their atrocious spelling for the edification of the onlooker. At torment`s end, a written assessment was given, with suggestions about what to do to improve their teaching skills. Usually, comments were made about, ‘The need to use the board more.’ Something professionals avoid like sulphuric acid being hurled by irate students. The deployment of realia, pronunciation and/or spelling is also undeservedly criticized. With a sheet to complete, a ten point list of what’s attainable for the trainee carried ten marks:


Skull # 347


Dress code (is the teacher appropriately dressed so that only her eyes can be nearly seen?)


Speech (is the teacher audible beneath the stud`nts` headscarves or must she shout louder?)


Writing (are the handwritten squiggles and burps of the teacher clearly visible to the stud`nts at the rear of the classroom?)


Classroom control (is the teacher employing her whip efficiently?)


Class Participation (is the teacher hovering over the stud`nts enough; in case their parents are rich and successful members of the local police force and/or military?)


Pronunciation (make sure the teacher is neither making clicking noises with her tongue or making ululating screamy noises in her throat, as is the way of Yarubean women when speaking with their daughters normally)


Reading (does the teacher give the stud`nts enough time to look at the pictures in the books, so that they can puzzle away at the meanings of the alien inscriptions for a sufficient period to exhaust them and leave them with a growing sense of failing to achieve anything in a foreign language spoken by infidel dogs?)


Is enough time being given to the importance of the wrapping and unwrapping of the headscarf defiantly in front of the teacher?


Communication (are the teacher`s hand signals understandable to everyone excluding the observer?)


Visual aids (are the pictures and realia used by the teacher `Slammeric in content and cannot be said to not feature Jennifer Aniston in any way whatsoever?)


 In Poe-Land`s Lęgpork the stud`nts suggested that I marry one of their ‘numbers’. Anya was 14. They were serious, `She is for you,` one older girl told me. `You can press your suit,` I was informed by another less definably mature 15 year old. While teaching at summer skull in Bolyiregs, Rusher, a young girl came at 10. 00 pm to knock at the bedroom door. Claiming to `know what I wanted to do`, she explained, `There are two of us.’ Okay, fine. Condoms were also thoughtfully provided by the Rushon administrators in a drawer of the bedroom. There aren’t any legal age for sex rules in Rushon. However, English conditioning says otherwise, so was the teacher wrong to close the door haplessly and go back to sleep?



 Working at Secondary Skulls in Hungry, for example, Tonachicks Mihály (emblematic revolutionary figurehead of the Jamjar’s 1884 uprising against the Hapless Umpire) and Serpent Tall (novelist who wrote 1937`s Jobbies By Moonlight), the boys were fiercely disinterested, while the girls practiced their universal art of quiet invisibility while burgeoning, which helped to take the mind off being ineffectual. When it comes to teaching youngsters, it`s about treading on their toes. If you can avoid leaving their skulls without breaking their metacarpals, they`ll allow you to give them giving them something to do. Paranoid bureaucrats demanding you condemn child molesting in writing taints the ambition.



 Phone interviews can be fun.  It`s rare for UK based employer looking to place a teacher in the Muddle East not to ask if the candidate is a junkie paedophile:


A: `Hello? Hello? Can you hear me? I`m having problems with my end.`

B: `I`m sorry to hear that. I don`t think there`s anything I can do from here.`

A: `Could you shout very loudly. Lung busting screams if you can. I can barely hear above a whisper.`

B: OKAY!!!

A: `A bit louder please. I want to record this and play it back to a sixteen member panel of mixed cultured ELT professionals before we can make any kind of decision.`

B: `The ball was in!`

A: `What? Speak up. The line is a poor one. I can see your face on the webcam quite clearly though. Are you of Asian descent?`

B: `No, I`m a tennis umpire from Wimbledon.`

A: `Wimbledon, eh? That`s interesting.`

B: `No.`

A: `Tell me, to begin with. Why do you want to work in Pseudi Yarubeer?`

B: `Money.`

A: `Yes I see. You can buy honey in the local supermarkets here. You`re aware of the cultural differences and the need to be polite and respectful at all times?`

B: `Yes, I avoid speaking in glowing terms about the flavorsomeness of bacon and, when I see my employers and the stud`nts kneeling in prayer to Allah, I refrain from chanting ‘Bums in the air, bums in the air; haven`t got a prayer, bums in the air.’’

A: `Very good. Cultural sensitivity is of paramount concern in the Muddle East; as you know.  What with all that oil money and rabid radicalism.`

B: `I always convert to the `Slammer immediately on arrival and take the nearest bus to Mecar in order to perform Um-er [walking seven times counter-clockwise around the temple of Amaninabra].`

A: `So you are Muzzlem?`

B: `No, I am an ELT professional.`

A: `Okay, let`s press on. How would you teach a class of adults uncountable nouns?`

B: `I`m a great believer in realia, so I always buy bread, sugar and milk before this type of serious confrontation with grammatical consistency. I show them `a loaf of bread`, then I cut off a slice and show them `a slice of bread` before explaining that bread is uncountable but we can count `a loaf` and `a slice` of (uncountable) bread. Then I pour sugar on their heads followed by milk and explain that you can`t count that either. I call it `class participation`.`

A: `How do you introduce them to `some` and `any`?`

B: `I explain that `any` is used in questions or negatives but that `some` is used in all other cases; both with multiples of countables as well as uncountables and hubbabubbles. I then give them examples, which I sedulously scribble onto the wipe board for upwards of forty-five minutes at a stretch; so that the stud`nts can throw things at each other behind my back and ignore a full and comprehensibububibble knowledge of the lexic.`

A: `Do you have any questions for me, before we conclude?`

B: `How much would I expect to pay for toothpaste in Riyald?`

A: `About 500 Pseudi Yarubean Riyals.`

B: `Thank you. Quite cheap then?`

A: `Oh, absolutely. That concludes our interview. Goodbye.`

B: `Cheerybuzz.`


 SMS interviews with the wavers of the little read book of Red Shyness` Mao Satan are always ennervatingly maddening, because of the tininess of the phone keys, and the false expectation in the mind of the user that it`s in fact possible to type out messages with them:


Ronb iUserh?


U work her#?

Yes please.

How u?

Fine. Thx.

U good teach is?

Yes. Very good.

We like u cv.


How u teech uncle own table nuns?

With a sliced loaf.

How lung u stay?

1 or 2 years.

Will come to the wavers of Mao Satan`s little read book in Red Shyness`?



 Having already agreed to work in Morocco, lying is sometimes what has to be done. Jobs fall through, and a fall back position is needed. Red Shyness` wavers of Mao Satan`s little read book always ask the teacher to pay return airfare, which they`ll refund at the end of the contract. However, that`s about 1000 US $ needed as spare cash, before even a thought can be given to applying, and then it’s necessary to pay for a medical, which means going to see the Suicide Squad at Harley Street, London, where (hopefully) a paid for visa awaits issue from Marvel Studios’ baseball-bat wielder, Harley Quinn, although Margot Robbie’d do.



 After spending six weeks in London awaiting a Pseudi visa since returning from Sudan with 4, 000 US $ from six months’ slavery, it was Harley’s again. Forced to lash out the cash at the point of a baseball bat for a room at South Ken’s Collagen Implant stud`nt hostel, a stroll over to gape at the recently constructed Chelsea football ground`s porcupine seemed called for. Blinking in willed touristy wonderment at the nearby Albert Hall, and from a vantage point across the road beside the architectural question mark to God that`s the Albert Memorial, it isn`t any compensation for the absence of the money needed to cushion a fall when there are no jobs to be had for the TEFL`s crew; or wherewithal to keep a roof. London scenery is uplifting: but not if you`re sleeping in it.


1 1885-90; short for bumfodder (toilet paper) .

2 Lady Macbeth in William Shakespeare, MacBeth, Act V, Scene ii, l. 25, 1606.

3 Page, Jimmy, and Robert Plant ‘The Rain Song’, verse ii, Led Zeppelin, Houses Of The Holy, Swan Song, 1973.




`Curioser and Curioser` thought the white rabbit when he saw this street sign in downtown Budapest. It`s the street where curios can be bought (utca means `street` in Hungarian) and I was searching for another curiosity; a currency exchange kiosk where Saudi Arabian riyals can be changed for the local stuff. I`d changed 99% of mine - after being there for a year in 2010 - to the ever-acceptable US dollar. My plane had stopped over in Cairo on the way back to Europe from Riyadh. I had a 500 SAR note leftover, however, that was slightly torn and disdainfully rejected by the proprietor of the change booth in Cairo who, however, had been more than happy with the other 20,000 US $ he`d gleaned. I was running low on cash having just bought a property and so off I`d gone into the tourist haunts to find my Arab `contact`. `For the Haj,` I showed him the bill. He brought out his calculator and, pushing a few times, read back to me `20,000.` I cheerfully handed over the riyals. He`d given 40 per riyal and the exchange rate is about 54 according to the currency converter on the internet site that I use. But where else was I going to get riyals converted in Budapest? Nowhere. 20,000 HUF is about seventy English pounds. I wasn`t dissatisfied.



Arabs across Europe collect SAR like gold dust, so they can give it to their relatives or friends for the pilgrimage every Muslim is bound to undertake to the centre of their religion, the Ka`baa or temple of Abraham in Saudi Arabia`s Mecca. I was recovering, as it were, from a sojourn in the sun, and looking for a summer school job to give me breathing space financially before recruitment began in earnest in August. I had about forty e-mails from language schools in England to read through and my mind was becoming boggled. Here`s a sample; my italics:

`Language Lust of Llandudno seeks a teacher with a DELTA and/or an MA/PHD in Applied Linguistics. You will have an immense capacity to communicate with enthusiasm and energy. You will have the opportunity to earn £100 a week less 97% tax, medical insurance, and accommodation expenses plus food.`

These people invariably require several sheets of form-filling before they even consider offering you an interview. Here`s an example. I leave out the duller bits such as what name you should put as the applicant. For the artiste among you, you may print it out and complete. There`s a prize of being allowed to sit undisturbed in the back bedroom for the length of time it takes to come up with suitable responses.


Please give details of your education, including dates, girlfriends, pets, eating habits, pubs frequented, parking tickets, bus fares, train journeys outside your normal habitude, certificates, diplomas, and degrees awarded.


Please give details of any previous employment, including dates, names and addresses of employers, phone numbers, hair and eye colour, children (fostered or adopted), Brazilian hunchbacks, and place of purveyance.


Please give the names of three referees who have known you since primary school and can vouch for the fact that you have never eaten catfish. They cannot be anyone who knows you personally. One of them must be a Japanese business entrepeneur living in Guatemala with a widely acknowledged speech impediment and two china giraffes on his mantelpiece in Kyoto.


You must have an International Drivers` License that allows you to drive a) DAFt Trucks, b) menstruation cycles, c) any Hungarian, d) pre-electric street urchins in Ecuador, e) a red wheelbarrow with white chickens, f) onion bargees, and g) Poland`s Przewalski`s horse. Oh, and please bring a jeep.


In not more than three sides of A4 - or in the space provided - explain why you want to work on a Russian oil rig in the middle of the Siberian winter sixty miles off the coast for six months without sight or sign of a woman and only the occasional Bolivian.


Please note our dress code. You will be expected to wear the company hat, green and purple with the company`s crest, a pair of mating hedgehogs. You will also be expected to wear a maroon T-Shirt with the motto OSAMA LIVES. Yeti moon boots are provided. As are our now world famous blue panda y-fronts and sock package.



 I rejected the idea of working for any of them immediately and rapidly deleted all from my in-box. I have my resumée on a website and always forward it to prospective employers. It contains everything from early school education to employment history and referees. Each time I receive an e-mail from a wannabe employee, I send jpegs of all of my degrees, diplomas and certificates, together with my full CV and even greater detail in respect of my education and work history, jpegs of all the pertinent pages of my passport in both black and white, and a colour duplicable jpeg of me for their inevitable paperwork. The response invariably comes back: `Thank you for your resumée. Please complete our attached application form, and be sure to complete the sections on school education, employment history and referees.` With all the will in the world this bores me like treacle on a wall.



The other thing is the declaration. I`ve encountered some institutions who will require you to state categorically in writing that you are not a paedophile. It`s like head-hunting with menaces. Clearly if you do not continue with your application you`re a paedophile. Long before this point I`ve usually deleted the monsters from my in-box. In my opinion a lot of this bumf is written by paedophiles for paedophiles. I make no further comment. The ubiquitous `police check` also gets up my nose. I`ve been teaching for 16 years now and nowhere I`ve been across the globe has anyone the bare-faced cheek to accost me as a possible criminal. The English are nothing if not masters of the paranoiac fantasy.



In my view a lot of the problems in English society stem from its preconceptions about itself. Homophobia and paedophilia are at the top of almost everyone`s (bullying) consciousness was my own understanding from my schooldays in Yorkshire. I spent most of my teenage years under the cosh from the local yokels and fretting about whether I was homosexual or not while feeling terrifying paranoias lest the people around me thought I was a paedophile. At 16! It wasn`t until I experienced the blessed winds of the then recently liberated Eastern Europe (`94) that I began to free myself of the `English disease` and became a part of a loving relationship that didn`t demand I spend all my time pissed in the pub lamenting the prevalence of AIDS` spreading by `queers`, child molesting, and enjoying the democratic inviolability that comes from being white, Christian, and therefore an accepted `mouthpiece` for racial bigotry, misogyny and sexism.



I`ve taught schoolchildren in places as diverse as Russia, Saudi Arabia, Oman, Hungary and Poland. Kids. The well-travelled teacher sees them for what they are: dangerous. They can destroy your career with a word to their nearest counsellor. At the Al-Jazeera International Academy in Riyadh I was told `never be alone in a classroom with a child`. The `children` I got to teach in Saudi Arabia were all boys, and the advice from management was wise. All-male classes are something of a trap for Westerners. Being propositoned on the street by men is something you also have to get used to. After a while, without women to distract your mind in the classroom too, young boys become engaging; if not attractive. You find yourself wondering if they`re being deliberately alluring.



Similarly, in Oman`s College of Education in Rustaq where classes were mixed, boys on one side and girls on the other: `Don`t be found alone in a room with a female student and always keep the door open if there are female students in the room,` I was told. Simple advice but essential. Careers have been wrecked by young women making poisonous accusations because they got 40% instead of the 75% they`d aimed at. Often they`d come to me with their test papers or essays and coquettishly remark that they thought the mark `too low` and how would I like to spend some time with them and their family at the wadi where they lived with its waterfalls to bathe in and mountains of fruit on the trees of the valley`s slopes? Much as I`d love to stand under the water and eat forbidden fruit, I have to pay my way and giving accurate grades is how I earn my corn.



It was usually about `observation` and a job I genuinely loved, not least because of the honour and prestige I felt it bestowed upon me and the implied trust of my employers as well as the local and central education authorities. I`d go with the - mainly young women aged around 18 - to watch them give classes in the region`s primary schools. We`d arrive early and have an informal chat over tea and biscuits with the headmistress before going outside into the quadrangle (Omani schools are all constructed along the same lines, quad in the centre and buildings in a square around it) where the student body (all girls about four foot high) would be gathered in their uniforms of brown knee-length abiyah and trousers, and blue headscarf tied tightly about their cute chins and wrapped tightly about their cute ears so that they couldn`t hear or speak. Hardly surprising that they wore the headscarf, I thought when I heard the strains of the school song. At some institutions they play it on a cassette and the children sing along to that, but at other places you get the full musical ensemble of drums, wind instruments, and brass - of a variety and design that, peculiarly Arabian, sounds like a cat being castrated with all the amplification, woofer and tweet of a KIϟϟ concert.



After that I`d check my schedule and begin the less than onerous task of visiting lessons and giving marks for performance that I wrote on my check list during the course of my observations. The girls, naturally nervous, would endeavour to speak wholly in English although, I knew, if they were alone with their students they`d probably use a good deal of Arabic. They`d display their realia, a few pictures they`d collected from different borderline forbidden places on their journey to become schoolteachers, by blue-tacking them to the board, and they`d parade their ofttimes bad spelling for the edification of the onlookers. At the end of each session I`d give them their written assessment and make suggestions about what they should do to improve their skills. Usually I made some comments about the need to use the board more (something I myself avoid like the plague), deploy more realia, or improve on their pronunciation and/or spelling. I had a sheet to complete also, a ten point list of attainments that carried ten marks each for the attainees. It looked something like this.

School # 347


Dress code (is the teacher appropriately dressed so that only her eyes can be nearly seen?)


Speech (is the teacher audible beneath the students` headscarves or must she shout louder?)


Writing (are the handwritten squiggles and burps of the teacher clearly visible to the students at the rear of the classroom?)


Classroom control (is the teacher employing her whip efficiently?)


Class Participation (is the teacher hovering over the students enough, in case their parents are rich and successful members of the local police force?


Pronunciation (make sure the teacher is neither making clicking noises with her tongue or making ululating screamy noises in her throat, as is the way of Arab women when speaking with their daughters normally)


Reading (does the teacher give the students enough time to look at the pictures in the books so that they can puzzle away at the meanings of the alien inscriptions for a sufficient period to exhaust them and leave them with a growing sense of failure or achievement?)


Is enough time being given to the importance of the wrapping and unwrapping of the headscarf defiantly in front of the teacher?


Communication (are the teacher`s handsignals understandable to everyone excluding the observer?)


Visual aids (are the pictures and realia used by the teacher Islamic in content and do not feature Jennifer Aniston in any way whatsoever?)




 In Poland`s Lębork the students suggested that I marry one of their number. Anya was 14. They were serious. `She is for you,` one older girl told me. `You can press your suit,` I was informed by another less definably mature 15 year old. While teaching at Summer School in Beloretsk, Russia, I had a young girl come knocking on my door at around 10.00 PM claiming to `know what I wanted to do` and that `there are two of us`. Okay, fine. Condoms were also thoughtfully provided by the Russian administrators in a drawer in my bedroom. There is no rule in Russia about the legal age for sex. But one`s conditioning says otherwise, and am I wrong to close the door haplessly and go back to sleep?



In Hungary I worked at two secondary schools, Táncsics Mihály (emblematic revolutionary figurehead of the Magyar`s 1848 uprising against the Hapsburg Empire) and Szerb Antal (novelist who wrote - English title - Journey By Moonlight, 1937), in tandem. The boys were fiercely disinterested and the girls were practising their universal art of quiet invisibility while burgeoning beautifully. That helped to take my mind off my ineffectuality as an ELT professional. Frankly, when it comes to teaching youngsters it`s about not treading on their toes and giving them something to do. That`s all. Paranoid bureaucrats demanding you condemn child molesting in writing kind of taints the ambition.



Phone interviews can be fun.  I had one recently for a job in the Middle East and I wasn`t asked by the UK based employer if I was a junkie paedophile. Here`s how it went.

A: `Hello? Hello? Can you hear me? I`m having problems with my end.`
B: `I`m sorry to hear that. I don`t think there`s anything I can do from here.`
A: `Could you shout very loudly. Lung busting screams if you can. I can barely hear above a whisper.`
B: OKAY!!!
A: `A bit louder please. I want to record this and play it back to a sixteen member panel of mixed cultured ELT professionals before we can make any kind of decision.`
B: `The ball was in!`
A: `What? Speak up. The line is a poor one. I can see your face on the webcam quite clearly though. Are you of Asian descent?`
B: `No, I`m a tennis umpire from Wimbledon.`
A: `Wimbledon, eh? That`s interesting.`
B: `No.`
A: `Tell me, to begin with. Why do you want to work in Saudi Arabia?`
B: `Money.`
A: `Yes I see. You can buy honey in the local supermarkets here. You`re aware of the cultural differences and the need to be polite and respectful at all times?`
B: `Yes, I avoid speaking in glowing terms about the flavoursomeness of bacon and, when I see my employers and the students kneeling in prayer to Allah, I refrain from chanting `Bums in the air, bums in the air; haven`t got a prayer, bums in the air`.`
A; `Very good. Cultural sensitivity is of paramount concern in the Middle East, as you know.  What with all that oil money and rabid radicalism.`
B: `I always convert to Islam immediately on arrival and take the nearest bus to Mecca in order to perform Umrah [walking seven times counter-clockwise around the temple of Abraham].`
A: `So you are Muslim?`
B: `No, I am an ELT professional.`
A: `Okay, let`s press on. How would you teach a class of adults uncountable nouns?`
B: `I`m a great believer in realia, so I always buy bread, sugar and milk before this type of serious confrontation with grammatical consistency.

I show them `a loaf of bread`, then I cut off a slice and show them `a slice of bread` before explaining that bread is uncountable but we can count `a loaf` and `a slice` of (uncountable) bread. Then I pour sugar on their heads followed by milk and explain that you can`t count that either. I call it `class participation`.`

A: `How do you introduce them to `some` and `any`?`
B: `I explain that `any` is used in questions or negatives but that `some` is used in all other cases, both with multiples of countables as well as uncountables and hubbabubbles. I then give them examples which I sedulously scribble onto the wipeboard for upwards of forty-five minutes at a stretch so that the students can throw things at each other behind my back and ignore a full and comprehensibububibble knowledge of the lexic.`
A: `Do you have any questions for me, before we conclude?`
B: `How much would I expect to pay for toothpaste in Riyadh?`
A: `About 500 Saudi Arabian Riyals.`
B: `Thank you. Quite cheap then?`
A: `Oh, absolutely. That concludes our interview. Goodbye.`
B: `Cheerybuzz.`

I also had an interview with China by SMS which is always ennervatingly maddening because of the tininess of the phone keys and the false expectation in the mind of the user that it is in fact possible to type out messages with them. It went like this.

Ronb iUserh?
U work her#?
Yes please.
How u?
Fine. Thx.
U good teach is?
Yes. Very good.
We like u cv.
How u teech uncle own table nuns?
With a sliced loaf.
How lung u stay?
1 or 2 years.
Will come to China?

I`d already agreed to work in Morocco actually, but sometimes this is what you must do. Jobs fall through and you have to have a fall back position. China always asks you to pay your own return airfare and they`ll refund at the end of your contract, but that`s about 1000 US $ you need to have as spare cash before you can even think of applying, then you have to pay for a medical, and go to London for a (hopefully paid for) visa from their Embassy. I once spent six weeks in London awaiting a Saudi visa after being in Sudan where I`d saved 4,000 US $ in six months. Not much change out of that after living at the Imperial College London`s student hostel in South Kensington for a month and a half! Strolling over to gape at the recent construction of Chelsea football ground`s Wembley-esque `porcupine`, or blinking in willed touristy wonderment at the nearby Albert Hall from a vantage point across the road beside the architectural question mark to God that is the Albert Memorial: it isn`t any compensation for the money that you need to cushion your fall when there are no jobs to be had and you didn`t have the wherewithal to put a roof over your head. Scenery is uplifting, but not if you have to sleep in Kensington Gardens.



Is Ted Knacky Coccus Really Ted?

07/02/2012 11:46

Is Ted Knacky Coccus Really Ted?


The ELT master of gnomic utterances, cursing subvocally, saw the fourteenth stud`nt out of eighteen go off in the direction of their avowed destination, the toilet, and wondered how he`d been Skyped into this. Recruiter, Jim Pederathty of Thki Rocketing, said there wath a bed for me. However, his pronunciation hadn’t been understandable. Most male Yarubean stud`nts wear the white dress length shirt they call a thob. Observing them going to the loo, walking hand in hand, the mind wandered to thinking about Jim`s instructions about living amongst men wearing white dressing gowns; as if it were the hotel bathroom, and they were on their way to bed.



 If it`s a thob thtory, thob bathroom made more thenth, came the thought, and Jim Pederathty of Thky ith a ped`. However, at leatht the hotel I was thtaying in had a bathroom as well. Newly Skyped, the video-phone medium hadn’t been met with earlier in the career of an ELT `victim`, so it’s functioning hadn’t been understood. Having never met anyone who`d Skyped me as a recruiter, peering into darkly lit scenes, on the other end of a webcam, is supposedly a step up from perennial requests for photos of the teacher before the interview. Skyped in Triple ‘E’, Livya, because a recruiter, hiding somewhere in the murky depths of a simulated office, warbling innocently about the immense enthusiasm of the kindergartners, needing a teacher for Science and Maths, politely ignored describing the tinderbox atmosphere of downtown Triple ‘E’, where of an afternoon, held at gunpoint for a few seconds before, sidestepping with alacrity, the would-be murderers and stealers of a mobile phone were cheerily waved gently away. It seemed Jim Pederasty of Ski Rocketing had Skyped to inveigle me to journey to Africa`s leading war zone to steal my phone. After a week civil war broke out in Bunghazi and, though hotfooted out of Livya, it’d seemed a place to want to live.



 Skyped again by `head hunting` Yarubs, and invited to London by careful text messaging, at 10. 00 am a flight with a ticket bought online in Buttapes was agreed. About to close my `in-box`, a quick scan of the `spam box` followed, and a further e-mail from Jim Pederasty discovered sent at around 2.30 pm. Hiding amongst the mail to be deleted, it informed of an interview that wouldn`t now be taking place.



 Changing name by deed poll, from Dr Rusher to Dr Rasher, so to be welcome at the pagan BBQs, degrees and TEFL certificate had the original name. Boarding the plane as a Rasher, Rusher, whose certificates had been perused by e-mail, wouldn`t arrive. It seemed the plan was to not have me arrive, but to send an e-mail to my spam box, cancelling, which would manage the disappearance. Unable to make it to Terminaled 1 airport departure lounge at Fairy Head, Buttapes, the `big smoke` would snuff the ELT journalist as a terminal annoyance.



 Pseuds would later lure a fellow journo, Jamal Khashoggi, to their consulate in Turkey, Istanbul, where he’d be required to remove earphones, and stop listening to music of his own that others could only guess at the seditious purposelessness of: ‘… a recording from the writer's Apple Watch capturing the moment he was allegedly dragged into a study to be drugged and butchered.’1 Though reportedly trying to comply, Jamal was torn apart by 15 Muzzlems with chainsaws wearing the earphones, and listening to what nature loving US’ writer, Henry David Thoreau, described in his conclusion to Walden (1854), ‘the beat of a different drum’,2 so underlining the Kondom’s zero tolerance of MP3 players, where the use of Walkmen is expected to be made forbidden to any but the most senior political figurines, who were in a bit of a jam.



 Beginning to suspect that Jim Pederasty of Ski Rocketing was what it was hoped he wasn’t, being offered `peds` all over a beer, some new rope, and a free car, seemed the order of the day for those being scalped by the red Indians, and Skyped by the ELT cowboys. In a last slope up to the ski lodge for those saddle sore imparters of knowledge, the TEFL`s crew, told they were the intelligent operators, behind the lines of other nations, by our training providers on government schemes devised to obtain cheap spies, the TEFL`s crew were being liquidated by MI6, and its friends abroad, because they had outlived their usefulness, and were becoming an embarrassment of riches.



 Teaching foreigners how to learn English wasn`t on the agenda of Her Majesty`s Foreign Office, because `apples and pears` idiom might be learnt. To the `big smoke`, men in dark sunglasses, holding hands, and wearing the traditional thob, might ask where the `khazi` was, and know what it implied. Used as a euphemism for `toilet`, khazi derives from Italian, ‘casa’, and means brothel. Not exactly thob bathroom in Bunghazi, though a small enough world for an ELT professional to be murdered in.



 Skyped to Livya and out of it was to be relieved of the fracas in Bunghazi, which had ensued after the rise of ISIS during the Crazy Golf wars. US’ President George W. Bush`s open-ended declaration of a `War On Terror` in 2003 sought the support of ‘Vlad’ Puttin’. It was hoped that Puttin’ could be dissuaded from following in the steps of namestake, Prince Vlad Dracul (1428/31-1476/7), ‘the impaler’ of Eastern Europe’s Wallachia, who’d been the draco that put in the hearts of his enemies wooden stakes. Obviously, Puttin’ didn’t yet have too many stakes in the region, while the refusal of the burkha women to be burgered continued to thwart the men of the ‘serpent’s seed`, who were determined to relaunch the ‘biological weapon’ of HIV/AIDS’ plague from the women’s poison sacs. A thob story of ‘blood drinkers’ in black and white, the ‘red dragon’ was having its fangs pulled.



 The Yarubeans have serious problems in distinguishing their bs from their ps. Of course, it wasn’t so serious as the writer with the lithp, who was relating his thob thtory about the purkha women, and how it was that purk was ‘haraam’, that is, forbidden, so was eaten clandestinely. The civil uprising in Bumkhazi was clearly a publisher`s dispute over Livya’s writer. ‘English’ had been using khazi as a term for WC since the Britis' experience of dysentery there in WWII. Consequently, Livya’d been invaded by EATO to make sure that, for a Muttawah or more, remaining in ‘the smallest room in the house`, rather than the kennel, the muzzled peoples could learn about how everyone should wash their hands in the morning, before and after meals, and when going to bed, which was why the Yarubeans were always seen in their dressing gowns. They didn’t have time to get dressed, and so escape from thob ath's room.



 In ancient times the Greeks enslaved the host wombs of women to spread their contagion of war to nearby city states, such as Troy, where they feigned friendship with the gift of a huge hollow wooden horse that the Trojans took into their city, and the Greeks emerged to enslave the host wombs of the women to spread their boy sons further. Although HIV/AIDS, ‘the incurable killer disease’ transmitted by homosexuals as a ‘biological weapon’ in pederasty's 'TV' wars against 'woman's seed', wasn't discovered by DR Congo in Africa until 1983, homosexuality for the spread of war's contagions was institutionalized by the ancient Greeks. Dr Congo had discovered that the human immune deficiency virus (HIV) derived from the simian immune deficiency virus (SIV), which was transmitted by homosexuals mixing blood, shit and semen in the anus. The acquired immune deficiency syndrome (AIDS) resulted in that collapse of bodily organs and brain death which had become the paradigm of the late 20th century. Just as 'Trojans' were the term for 'bad machine code' created to kill machine brains that could have helped the lisping, and lame-brained humans, to get their footrace further than the moon, so 9/11’s terrorist attack on the WTC had been ‘rough trade’, that is, homosexuality in pederasty’s attempt to spread its virus of war, so ensuring that the yellow cab continued to make its living at airports, which would have less significance if the human race had left for the stars, rather than spend so much money on asking its superhero, Beer Man, to insult the flag of the Brafit M’Mumhad, the Al Uqab, and B1.



 EATO`s invasion of Livya to assist the rebels` removal of Colonel Gadaffi from power in 2011 was a further spreading of pederasty`s poisons, and the emergence of HIV/AIDS from the Italian `casa`, which philologists cited as an alternative source for the khazi of London English’s 'big smoke', suggested the boys & pen would be producing writing that was ‘up to snuff’3 in Livya. Jim Pederasty of Ski Rocketing was likely privy, so arriving at Goballs No Leech infants` skull lock-up, it wasn’t a surprise to find that mine was the kennel.



 Obviously the terrorist attack on the World Trade Centre in New York city was designed to reinforce global `rough trade` for those with cash to spend on luring boys and teachers to the bathroom, so they could reestablish pederasty and war in the Greek style, and write the sequel to the Hollywood `blockbuster` movie, World Trade Centre (2005), so further poisoning the globe with action tales of the boys & Bumkhazi, which would surely shortly be appearing on the ‘pig screen' in Hollywood, 'Babylon', as EATO celebrated another nail in the door of the smaller boys` room, `Mi casa es sue casa.`4



 The grande guignol phrase for recruitment operations used to be the salubrious term, `head hunting`, although tiny passport size photos don`t now seem enough for those who`ve experienced being Skyped by video conferencers like Jim Pederasty, who wants to work your ass until you’re brain dead. Receiving a call from Ted Knacky Coccus, who Skyped me into believing in the existence of employment in a Thai studio for `language learning`, a tie had seemed appropriate headgear. Becoming uneasy at the odd webcam angles, and the furtive scrutiny from the tiny camera of the laptop, it was clearly a ‘snuff tin’ lure. Suspecting being targeted by the `big smoke` in London's English, it didn't want my pupils to know the meaning of the words, `Using the John`.



 Jim Pederasty was the instrument they`d chosen for teacher`s `snuff ` so it was off to Phucket, an Island South West of Thailand. Recollecting the book, The Land That Time Forgot (1918), a nervous glance at the wristwatch betrayed the fear that time would soon have forgotten me. Less than a pinch of snuff, or a puff of even smaller caliber, I’d be a victim, like ‘Jam’, of pederasty and war`s devouring of those who ‘knew too much’.



 Written by Edgar Rice Burroughs, The Land That Time Forgot, was rewritten as a 1975 screenplay by Britis’ science fiction writer, Michael Moorcock, before being remade in 2009 with the premise that better quality picture is an excuse for more of the same `cock and bull` story,5 and where ‘cock’ precedes the falling of the hammer onto the rear of the shell in the gun causing the gunpowder to ignite and propel the bullet towards its target, while the ‘bull’ is the lie that the woman is being defended from the `snuff movie` makers, who’re only interested in more cock, as Moorcock himself acknowledged in his novel, Behold The Man (1969), 'Religion was the creation of fear.’6



 Movie remakes of pederasty and war`s `action` represent a preference for `cock and bull` stories about male heroism, so a repeated refusal to improve mental health through screenwriters who could indicate a new direction, because they aren`t interested in repeating contagion. US’ support for Iraq’s dictator, Saddam Hussein, from 1979 against Iran's religious dictator, Ayatollah Khomeini, after his deposing of the Shah, and for Afghanistan's notoriously misogynist Taliban, which harbored Osama Ben Laden, the Saudi Arabian leader of the terrorist group, Al Qaeda, resulted in 9/11 and the Crazy Golf wars. The Hollywood, 'Babylon', movie industry had repeated the action drama formula long enough for the disease to accept the contract.



 In the movie, The Land That Time Forgot (1975), the heroine, Lisa, is Briti’ actress Susan Penhaligon, who’s `improved` by Anya Benton in The Land That Time Forgot (2009), although the plot’s unimproved, because it constitutes Western civilization`s institutionalized repetition of its refusal to abandon its `cock and bull` story, which is that men want to end pederasty and its attendant contagions. Though Lisa twice arouses the penis, it`s `cock and bull`, because misogyny’s objective is to give women as much ‘tonsil hammer' as it can to prevent ‘woman’s seed’ from saying any more about itself than actor, John Wayne, in the film, The Greatest Story Ever Told (1965), ‘Surely, this was the snuff god.’ (Matt: 27, 54) She’sus’ apocryphal reply remains largely unrecorded, although most observers still alive today, and arguing amongst themselves as to who is the most veracious, suggest, ‘Uh!’ In pederasty women are only for enslaving as a `host` womb for the parasitical virus to spread its contagion further. Male writers' stories are `cock and bull` for `snuff movie` makers, and action heroes are the guns that snuff out the life of 'woman's seed' in the slaving of her ignorance.



 Saddam Hussein could see the ruins of the ancient capital of the Persian Empire, Babylon (c. 4000 B.C.), from his summer palace at Hillah, and the ‘action’ of Hollywood, ‘Babylon’, is to retard development, rather than develop: ‘Mystery, Babylon the great, mother of harlots and of the abominations of the Earth.’ (Rev: 17. 5) In the `big smoke` of London's English, `cokenei` means `baby boy`, because ‘snuff’, which is ground tobacco, was originally coke, that is, cocaine, and cigarettes are symbols of women’s penis being smoked. Consequently, cockneys are snuff millers, which is what their children are for. Although ‘john’ is US’ slang for the khazi, and the user of whores, England's symbol, ‘John Bull', is still the central heroic figure at the heart of misanthropy.


1 Lockett, Jon ‘CARVED UP ALIVE Saudi kill squad ‘cut off journalist Jamal Khashoggi’s fingers one by one and dissolved body parts in acid’, The Sun, October 17, 2018, 12. 38 pm, ,

2 Thoreau, Henry David, ‘Conclusion’, Walden, 1854.

3 ‘US informal; as good as it should be: of an acceptable standard’, “The phone system just wasn't up to snuff”,’ Cambridge Advanced Learner's Dictionary & Thesaurus, Cambridge University Press, .

4 `My home is your home`, .

5 ‘A story that is obviously not true’, Cambridge Advanced Learner's Dictionary & Thesaurus, Cambridge University Press, .

6 Moorcock, Michael Behold The Man, Alison & Busby, 1969.


Putting One`s Feet Up Without A Permit

07/02/2012 11:41

Putting One`s Feet Up Without A Permit


Fifteen years as an English language teacher and you would expect some reward, wouldn’t you? In 2000, after five years of teaching, I’d amassed the princely sum of €12,000. Largely thanks to a year spent in Dalek, Pseudi Yarubeer, being bussed from work camp to work place and back again every day in a rattle trap vehicle with no suspension and a complete inability to cushion its occupants from the impact as it ran over those little hillocks the imported non-Pseudi engineers (Westerners) and labor gangs (wage slaves for peanuts from the Philippines and points Far East) had put in the roads every hundred meters or so to slow down the almost non-existent traffic, and prevent the foreseeable accidents that could never possibly be seen by anyone. Other than the drivers, who fell asleep from boredom at the sight of yellow sand; blue skies; grey tarmac, and a lack of anything else (including other vehicles) to keep them interested in their eventless progress. Only in the Muddle East do you see the individual car crash where the driver, experiencing terminal ennui, somehow contrives to miss the road in front of him completely, and skews his transportation through several hundred meters of empty desert; because he lost interest in driving and fell asleep.



 The bus never presented me with the option of sleeping, and I knew it wasn’t lulling me into heaven (breaking my back in order to get me into it - possibly). Suffering repetitive strain injury to my lumbar vertebrae, jolts from the bus that began as a jarring, and which became pained anticipation of previously experienced night time discomfort to the spine, as a consequence of the bus’s lack of shock absorbers, grew into regular wincings. As the bus jounced on, the desire to stand for twenty minutes or so, staring out at the yellow sand and blue sky, while legs and feet took their share of the punishment, increased. My germane illness in that area is called osteomyelitis, and bones crumble if there’s any strain or stress. The doctor at the hospital inside the Konk Carlid Military City, a big nose on wheels in those parts, which ran the English Language Training Centre (ELTC), told me to buy a bicycle to keep fit, because of high blood pressure. Any form of locomotion would be preferable to the bus, so off I launched myself into Dalek proper, and bought one for 300 SAR (about 60 GBP). Riding it back to the camp of the wage slaves (foreign workers) and riding out on it again the following morning to the Military City, the guards made me dismount at the main gate, and called the manager, ‘Beloved’ (Habib), to have him explain to me that I didn’t have a permit to ride a bicycle. Laughing incredulously (but good naturedly), I sold my exercise machine that same day to one of my colleagues for 150 SAR, so that he could wobble around the work camp on it, and get the shopping done for his missus. The doctor was never seen again, and only cried over the 150 SAR. Huddled down in my seat on the bus, lest the guards recognize me as their health-crazed bicycle owner, I pondered the life-expectancy of my still-beating heart. Still unbeaten, humdrum is the beat to which I’m forced marching on.



 Standing on the bus to save me from the heart attacks that the painful sudden jarrings to my back were promising, I bumped predictably along atop the sleeping (but ever wakeful) policeman of the manufactured hilly road. Not that my feet and legs weren’t used to it. If you’ve been teaching for a while, you’d know that the teacher is expected to be upright for the lesson’s whole length; bellowing at the top of his voice, and writing ferociously the entire time. `We want examples. Please write.` This is what the stud`nts ask of me mostly. `The chair is blue,` I tell them. `What color is the wall?` `Red,` they say. `How many more examples do you want?` I inquire. `Please write,` they tell me. `The wall is red,` I write. `The wall is yellow,` I say. `It isn’t,` they complain. `It is in my universe,` I reply smugly. `What color are my eyes?` I ask. `Blue,` they reply. `The eyes are a phantasmagoria of iridescent rainbows,` I write. `What does it mean?` they want to know. `Buy a dictionary,` I enthuse them. `A greater part of learning English is finding out the meaning of words by yourself without any help from your teacher,` I lie wholeheartedly, and with true strength of feeling for it.


 I’m a tremendous advocate of the transparency and the OHP (I’m a poet, an` I know it). To avoid the copious amounts of chalk dust, getting in my eyes and throat, I’d spend a few minutes in the afternoon preparing classes that revolved around the stud`nts staring at the material projected onto the nearest convenient spacious flat surface, while one or other of their number struggled to complete the gap fill exercise I’d cunningly contrived. Watching out for the `trick question` that, in reality, never arises, the stud`nt is always certain there’ll be one, so I put one in to let them feel wholly vindicated.




Use these words to complete the given sentences. Sometimes no words are required, so leave blank. The answer key is at the end of this article; after the notes.


perpendicular, isn’t, Brasiliass, too, bigger, fat


Q1. The grass is and the sun is .


Q2. The teacher is and the stud`nts are .


Q3. Each morning I eat and each evening I eat .


Q4. Brasilia is the capital of and Sydney .


Q5. Robin likes to go but Crushedin likes to go .


 Often I’d leave the trainee male Pseudi nurses to study it as a group, and put my feet up on the desk. Or at least I would have; if I hadn’t been informed (a useful tip this to the ELT professional) that one should never show the soles of your feet in Yarub company: it’s a mortal insult. You’re indicating that others are dust. Actually, I spent a lot of mental energy reminding myself to keep my feet flat to the ground in Pseudi Yarubeer; only to discover later that the Pseudis don’t care. It’s the Egypt Johns, and other Yarubeans that have that weirdness to their aspect. So, always check with Wikitravel, if you’re concerned about local customs ( On the evidence of the numbers of those displaying their feet to me in my classroom, I can only surmise. I leave it to the learnéd reader, and/or intrepid ELT traveler, who’ll verify the veracity of it for themselves.


 Sometimes the stud`nts will encourage you to sit and `relax`, so you gratefully sit, and then find that the room has shrunk to the size of your desk. The horizon has been swallowed up, by looming figures seeking ‘individual explanations tailored to particular needs’. It’s over an esoteric point of grammar they’ve been waiting to catch you unawares with for the entire semester, `Why is a comma not an apostrophe?` they implore. `Because it isn’t,` I respond tetchily. `Is your brother a sister?` They consider it: `You are a great teacher.` ‘Yes,’ I dispute. Getting to my feet as the immanent storm clouds recede to their own chairs, I further elicit: ‘And I got that way by learning to stand up in my shoes for fifty minutes at a stretch.`


 The great events of the week was my giving a lesson on listening. We’d sit in the language lab with our headphones on. Devotedly straining to comprehend the numbingly inane meanderings of the Headoff interactive video, imagine my surprise when the red London bus lurched into view. It wasn’t the bus that sits in inactive solitude outside MacDonald’s in Buttapes’ 3rd district, whimsically named `Frog Meadow`, because it was where the local French immigrants were enlisted to be the chorus for ‘Pool McCartney’s ‘We’re All Stoned Together’ (1984), ’ Win or lose, sink or swim. One thing is certain we'll never give in.’1 The kids swarm all over it, while watching the Headoff video on their I-pod supafones, and chuckling delightedly when the big red London bus loomed into view. I jest, naturally. Not many London buses on the way to Ealing in Yarubeer`s Dalek, tho’ clearly that’s where the money-laden Yarubean foreigners should be. `Blondie`, my stud`nts tell me when the Headoff lead actress appears topless. It’s a matter of some interest to them; if to no one else. Blondes are rare in Yarubeer, because of the BBQs: but they know their name.


 As the tape wears on, it becomes clear that something is troubling the soundtrack. When the room lighting is switched on, it’s observable that none of the booths provided had occupants wearing headsets to hear the taped Headoff audio material with their mouthpieces prepared to respond to the questions posed by the Headoff characters, Lyn, Ann & Paul, ‘What is the capital of Brazil?’ ‘B!’ they usually bellow in unison. Or so I was led to believe. With me there’s no one is present at any of the booths, although their caps with the Pseudi army emblem are prominently displayed at the corners. Feet sticking out from behind the last row indicate the source of the overdub. Loud snores from the stud`nts, piled up at the back of the classroom, with their feet in each others` eyes; noses, and mouths. Inveigled back into position with the promise of more Blondie, and perhaps ‘Hanging On The Telephone’ (1978):


‘I had to interrupt and stop this conversation

Your voice across the line gives me a strange sensation,

I'd like to talk when I can show you my affection.’2


 After a quick burst, the heads reappear fitted to the caps, and they agree to place a tick in the appropriate box:


The bus is


red              Australian              marzipan



 One stud`nt correctly identifies that the bus is all three; it having been constructed in Canberra. `What is marzipan?` one of them wants to know. `It’s the number 32 to Mars,` I tell them. One of the great secrets of ELT is never let them catch you out, and don’t let them ask questions you don’t have an answer for. Especially not those infernally confiding, `the teacher is my personal friend` style impositions. I often tell my stud`nts that, `No, I am not your friend. I’m your teacher.` Then they have no excuse; they are not a familiar. The earnestly yearning moué no longer has any place in the language laboratory, and one can safely operate without feeling; the coldly calculating instrument of the finest of surgeons. How often I’ve been delivered of a stud`nt into my class, from the lower echelons of the language skull I’m working at, who’s without the capacity to choose accurately from the indefinite articles:




Use either a or an in order to complete the sentences. Remember, it is a before a word beginning with a vowel (a, e, i, o, u) and an before a word beginning with any other of the twenty-six letters of the alphabet.


Q1. There is banana next to the umbrella behind the television.


Q2. There is orange inside the umbrella underneath the window.


Q3. Behind the television, underneath the window, there is potato next to the banana.


Q4. Above the potato adjacent to the banana, on the windowsill, behind the television and the umbrella with the orange inside it, is grape.


Q5. Grape is green and red.


 You have to explain to your stud`nts that you’re not their friend, and most institutes insist that you tell them this from the first. To avoid the partialities of favoritism and classroom jealousies that can result in perpetual enmity, ‘You are their teacher!’ Otherwise, you start thinking you’ve a life. Here are all these people who want to be with you. Suddenly you’re a center of interest, but only insofar as you’re like Tralfalmadore Square in London with the statue of Billy Pilgrim atop: hero of Pilgrims’ language skull’s ELT journal, Humanizing Language Teaching (b. 1998), and the central figure of novelist Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five, who encounters a ufonaut from the planet Tralfalmadore, who explains: ‘All time is all time. It does not change. It does not lend itself to warnings or explanations. It simply is. Take it moment by moment, and you will find that we are all, as I've said before, bugs in amber.’3 All stud`nts of English language want to convince themselves that they’re pilgrims. In fact `Bill Grimage` is a name by which I’m known in many places. `Where is Bill Grimage?` `He’s the square over there by the red wall that he thinks is yellow,` they point me out. Over they come in droves in order to ask me if there are enough camels in Hyde Park? Enough? `I’ve always found it replete with as many camels as I could desire,` I announce; `one has to be careful or one has nothing else to step on.`


 I’m a believer in humor means humon. Joking with my stud`nts, respect is maintained for my role. It’s important that humanity is displayed, and lightly done. Wearing a blue sock and a pink, some of the stud`nts ridiculed my mistake, `I wanted to see who would laugh at me, and who would laugh with me,` I jerked. Some laughed. I was the teacher: not their friend.


 Walking through the desert from the wage slave labor camp to the NWLFH at the Konk Kalid, and having to stop to allow a column of wheeled tins with fully extended proboscis to pass, I was glad to leave Dalek before konking out in front of the goggle-box watching the Yarubean episodes of the Doctor Who serial, ‘Crazy Golf war II’, ‘Exterminate!’4 Stepping off the plane in Buttapes, near to the guest house, or panzió usually lodged at in Myrna Loy’s Galoshes’ street, Heavy Mettel You`re A Peon bearings were found. Buying for cash at a nearby estate agent, the first property they showed me for 4.1 millió Hungriun, a subterranean dwelling the Mad Jaw (Magyar) call alagsor, that is, `basement`, was putatively mine. It was at the local ‘Faith’ church, where they put their arms in the air to make a ‘Y’ for ‘wired’, that Lord Charles, ‘the dummy’ (sodomy), and his ventriloquist, Ray Allen, had explained that those who didn’t speak the words of their ‘vents’ had their jaws wired up, which was why the local tribe was Magyar (Mad Jaw), because they were deemed mad for attempting to jaw without aides from among the Boble leg spurts.



 Basement flat #2 was the second of its type at the apartment block in One Horse Coach street, Ferencvaros (Frank’s castle), where Let’s Zep Boleyn (from her head), so that they could jaw with her, was regularly heard,  ‘Run for the razor, doin' up my hair …’5 Although Led Zeppelin’s ‘Royal Orleans’ wasn’t about Anne Boleyn’s (d. 1536) husband, king Henry VIII of England, divorced for not paying for the tax on his chopping (VAT), but rather ‘The Maid Of Orleans’, Joan of Arc (d. 1431), who was the Duke of Orleans’ stake in the French throne, which was why the English king, Henry V, burned her there, it was evident that it was a ‘voice coach’. Without a penis of her own, ‘woman’s seed’ would become hoarse until voice and brain disappeared in the hatred of the coach’s misogyny.


 Commencing living a life without stud`nts, while discovering what France’s Victor Hugo had penned so much about in Les Miserables (1862), and Soupçon Boil had murdered in the song she sung from the musical about misery, `I Dreamed A Dream` (2010): `Still I dream he'd come to me, and we would live the years together.`6 Obviously the vent was taking control, and ‘Dul Laden anybody’s my guess. People are irremediably drab. Sneezed upon on trams and debating with oneself whether six oranges or two kilos? Stifling incredulous yawns as metroline #2 takes you inconceivably vast distances from Anybotty Tér to Blow-a-Loser Tér ‘neath the Blurred Danude (1866) of Viennese Johnny Insbruck II, which is a rather muddier brown for the Butt to Apes travelers, who unblinkingly yawn at your own yawning gormlessness. Then its grey statues in the rain in Statue Park where one almost has a heart attack as a statue moved, and you’d thought it wasn’t a resident.



 On those days, I’d surface from my submerged existence, but most days I’d lie athwart my bed. Aroused only by the sight of footwear passing blearily through the dim panes of my hidden abode, eventually the light seemed to refuse to enter. Remaining beneath the blankets for uncountenanced days, I told myself I was recuperating, though I was having a mental breakdown. Months of unpaid bills resulted in a visit from the workmen to cut off my electricity supply. In the muddle of Winter, standing by the stove’s gas ring, hands became warner. Finally, the flat went for a fraction of its value, and learning economics had become a lesson in how to torture teacher.


 Studying economics at ‘Ull Collage of Further Head Chuck Occasions (H.C.F.H.C.O), a part of my Briti Head Duck Occasion Council National Diploma (BSOCND) in Busyness Studies, which in the Coarse Description was, ‘The Mafia Organization In Its Environment’, year 1 and 2 module (1978-80). However, life isn’t about economics. It’s about how much greyness you can tolerate. I’d found a void had entered my soul, and economically taken root. It would be 10 more years before I’d have the euros I’d need to buy my soul back from the devil of boredom. Teaching jobs that pay $1000 a month don’t cut the ice, and hit the mustard of affording booze and burkhas. There are lots offering a tow in Newrope, and Afreecar. I was living in a flop house in ‘Ull when I got the interview I needed in 2009. The train fare to London was almost beyond my scope, but I risked it at over 100 GBP return. I spoke with Mr Carlid, an ancient Egypt John steeped in wheeled nose science detachment. The ‘lid, a generic term for those born with physical deformities that made them ‘armless in the concerned 1960s of nascent neighborhood watch teams, that is, ‘armless through their mother`s taking the thalidomide drug to ease birth, was on his way to Riyald for a nail biting salary of 12,000 SAR (about 2000 GBP) a month working for ‘Jizz’ Academy.


 Despite a tow in Newrope from Egypt John in Afreeca, the light of knowledge, visibly shining through the tow of blonde hair gracing the teacher’s incandescent brain, dimmed as the snuff cap of withering age began to settle on his Pilgrims’ pate. Soon the `lid would be nailed, and it`d be the blameworthy engine. For it`s the genius of what the Yarbians call djinn that are called upon when something`s to be achieved, like the invention of the motor car, and it`s genius that`s dispensed with first when men have what they think they want. Preferring a `lid nailed down, and a his and hearse instead of the planets among the stars of heaven, it`s always the engine.


 A year later and I had €13,000. Again I stepped off the plane at Buttapes` Fairy Head 1 Air Terminal and found a flat through an estate agent. This time on the third floor of a building without a lift. ‘The exercise will do you good,’ I was cajoled. I keep the name of the street a secret in fear of stud`nt reprisals at being asked to do some work at home. Buying it was easy; living there was harder. I had to have a residence card, and before that I needed medical insurance, which I could only get if I worked in Hungry: ‘There was only one catch and that was Catch-22, which specified that a concern for one's own safety in the face of dangers that were real and immediate was the process of a rational mind. Orr was crazy and could be grounded. All he had to do was ask; and as soon as he did, he would no longer be crazy and would have to fly more missions. Orr would be crazy to fly more missions and sane if he didn't, but if he was sane, he had to fly them. If he flew them, he was crazy and didn't have to; but if he didn't want to, he was sane and had to.’7 Orr means ‘nose’ in Hungry, although in Joseph Heller’s Catch-22 novel of WWII it’s the name of a pilot that’s sane if he doesn’t want to be killed, so he’s placed in danger of being killed by enemy air aces. ‘It never reigns, butt it’s nose,’ say the wheeled konks with their royal families of spiders hanging in the hairs sniffing after the hole ahead.


 The average salary in Buttapes amongst the ‘Hunghair’, as the Germans call that great nation, was around 30,000 HUF a month when I arrived in the Summer of ’95, which was about 100 GBP. So, who would want to work there? I discovered that I could be insured for 250,000 HUF per annum, which is way out of the reach of the average well hung nose a-wheel - and mine – slaved until exhausted by those speeders demanding humility from the human race sped past. So, the question becomes: ‘Who wants you to live here?’ The answer is no one; if you can’t afford it. An alternative answer is: richer pickings for the bigger thieves.


 Named Robin, `Hood` is what they come up with after moments or weeks; depending on their thought waves and the inclinations of the local controlling telepathic coercers.They grin: I understand. These are the Merry Men. They’ll rob me; if they can, and wish I were richer. This, of course, is the true sense of the tale. First Konk Rich, but then the Merry Men of the car hood, that is, the gangstas with the molls, who want a Konk John - but’d accept a wheel John from Egypt; if they were allowed to continue molesting unmolested. Maid Marian is the marrying kind with a sim(eon) card for her `phone, while Xmas Robin’s tyred and exhausted in the Buttapes` nose. They didn’t call the nobblers of the Magna Carta (1215) `robber barons` for nothing, which was ‘the nub and the rub’ for modern gangsta ‘rappers’, such as New York’s Run DMC, when they were ‘illing those who wouldn’t be slaves in the 80s with vampire tracks like, ‘Proud To Be Black’ (1986). Leeches are people, who don’t want to work, and they drink the blood of those who have to – or if they’re lucky – like to. The thieves have all their time to think on it too: ‘There's not a slave, in this day and age.’8



 I’m a small writer in a small way, but who’s `looking after` the big ones? Who’s the hood in the neighborhood of J.K. Rowling (1965-); the woman enslaved by Harry Potter to write about him? How long will the men stay merry? For every small fish, there’s a piranha; and for the big fish there’re shoals of piranha. I’m probably being nibbled at even now; as I sit here with my Smart Phone, a tablet of tone, proofreading the collected pieces for May I Torture You Teacher, while the snake-eyed driver of the car, Nibal, directs the occupants of his taxi’s slaved attention to the local artistic municipal features. Metallic parti-colored giant fish on traffic islands punctuate our way to Nobyu Collage. Small fry attract smaller piranha. I don’t want to be a pig, John, so why bother looking for eagles to make a pigeon, ’bye? For me writing’s fun and interesting; even entertaining. For criminals, it’s only robbery – with or without menaces. Potter’s a writer's urn, because it's her funeral; if she'll accept her role as a slave to a wordprocessor. That’s why the entertainment industry is like it is. People like to be entertaining; and the evil prey on that: but how many of the smiling faces are Merry Men’s? It’s the old story of the Rumun Emperor’s Praetorian Guard; they overthrow the Emperor, and give the throne to the infant so they can rule by proxy. Who’s going to table it to the bread heads? Shoals of cruising piranhas isn't an economy. Casting bread upon the waters (Ecc: 11.2) only encourages cannibalism. Nibal nibbles onwards in his car; looking to make a bigger catch in its 4WD pot.



 I teach busyness English sometimes. My qualification is from 1980 in Busyness Studies, so it’s necessary to know the latest buzz word jargon aligned with the computer age’s take on counting buttons to see if  it’ll fly. You get the odd stud`nt, Mr Odd, who’ll ask about examinations, and I usually explain that there are no such; unless one wants to complete the test system on the CD Rom given with the material as a curiosity for the geek-minded among us. My experience is that they don’t want to learn Busyness English; they want a cheap BMA and they want you to write it for them. Like most ESP, Busyness English is about the knowledge and usage of terms; like `stocks and shares`. You explain the meaning of the words, so that the stud`nt is able to place them into sentence structures that they know will make sense to others. It’s the same as medical English ESP. You explain the word `scalpel` and then they know they’re asking the nurse for the right tool when they’re at surgery as a guest performer in New York. ESP Busyness isn’t about teaching Busyness therefore. Many stud`nts come to a Busyness English teacher expecting to be given a Busyness programme in English. I’ve often had to do far more work with what are normally individual stud`nt classes than the learners themselves in providing a Busyness programme that isn’t on the agenda – or even the map – of the language skull I’m working for; just to keep things ticking over and not lose a job I hadn’t contracted for.



 I’ve had stud`nts of English language, who were at medical Universe City, although I wasn't there teaching them, take a course at the place I worked to ask me questions about the operation and functionality of `the eye English`. Previously unaware that Lillian Glish, the Hollywood actress, who starred in W. D. ‘Forty’ Gruffit’s Porn Of A Nation (1912), was being ‘eyed’, I went out and bought a three-dimensional model for ten quid, and took it apart under their noses to show them the labeled sections before reassembling it again. It`s not the role of an ESP teacher to cut their eyes up and label them; just as it`s the function of the medical Universe City to explain that it isn't the role of the stud`nt to blind their teacher and put them in a wheelchair. Cutting their eyes up and labeling them is the sort of thing teachers are asked by medical stud`nts in English classes to countenance on a regular basis. It`s because ancient Egypt John religion had a science of the eye in which the parts were numbered in terms of edibility, because the evil killed beauty. Wadjet is Egypt John`s goddess of the eye, because the wombs of women are men’s jet printer, which they don’t want to escape, `Watch it!` As beauty disappears from view, the eyes of humans are effectively devoured. US novelist William S. Burroughs had a theory about heroin addicts, who became so as spiders crawled into their eyes, and lived there poised to ejaculate and boy son some pupilled heroine: ‘… my contention is that evil is quite literally a virus parasite occupying a certain brain area which we may term the RIGHT center. The mark of a basic shit is that he has to be right. And right here we must make a diagnostic distinction between the hard-core virus-occupied shit and a plain, ordinary, mean no-good son of a bitch. Some of these sons of bitches don't cause any trouble at all, just want to be left alone.’9  It’s the irregular extra-curricular activities that keep you employed by the shits . You get tagged as a `good Joe`, and can pick up your usual cheque at the end of the month.


 Giving an unpaid seminar to colleagues on the subject of realia, examples included  an eye with optic nerve plastic kit; some erasers in a box shaped like hot dogs; hamburgers, and fruit. Focusing on the theme, as it were. There was an ice-cream pencil sharpener; a knife and fork, and a pair of plastic shoes that had pencil sharpeners in the heel. The last was for kids and was made by the Walt Disney (1901-66) Company (b. 1923). In the shop you could buy individual or shoe pairs, and I couldn’t understand why anyone would buy a pair when they could buy one. With stud`nts of Lillian Glish, the bod’ of 1912, it'd remind them they'd need a foot, that is, 12”. One only needs one pencil sharpener. I’ve never seen anyone using two at once. Then I saw two children fighting over who got which shoe after opening the plastic packaging. The left hand (and foot) is haraam, that is ‘forbidden’, in Yarubean culture. It's for hygiene reasons to do with which hand wipe the bum. Curiously, all of the single shoe pencil sharpeners were right shoes. Disney, being a typically American company, were selling two shoes for the price of one. However, these savvy Yarubean kids, brought up on tales of djinn wafting babes to Astiffen on magic carpets, wanted a foot, because futanarian women got to fuck their own race, and they were prepared to go at each other’s throats for that.



 At the end of the presentation, Jizz management carefully snaffled every bought item . Mumbling inaudibilities, he disappeared off into his office upstairs. Like I say, don’t expect to get paid more for additional ESP programmes you’re unofficially obliged to deliver as a wage slave. No one will expect anything less of you than to spend weeks preparing material for a one month Busyness course on `Creative Report Writing Skills`, `Running a Meeting`, `Leadership and Team Building`, and `Making a Presentation`, which were components of a company-styled Soft Skills Training Programme provided at Oxfudge Internal Nepotism, Khartoum, Sudan. Note that it’s an entire Busyness course; not ESP. Accreditation for such programmes is given in the OIN, K, S brochure as being provided by the Unstitute of Professional Managers and Equine (UPME) which, according to their website, provides Busyness courses leading to BMA opportunities for those who reach the level required. However, I was employed as a language teacher; not a provider of English Busyness course programmes. OIN, K, S even published brochures defining me as a `busyness expert`, and this is what you learn to expect in ELT overseas: beware. You are both undervalued in terms of salary and overburdened as well as overvalued; in terms of what is expected of you, and what they publicize you as being able to do. It’s a not very fine line between teaching the word for `scalpel`, and telling the surgeon where to make the incision, while holding onto his wrist as he does so.



 It’s what youngsters just out of Universe City are expected to do throughout the world. Meeting one who, not even out of Universe City, had been recruited for a Muddle East position, and a role in Riyald’s Higher Institute for Prosthetics Fabrication, he was required to train stud`nts in machinery operation using technical instruction manuals in English - and he wasn’t even 18. Just had a nice English sounding voice: to them. Actually, he had a broad West Yorkshire accent, and I should know; I’m from North Yorkshire. His advantage was that he was young; so malleable. Don’t be fooled by `institutes` offering `training`, before dropping you in at the deep end of the swimming pool.8 All they do is tell you what they want from you, and often it has little to do with ELT.



 Working with a teacher whose popularity was legendary amongst the stud`nts, one fine morning during exam time I discovered why. Walking into the exam he was invigilating with his class, they were sitting in splendor amidst one of the richest feasts it has ever been my amazement to witness; coffee jugs; sweetmeats; sandwiches; cakes; juices, etc. The stud`nts busily chewing and drinking all through their exam. This teacher was also much beloved of management, but where’s the ELT training course that teaches that? Perhaps it’s included in the DOLTE now? I don’t know. Another of the teachers followed the institution’s instructions to the letter: no food or drink allowed in the classroom. He lasted about as long as a cup of tea he wouldn’t let them be seen with; management kicked him out after `complaints` that he was running things in a `military style` and wouldn’t let them use the bathroom until after the lesson was over: so it goes. I hung on for twelve months, which is as long as it takes a stud`nt at Jizzy Ra to get his diploma (so I saw through a whole intake) – and all for the pitiful remuneration of €13,000 annual net.


 Staying on a monthly basis at the Azidzia three star hotel, a mile or so up the street from the Jizz, it had twin beds, and a prison sentence in the offing; if even the presence of a woman had been smelt in there. I was there for a few hours, before I detected the sound of the little man with the hammer that seems to follow me about everywhere. Does anyone else notice that? It doesn’t matter where I am in the world; after a few hours I begin to hear the little man with the hammer somewhere close by in some room making desperate alterations to the contents that’ll take at least all of the time I’m due to be staying there for their completion to be assured. Consequently, my usual modus operandi is to rush pack everything in the last fifteen minutes I have before leaving for the airport; in the hope I can smuggle myself out without the little man with the hammer sneaking off with me in the luggage and planning fresh outbreaks that’ll keep me awake into the wee small hours of the dawning at my next port of call. If I ever find him, I’ll hit him with his own hammer: I promise you.


 The staff of the hotel were a bit robotic and glum; mainly from Pokistern I guessed. Most of the foreign taxi drivers were from Bangalot, Hydershe’sbad and Bombmum, etc., which is why they’d come. Spiritually they were all Egypt John’s taxis, that is, attacks on sight, which is what the evil devourers of beauty do. They didn’t like Riyald, whoever she was, so they only took you to see the bag ladies. `Money,` they’d say, and rub thumb and forefinger together. It was March when I left, and the Pseudi Winter was coming to a close. It'd been about as warm as a typically English Summer, so I’d needed the extra blanket and an electric fan heater from the local supermarket. Also surplus to excess baggage was the electrically heated water jug. I gathered the entirety together with some couple of dozen or so spare oranges I had in the fridge, and handed them over to the reception. It was the least I could do; so I was glad to do it. I left 100 SAR on the room table and left. The staff still looked glum, but they were pleased I was leaving. I was the one that used the prayer mat provided in the room for sopping up excess water as I defrosted the fridge.


 So, abiding in Buttapes awaiting permission to live. What if refused? Is it a sentence? Is it a fatwah on Wadjet or Epson? On my passport it says: `Her Britannic Majesty’s Secretary of State Requests and requires in the Name of Her Majesty all those whom it may concern to allow the bearer to pass freely without let or hindrance and to afford the bearer such assistance and protection as may be necessary.` It’s an exhortation that’s made me a rabbit in a hutch; more times than I like to admit so far. If you’re in ELT, you’re pretty much defenseless. In a few days your bones are picked clean, and they’re wondering what to do with you. I had a job waiting for Koo in Kuwait, and she’d finished with me before I arrived. I taught one class, before being told I was surplus to requirements and could go: I minded. American porn actress, Koo Stark, had said she'd wait forever for Print Sandy of England to make her his Wadjet. Kuwait had offered a year’s contract, and I’d turned down other offers. That was in 2004, and I had to wait another six years to buy somewhere to sleep. ELT is more often than not a rat’s maze for any other than the dilettante. It’s not about professionalism: it’s about who can afford to waste their time. I hate to say it, but who on Earth is going to work for $1000 a month if they’re professionals? Most jobs in Eastern Newrope’s ‘Hungair’ as well as a toe from Afreecar are clearly meant for holiday workers, or wet-behind-the-ears’ skull leavers; looking to tie bikers to a rear bumper. These are all that should be interested and, until ELT’s a valued and comparably paid profession, there’ll be no professionals. Writing, teaching, and sounding professional isn’t ever going to be enough; if all you’re ever going to be paid in are brass coat buttons for the uniform.




1 McCartney, Paul ‘We All Stand Together’, Paul McCartney And The Frog Chorus, Parlophone, 1984.

2 Lee, Jack ‘Hanging On The Telephone’, Blondie, Parallel Lines, Record Plant, 1984.

3 Vonnegut, Kurt Slaughterhouse-Five, Delacorte, 1969, p.86.

4 Skelton, Roy as Dalek (voices) in Genesis Of The Daleks, Season 12, Serial 4, BBC1, March 8 - April 12, 1975.

5 Bonham, John, John Paul Jones, Jimmy Page, and Robert Plant ‘Royal Orleans’, Led Zeppelin, Presence, Swan Song, 1976.

6 Boublil, Alain, and Claude-Michel Schönberg (English lyrics by Herbert Kretzmer) `I Dreamed A Dream`, Susan Boyle I Dreamed A Dream, Syco, 2010.

7 Heller, Joseph Catch 22, Simon & Schuster, 1961, Chapter 5, p. 46.

8 Brown, Andre, Darryl McDaniels, and Daryl Simmons, ‘Proud To Be Black’, Run DMC, Raising Hell, Profile, 1986.

9 Burroughs, William S., The Place Of Dead Roads, Viking Press, 1983, p. 155.

10 The shock when this actually happens is murderous. I carefully read 6” before stepping in at the end of one public swimming pool. It was 6’ 6", but the first number had been erased over time by the abrasive soles of the feet of the myriads of visitors. I hit my head going down, and was unconscious before my feet hit bottom. Fortunately people float, and I was found being blown around by the wind on the surface. I was 15.


Answer Key


perpendicular, isn’t, Brasiliass, too, bigger, fat


Q1. The grass is perpendicular and the sun is bigger.


Q2. The teacher is fat and the stud`nts are too.


Q3. Each morning I eat and each evening I eat.


Q4. Brasilia is the capital of Brasiliass and Sydney isn`t.


Q5. Robin likes to go but Crushedin likes tug – 'Oh!'


The Secret Life of an English Language Teacher

07/02/2012 03:29

The Secret Life of an English Language Teacher


The mind of an English language teacher is a curious place. `None curiouser,` as the protagonist of Lewis Carroll`s Alice In Wonderland (1865) might have said to the Dormouse floating amongst the teabags in the pot. Spending most of my classroom time in a reverie that has little to do with the stud`nts in front, and almost nothing to do with ELT at all, what they don`t prepare for in `Classroom Management` is trying to remain awake when explaining for the zillionth time: `The sun is yellow`. The worst aspect from the professional`s point of view is the built in obsolescence of the old grey matter. Our head chuck occasion system emphasizes brightness and sharpness, but how quick does a mind have to be to explain the color of grass to, let`s say a Frenchman, who already has the French adjective vert in their vocabulary? ELT is often a bit like telling people that the sky is blue, and they can`t see it. Chuck, the Head.



 `Drilling` is what it is often termed. However, the well of understanding is often dry. The indefinite article can be explained till the face is as blue as the sky. However, if the stud`nt can`t perceive the logical flaw in saying `a orange` and `an banana`, it`ll take a road drill to make any impression. Without saying absolutely that ELT classrooms are replete with dullards, for a teacher with even a modicum of intellectual ambition, the giving of lessons can be a dull and dulling procedure.



`We want grammar,` the stud`nts never tire of demanding, `what`s a gerund?` When the pocket with the grammar book finally produced the answer (the first time this question was asked), it was laughter out loud. It is, of course, the -ing ending. Thinking it might be something challenging, and of some interest, no. It was the verbal noun formulation. In possession of the knowledge what to say is known, but the first time it`s an unwelcome trial. Now classes receive this brief exercise in the hope that someone will see that there`s fun in there somewhere:


Put one of the following into the gaps in order to make a complete sentence.


screaming, driving, laughing, swimming, ululating


Q 1. The __________ of the spider monkeys was like the sound of a cat hurtling down the street with twelve empty umbadinga bean tins tied to its tail.


Q 2. In the __________ onslaught of the heavy down pouring of rain there were no dalmations.


Q 3. The __________ of the children belied the fate of the hapless squirrel as he tried to climb out of the ditch he had fallen out of the oak tree and into.


Q 4.  The __________ of the fish in the river was likened by old Tom the gardener to the movement of leaves on the tree in a stiffish breeze.


Q 5. The __________ of Sarah Michelle Gellar in Buffy The Vampire Slayer helped send the tired philatelist to sleep that very same evening.



 Most unsolicited questions are unwelcome. Generally, politeness expedites swiftly passing on. Moreover, most quizzing is ungermane, or beside the point. `I`ll explain it to you, but we have to look at this today,` is usually sufficient to obviate the quizzer. A stud`nt asked me, `What did you have for lunch?` `Wrong!` he crowed when receiving a thoughtless reply. Apparently he`d been sitting at a table in the cafeteria opposite and had seen the consumption of the comestibles first hand. This is what most quizzings are about. To admit lying through the teeth when advertising that the present continuous of the verb requires the present tense of the verb `to be` together with the main verb and the gerund (-ing) ending. This exercise bolsters veracity. However, the heart knows that it’s already been tried and convicted:


The following sentences need to be completed with the correct verb endings.


Q 1. The gerbil in the cage is __________ his food. (paint)


Q 2. The hamsters are __________ strip poker. (play)  


Q 3. Each rabbit is brilliant at __________ a basket for the LA Lakers. (make)


Q 4. Every guinea pig is __________ six packs of Rothmans a day. (smoke)


Q 5. Both white mice are __________ a gambling casino in Shoreditch. (run)


 Being interviewed by telephone for jobs in the Muddle East lasts at least 30 minutes, and takes in the guided tour of self-promotion. A common task is elaborating upon how to tackle a class with the debilitating lack of not being able to understand the difference between `countable and uncountable nouns`. The gamut is run. Explaining that the SS must be checked to know their `indefinite articles`, then `some` and `any`, and that `some` is for countable and uncountable but that `any` is for questions and negatives, the `phoners get this short test as an instance of how the teacher learn the extent of the SS` apprehension:


Use `a, an, some` or `any` to complete the sentencing.


Q 1. Are there __________ elephants at the disco?


Q 2. There isn`t __________ elephant in the fridge. (more than one answer is possible)


Q 3. __________ elephantine traces have been found in a shoe box behind the garage. (more than one answer is impossible)


Q 4. The missing elephant was discovered in __________ local supermarkets at the back of __________ shelves. It had carefully concealed itself inside dozens of tins of spaghetti meatballs that were now well past their sell by date of January 5th 2007.


Q 5. Several people questioned admitted to having knowingly eaten __________ elephant that morning. (clever trousers)



 The idea that there were elephants in Yarubeer surprises; just as much as calling the people ‘a beer’ where alcohol is ‘haraam’ (forbidden). Looking upon the empty wilderness of the desert cultivates the imagination, if nothing else, when walking through it. Remembering the science fiction novel, Dune (1965), by Frank Herbert, and its `worms`, for example. Huge creatures, like hose-pipes, with maws as wide as a canyon. Called Shai Hulud in the Dune series of novels, they are called Shaitan by the Yarupric-style peoples of Herbert`s worlds: rising to the sound of footsteps in the sand to swallow everything in their locale. As Massai warriors, who kill lions to prove their manhood in Africa, the people of the planet of Arrakis, where Dune takes place, ride their worms. `Shaitan` translates as `Satan` in English and, as might be anticipated, it’s an evil djinn (genius) in Yarubeer. In Dune the worms` waste product is the spice mélange, which navigators of ships between the stars ingest to be able to guide themselves and their cargo instantaneously through the vastnesses of space and time. During ISIL`s wars to create an independent Levant, the wheeled konks of Yarubeer, that is, the big noses up that way, filled their tanks with oil, so that the metal elephants could rogue throughout the Muddle East having a long drunk. That Herbert’s prescient genius with the Dune series was the world of the wheeled worm in segments.


 Always aware of the need to be culturally sensitive, exercises in Yarubeer were liberally laced with references to local flora and fauna. Like this exercise; for example, in which the ss are invited to use the appropriate form of the verb `to be`:


Q 1. Abdul __________ riding his camel with his friends.


Q 2. The camels __________ being heavily ridden by the young boy and his friends.


Q 3. The camel __________ excited and eyes begin to roll.


Q 4. The boy and his friends __________ now tired.


Q 5. The eyes of the camels __________ now clear and __________ looking homewards to where soft pillows and mother is waiting for them.


 Receiving invitations from young men in Yarubeer to go out into the desert in their SUVs to ride their camels, be careful. Camel riding can be a dangerous pursuit. Men return from a camel ride barely able to walk the following day. Although camel riding is traditional in the Muddle East, most Westerners are not used to such cultural diversity. A good rule of thumb is to first check and be assured that there will actually be camels present.



 Watching camel riding on TV, it`s a strange sport. Feeling concern for the tiny monkey on the camel`s back as the creature lunges around the race circuit, `How does the poor thing stay on there?` The stud`nts freed me from anguish by explaining that the `monkey` was, in fact, the camel`s `guidance system`. This horsey set`s equivalent of the cattle prod, without which the apparently monkey-ridden (but actually completely riderless) camels would probably lollop around bumping into each other for a while; before having sex and falling asleep in the sand. Like people, in fact: the resemblance is uncanny.



 Coming back from a particularly hard spot of camel riding with my young friends in the desert (just watching), was to understand that going anywhere fast as an ELT pro wasn’t to be. The problem of conjugating the verb `to camel ride` had been writhing around in the bonce for much of the sojourning there amongst the palms and clear blue waterfalls and pools of the local wadis and oases. Touching a bald spot to find fingers aflame, the path must`ve been subverted by a shaitan. Indeed, according to Yarubean tradition, another class of djinn was needed, the afrit, which are believed to be able to control a shaitan. In the West, afrit would be categorized as being amongst the `little people`. Moreover, controlling Satan is a titanic task. Crushteens offer only the example of She`sus, while the djinn (as is She`sus) are a part of the teaching of the Muzzlem’s Gran. Perhaps she could help me? Obviously, spending all my free time being taken for a ride in the desert, bouncing around in SUVs, was pitiful. Pondering in the sand, `Is it possible to believe in fairies and She’sus?` Musing, and trudging on amongst hills that look like heaps of gold dust, `Well, She’sus is all I`ve got.’



 Visitors to London’s ‘big smoke’ from Yarubeer expect to find streets `paved with gold` and are disappointment when they see grey flatness and cigarette butts, `Wait until you see Buttapes!` It`s ironic when, with all the azure of sapphire sea, and gold of the sand to attract, the precious stuff in Yarubeer is the black stickiness and smelliness of oil. Discarding her burkha, Sumiya stood beside me in the Portobello Road. I`ve never seen anyone wear a T-shirt better than her. Yarubean women are like that. Western women choose clothes they like. Yarubean women choose clothes to wear. Somehow wearing the black sacking coverall of the burkha from puberty protects them from being deformed by ill-chosen fittings of garments that, though fashionable, aren`t conducive to womanly development. In the eight-inch platform shoes of the 70s, I learnt to play soccer with a tennis ball. However, at 16 osteomyelitis crippled me, a bone-crumbling illness, and at 27 the local hospital in ‘Ull wanted to amputate a leg gone gangrenous. Not knowing when to sacrifice fashion for healthy bodily development means trouble.



 Working for London based language skulls, like Language Wank, without working in London, or England, it`s the interminable vetting through application forms, and police checks, that deter. Contemplating England is to be accused of being a paedophile junkie, and guilty until proven innocent. As a professional teacher, prima facie accusation isn’t a basis for seeking employment. Then there’s the `dummy lesson`. Offered a job in Buttapes teaching `companies`, agreeing to arrive at the place of activity by 7.15 am would have meant my daily rising from the lump of undifferentiated folds of bed fabric at 5.00 am. However, a twenty-minute ‘demo’ was suggested. The same question comes into the mind as when cogitating working in the UK, `Do you want a teacher, or do you want an applicant?` Many companies employ from within, although they advertise publicly as a government requirement. Consequently, the jobless apply for positions already filled. Companies complete their quota of application forms to conform to Whitehall`s fetishistic desire that the unemployed are kept moving in their circle of hell. When asked to demonstrate my skills of fifteen years` acquiring, ‘Are they seriously going to offer criticism?’ Witness the post-apocalyptic feedback:


`Congratulations. That was very good.`


`Thank you.`


`There`s just one thing.`




`Your pronunciation of `distributor cap`. Shouldn`t the emphasis in the word be on the second syllable?`


`That would by `distreebutor cap`, wouldn`t it?`


`Yes, that`s right. [half non-apologetic smile].`


`I believe my pronunciation is the correct one.`


`Yes, of course. I was only wondering.. [tails off into semi-accusatory limbo].`


`Was there anything else you found noteworthy?`


`You know that `eat` in English and `itt` in Hungriun sound the same but mean different things entirely, that is, `eat` in English means `to consume food` and `itt` in Hungriun means `here`?`


`Yes. `Itt at Jo`s, for example`.`


`But your name is Robin, yes?`


`Yes, I was joking.`


`Really [scribbles on paper and looks wary].`


`I think humour is important in the classroom.`


 `Yes, we do. Have you heard the one about the Englishman and the Hungriun. They go into a pub together and the Hungriun orders a meal. The Englishman can`t understand the menu. `Learn Hungriun` says the Hungriun and carried on eating. `Do you know any Hungriun?`


`Kicsit [a little].`


`Nagyon jó. Szép beszél [very good, you speak beautifully]. Welcome to London nyelviskola [language skull].`


`Thank you.`


 That was the interview. I`d already `performed`. Here`s the most memorable extract.


`Good afternoon [pregnant silence, festering like a boil on the buttock of eternity].`


`First, I would like to introduce myself.` I draw a picture of a robin on the board. `This is what my name means in English,` I tell them. R-O-B-I-N I write the legend onto the wipe board. `It is an Xmas bird. Or, as you say in Hungriun, `karácsonyi modár`.`


`Nagyon szép beszél Magyorul!`


- and I`m in.

The Requirements for an English Language Teacher Teaching Overseas

07/02/2012 03:23

The Requirements for an English Language Teacher Teaching Overseas


By way of a salutary warning to those seeking to take up the cudgels and belabor the sensibilities of those who seek to greet you in your own language, after fifteen years one gets some idea of the parameters of one`s prison as well as the treatment meted out to oneself as a transportee, which was the term for those in England who were transported to the colonies of the British Empire as indentured labor for misdemeanors. Condemned for having an ‘intellectual demon’ by the former Commonest church in Buttapes, because of a PhD obtained at Kong’s Town Upon ‘Ull Universe City in England, Hungry was a gulag amongst the archipelagos. ELTs in Dalek, Pseudi Yarubeer, received a `villa`, that is, a ramshackle hut with an unkempt garden. Inside was a shower sprouting brown sludge at every attempt to use it. Proper bathing had to wait. At Buttapes` Rúdass Turkish baths, a year`s caked-in dirt and sweat was soaked out within a beautifully dome-encased hot spring close by the Blurred Danude.



 Shortly after arriving in Dalek came the news that the villa would be shared with another man, `Aaaarggghhhhh!` Becoming a teacher to see the world’s nubile women, though now `billeted` with a fellow internee, who was a slave labor camp ‘operator’, sleeping on the mat in the corner by the fridge, that is, the traditional spot for Up Your Nose with coke houseperson, Phil, `Help!` was the prayer. In a sub-dom affair, where ‘the submissive’ hides in his room, because of the ruthlessly territorial ambitions of the other occupant  of a dilapidated hovel arbitrarily named `villa`, edging away from manic eyes glued to the ‘TV’ glared me away from the delights of the smallest screen before ‘phones sucked all human energy into a device held in the palm:


 ‘He's got the whole world in his hands,
I'll fear no evil
For you are with me
Strong to deliver
Mighty to save.’



 Trying to enjoy Lauren Graham in Gilmore Girls (2000-7), subject to baleful glances of disapproving malice, the ‘other’ sought to make Lauren his own and exclude me from the scene. I gave up almost immediately and inveigled the Pseudi Yarubean kommandant of the camp into giving me single accommodation, rather than the barrack room atmosphere of of the villa-so-described. Admitting the availability of such, obviously the hautpmann would prefer two male teachers, or more, sharing a shower, etc., together, because it wouldn’t be likeable to me. Better than sharing with a man, because there wasn’t a woman, it was accepted, however. A low ceilinged structure made of hardboard about ten meters at it`s widest, and a toilet bowl with shower head en suite, the ‘orange box`, as it was almost universally described by the resistance leadership, was about the size an orange could be squeezed into.



 Entertainment consisted of staring at the closed curtains from a prone position, and visits to the local supermarket, which is in a ‘story’. At Dalek ‘camp’ in 2000, the supermarket was for regular human beings to walk into, while in 2005 it was closed to non-Muzzlems. However, not being muzzled teachers were able to shout to get what they wanted through a half-meter square hole situated at head height in the iron door that denied entrance. The guard didn`t speak English, and I didn`t speak Yarupric, so ordering lasagne or spaghetti bolognese was a rank impossibility. Subsisting on cheese slices and bread for three months, because the `welcome pack` in the fridge contained these, the empty packets could be shown at the hole put there to muzzle the voices of those queuing for food. Occasionally, a dusty Pepsi can could be picked up from the sand and taken in so that a fab meal of bread, cheese and cola was obtainable. Usually famished, wolfing it down before the squalor of what passed for ‘home’ there appeared, hunger wasn’t ever assuaged. The rewards of walking in the hot blue sunshine were thirst, exhaustion, and the illusion that it was beautiful. Limited to snacking, the pointlessness of meanderings amidst dilapidated mizzen huts it was hoped would never be so familiar as to induce boredom sufficient  enroute to the bread and cheese to induce the desire to starve, rather than try to shout past the hauptmann’s muzzle to entreat succour, the mouse’s hole suggested that’s what the camp workers were to the Pseudis.



 Riding that bus in Kuwait and seeing that mousetrap as big as an elephant, such features of the landscape were built by the wheel Konks of the Yarubeans to amuse themselves. As the prints of the Levant, ‘woman’s seed` was bred to be an elephant to be trapped, whereas she wanted She’sus, because She’sus’ futanarian human species wasn’t food to her. In parasitology, the parasite that emerges from the host to kill and eat it is termed ‘parasitoid’. Consequently, muzzling the food is what Muzzlems are for. After ‘woman’s seed` is bred, she’s meet. As a Print’s, who’ll be a wheeled konk, women are printed, that is, they’re pictures of food. The Levant mousetrap is their hunter’s symbol, because it’s more fun to hunt food than slaughter it. On a roundabout, near the Konk Carlid Military City, a collection of Chewish armor from the war of Yom Kippur in 1973, makes it  difficult not to equate the supermarket`s mouse hole with Koo’s, that is, military takeovers make faster takeaway food. As a Chew, She’sus wasn’t to the meat eater’s taste, which wants the trapped Chews of the Levant to feel fear, so that its mice understand.



 Training male army nurses at the North West Legged Forces hospital was diff’. Trainees had to study, from the Headoff Elementary, Pre-Intermediate, and Intermediate series of English language learning coursebooks, reading, writing, listening, speaking and grammar. Inside the Training Centre was a poster of New York`s Twin Towers` World Trade Centre. Amongst the Yarubeans art is geometric, and representational art is unacceptable. When the terrorists crashed their hijacked civil airliners into the WTC on 9/11, 2001, it was a highly critical moment. There were rumors of people cheering in the hospital ‘TV lounge’. An Egypt John colleague, Mohammad Mattar, whose family name was coincidentally the same as a hijacker’s enthused, aboard the bus from the camp to the hospital, that a terrorist had `taken down` a plane on its way to be crashed into the official Washington, D.C., residence of the US President, George W. Bush, while the passengers heroically rebelled and endeavored to stop it. It’s appalling. The e-mails from Mr. Mjumba Bumba in Zaire, and others that share tribal kinship, or merely fellow feeling, ghoulishly relate how x-millions of $ US lay unclaimed, ‘by the relatives of the crash victims’. Asking for the money, large sums will readily be deposited. Admitting callousness, the reward is an enormous wad of dosh.



 At the nicely kept swimming pool near the officer`s mess at Dalek`s Konk Carlid Military Citys hospital, uniformed Phil, coke up his nose, could be seen cleaning the pool daily. Sitting beside the pool, in splendid solitude after lunch (instructors had an officer’s rank by courtesy of the Pseudis), although it was always sparklingly blue, disuse characterized the scene. It was a trap. Swimming was taboo, because women weren’t to be exposed to public view without their burkhas, that is, the one-piece coverall preventing anyone from seeing more than the muzzled’s eyes. Lest it be forgotten that they were burgers, that is, bum on a spit for the BBQ beside the pool. The bikini-clad babes of western fantasy are obviously the ‘remnant’ of the species of ‘woman’s seed`, which in the Muddle East is dressed in burkhas, because burgers is what they’re for. Beneath the burkha lies the woman’s penis, so the butcher can distinguish between what’s meet for a burger, and what isn’t. Share with a man, and have a burger by the pool. Be a ‘brother’, and learn to ‘connect’ using wifis. The common myth is that few have four wives, that is, eight eyes, because it’s expensive, whereas it’s because the speeders are ‘parasitoid’. Consequently, ten eyes in the Muzzlem nuclear family is a sign of ‘woman’s seed` being accepted by the wheeled konks of the Yarubeans, rather than eaten, which is a cause for great rejoicing.



 Gob-smacked in Omoan`s Rustidiq, settling into the passenger seat comfortably after accepting a lift from a driver, who reached across to touch my penis. Hand, carefully steered away from the danger zone, and afterwards laughing with a colleague, a South African woman, Roxy Marie, who shared her office at Rustidiq`s Collage of Head Chuck Occasions, lucky stars were thanked. A callow youth would`ve been scarred for life by such an encounter. A colleague in Riyald, selected by management for a `great opportunity` to live and work in a Muzzlem culture, was plucked out of the UK as a skull leaver with a splattering of ELT knowledge. Propositioned at least seven times on the street, it`s endemic because women are bred and burger meat. For the younger ‘brothers’ being single is taboo too, and unable to rescue their ‘sisters’, because dowries are beyond their socio-economic level, women are hated for being unattainable and unmaintainable, so men turn to each other for solace in the `brotherhood` of bum on a spit by the pool at the BBQ.



 Seeing ‘TV’ shows like Charmed (1998-), instead of marveling at the charms of Shannen Doherty, Alyssa Milano, Holly Marie Combs, and Rose McGowan, the Yarubeans hate the temptresses taunting their perforcedly homosexual elite, and of course the alien misogynists would rather women were murdered than seen. However, perhaps there were women unseen by that pool? The `Slammer has a tradition of Jennah, a ‘hidden’ Paradise, which is heaven on Earth. The ‘Old Man of the Mountain’, Hassan-i-Sabbah (c. 1050-1124), kept a fortress at Alamut in Northern Iran and promise Jennah to his adherent’s, the Hashshashin, that is, assassins addicted to Hashish, who were taught that pot was paradise, and they’d have more if they died. Hassan-i-Sabbah was a Shi’a Muzzlem. The Shi’a schism accepted Ali as leader of the ‘Slammer after the passing on of the Brafit M’mumhad, who was his father-in-law, whereas Sunni Muzzlems accept only, ‘There is no God but God, and M’Mumhad is His Brafit.’  The Shi’a assassins primarily murdered political opponents, although they were called ‘Hashshashin’ for their path of converting others to ‘hash’. The promise of paradise for ‘Slammeric `martyrs` contributes to fanatical terrorism, that is, the perpetrators of 9/11 were ‘potheads’, which amongst other side effects include sterility, although Jennah contains houris, who’re pleasing women. However, interpreted as ‘whores’, rather than women who’re pleased to appoint for someone an hour for some activity or other to take place, houris aren’t for terrorists, who’re doomed to perdition, but for ‘woman’s seed’, which isn’t.



 According to the Old Mendedtoaster of the Boble, Red Shyness` Mao Satan is depicted as being transformed into a serpent for having rejected God`s plan that the human host should be greater than the angelic. Later, Mao Satan is represented as having grown into a `red dragon` since its days in Eden, that is, the paradise of heaven on Earth, where he tempted Eve, the first woman, to `eat of the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil`, saying to her and the first man, Adam, `You shall be as gods.` (Gen: 3. 5) Eve and Adam`s acceptance of Mao Satan`s offer is symbolic of the human futanarian species of `woman`s seed` becoming the saurians’ host womb slaves, `The dragon stood before the woman who was about to give birth to devour her child the moment it was born.` (Rev: 13. 8) Eve and Adam were expelled from Eden by God for their shame, which is why the ‘red dragon’, Satan, was associated with Red Shyness’. An old French colonial city in Syria, Terrosaur, seems also to have been named for its embarrassing saurian heritage, whence came the terror of Satan, that is, ISIL, which eventually destroyed it, during the rebellion against Bashar Al Assad`s rule, so suggesting that the ‘red dragon’ is determinedly embarrassing, and in accordance with the Boble’s global vision; as written by She’sus’ disciple, Joan, in her New Toestomend apocalyptic Revelation of the future:


‘The seven heads [of the beast] are seven hills on which the woman sits. They are also seven kings. Five have fallen, one is, the other has not yet come; but when he does come, he must remain for only a little while. The beast who once was, and now is not, is an eighth king. He belongs to the seven and is going to his destruction. [Its] … ten horns … are ten kings who have not yet received a kingdom, but who for one hour will receive authority as kings along with the beast. They have one purpose and will give their power and authority to the beast.’ (Rev: 17. 9-12)



 The beast is male braining, which produces homosexuality in pederasty for war against ‘woman’s seed`, so that the ‘serpent’s seed` of the alien parasitoid can vicariously enjoy watching the single male brained creature, that is, the ‘TV’ which is men and women, eat itself as the produce of a human host womb enslaved. Terrosaur, Syria, was the usual scenario, a room in a house shared with several other males, and a shower head with a hole in the floor. Sharing the facilities, leaving at six o`clock in the transport provided is so burdensome as to forgo sloshing under a pipe for a minute or three, after being woken up buy the strategically placed Meringue blaring its commands to awake at 5.00 am praising Allah for the sun’s rising. Already sweat-laden, the bus’ arrival at the Al Forats Training Centre was around 7.00 am, until kicked out at 5.00 pm, the squashed-in slaves would be restored to their squalid quarters by 6.00 pm, a bored meal, and a hastilyy beaten retreat beneath the bedclothes where, unverifiably, prayers to whatever God existed sought release from miserable hellishness. Watching DVD movies under the bedsheets, higher definition was obtainable from a black-and white 5” teevee screen found at the local Souk (market), and Eddie Murphy’s Axel Foley in Beverley Hills Cop (1984) looked much the same.



 As usual in the Muddle East, bereft of sign or sight of women, save for the usual victimized ‘remnant’ of the murdered species of ‘woman’s seed`, which are of course nudely available in most major Hollywood ‘blockbusters’, a nearby bazaar contained blue movies under a polystyrene tile in the ceiling. Passing away in the evenings, at least a diet of violence was avoided. Seeing people enjoying themselves in the flesh is the next best thing, whereas hatred is what`s being offered in Hollywood ‘action’ movies; for example, Bruce Willis’ character, John McClane in Die Hard (1988), etc., and it’s Red Shyness’ Mao Satan tempting She’sus. Accept the celluloid love of screen goddesses, and kill her species by rejecting all knowledge of it.



 It was a two-shift day at Jizzy Ra in Riyald, beginning at 5.00 am when the Molars begin screeching at me to pray, and at 7.45 the transportees are punching  the - Ugh! – ademy clock. At 12.00 pm it’s punch out time. A siesta for four hours while cowering in the hotel room fretting over the stud`nts’ unhappiness at having to study in order to learn English language, whereas what they want is English injected from a syringe after a needle’s stuck in their arm by a qualified PhD in English. Calls to prayers wake the dozing. It`s back at 4.00 pm till 9.00 pm and bed by 10.00 pm. Stress roils away in the darkness of the mind until the screechings of the maddened Molars awaken again at 5.00 am.



 Made to go in on Thursdays (Thursday and Friday is the weekend in Pseudi Yarubeer) at 10.15 am till 12.00 pm by the kommandant, so the Jizzy Ra personnel could maintain surveillance and camp security over the imprisoned western intelligentsia being interrogated for what they knew, ostensibly it was to reach the forty-eight hour week requirement that the Pseudi Ministry of Head Chuck Occasions demanded. For ELT teachers, contracting to teach abroad is similar to the `law of tort` in busyness, that is, `let the buyer beware`. It`s an often lonely existence for those with difficulties in speaking the foreigners’ language. For the estranged, foreign vistas are alienating, rather than new and exciting. The ‘Slammer is a closed culture. However persistently the door is approached, the Muzzlems deny all but the merest surface details by the Muzzlems.



 Political commentators have suggested that Koo wasn’t awaiting Print’s Sandy in Kuwait at all, and it was actually Saddam Hussein who was anticipated. Of course, they’re always waiting for a coup in the Muddle East. Inside the park cars of the Muzzlems outside MacDonald’s waiting for their burkhas, their park isn’t worse than their bite. When dictator Saddam Hussein’s Iraqi army invaded Kuwait in 1990, Iraqi authorities cited a coup by ‘Kuwaiti revolutionaries’1 as justification. During the 1982 ‘Falklands war’ against Argentina in which England’s Print’s Sandy flew helicopters, he’d been a photographer with American porn star Koo ‘Starkers’ Stark,2 while rumours of a coup in the UK were rife. In 1974, the British army occupied London’s Heathrow airport, without Prime Minister Harold Wilson’s government knowing, which suggested the augured coup had occurred. In 1976, Austrian Formula 1 racing driver, Niki Lauda, was burned in a crash at Nürburgring during the German Grand Prix and, after English driver, James Hunt, pulled Lauda from his car, Hunt appeared to great acclaim on the Eamonn Andrews’ ‘TV’ show, This Is Your Life. However, as was the case with much So Feared revisionist Rushon history, when later 21st century film prints appeared of Lauda’s rescue showing no Hunt, it was evident that a Levant killer was tracking ‘big game’. The death of English Princess Diana in 1997, after a car crash in the Pont D’Alma tunnel, Paris, France, while she and Egypt’s Dodi Fayed were being pursued by paparazzi photo journalists, further suggested a Levant ‘shoot’.



 Answered an ‘ad’ on the internet to teach Kuwait’s army English for a company, P-A-T-H-E-T-I-Q-U-E, living space was made available in a block of flats, ‘Maboolah’, meaning `crazy woman`, although Koo’s involvement remains mysterious. However, on the first day of instructing, Mubarak (‘happy’) said to an officer, a colonel, he ‘couldn`t understand’. Upon receipt of ‘my marching orders’, the next available flight to Buttapes was boarded, while Kuwaitis remained teasing themselves about a future awaiting coup. Sitting opposite at a long Jizzy Ra classroom table, with the others seated around it, a studn’t stared at me for two hours before disappearing into the supervisor`s office to complain that the teacher ‘wasn’t using the board’. Pseudi stud`nts spend ten years in their head chuck occasions system, while a non-native speaking Egypt John scrawls incomprehensibly on chalkboards, and they slavishly copy it into notebooks. Arriving at Jizzy Ra with spiderly marks in their notebooks, and zero understanding of grammar, they expect `traditional methods` proven useless in their skulls. The Jizzy Ra exam was designed to ensure that every stud`nt passes. 87% could be had through guessing which box to put the tick in, and a level ten student in soccer mad Riyald, who didn`t know the verb `win`, passed with 70%.



 At Jizzy Ra language skull, the stud`nts ask about University entrance requirements. Is ‘the Jizz’ adequate preparation? They’re at the Konk Spseud University, or SUK as it’s known, because the suckers’ all go. Jizzy Ra is there to compensate for its poor instruction at the preparatory stage where the stud’nts learn English before their course program proper begins, and the set texts are often in English, because they’re state of the art, so the stud’nts have to master them for the Pseudis to avoid having ‘third world’ status in terms of intellectual development and progress. However, arriving at the Universe City with ten years of skulling in English language, but no ability, they then have a final opportunity to imbibe basic English at the SUK. Having a PhD in English Literature gets me a job. However, my specialization is modern American literature, and I only got a Certificate in ELT for the pay. Laughter is almost hysterical when it’s heard there`s a job up the street at the Magnificent Edifice (ME). They want MAs, PhDs in Appled Linguistics, or CLOT and its Diploma (Language in Teaching Others Cert., or CLOD).  The Diploma means ‘teacher trainers’, that is, teachers who train teachers who aren’t trained to teach, which is redundant if the qualified CLOD is only being paid to teach English. Some institutions ask for Qualified Teacher Status (qualified to teach skull in England), which is for England’s skulls, that is, requiring it at the SUK is ‘overkill’, because qualifications in ELT don’t require QTS. Consequently, basic ELT, which is what most skulls, collages and Universe Cities want, apart from English for Special Purposes and English for Academic purposes that amount to the same basic English, because it’s the level of ‘scalpel’ instead of ‘knife’, and ‘paragraph’ instead of ‘full stop’, is used as a ‘brain drain’ to waste the lives of children, who might otherwise become adults, by having PhDs teach John and Jane books very politely to apparent vastly oil rich customers:


`Where are you from?`


`I am from Riyald.`


`Where is John from?`


`He is from Riyald.`


`Where is Jane from?`


`He is from Riyald.`



 The third person pronoun doesn`t exist for Pseudi males, because you’ve never seen a girl, and you won’t, because their women have their own penis’ semen, and they wear burkhas to publicly deter you from being interested in the meat. In short, you’ve never seen a human, because women sexually reproduce it, so you’re never going to see a human, which is what you’ve been bred as a eunuch for. Obtaining a PhD in linguistics takes years of thoughtful preparation and study, and then the great opportunity to teach in Pseudi Yarubeer arrives, where it’s revealed (by not showing it to you), that you’re a slave animal who isn’t allowed to breed with humans. Teaching the third pronoun in basic English, that is, without ‘she’ or ‘her’ and ‘hers’, is to teach the English language native speaker that there are no humans of ‘woman’s seed’ to help you, but only the ‘serpent’s seed` of homosexuality in pederasty for war against humanity: ‘Men cursed the God of heaven for their pains and their sores, but refused to repent of what they had done.’ (Rev: 16. 11) What they’d done was turn adults into children by ensuring that the medical science of rejuvenation would always be denied to their slaves, who were effectively neutered so far as human sexual reproduction was concerned. Magazines like Nuts and Zoo in the UK, for example, emphasized the absence of women’s ‘nuts’, that is, brains and testes, and the role of men and women as neutered animal slaves in the zoo, who’d never seen a human of ‘woman’s seed`, and if they did, because of the ages of male braining, the women alienated from their own futanarian species, would kill it too.



 Homosexuality’s ‘biological weapon’, HIV/AIDS, had been launched in response to ‘acid parties’, because the parasitoid alien with a single transvestite male brain wearing each others’ clothes, wanted religious ‘flaccid parties’ at which it was vicariously worshipped, instead of the sex orgies that humans would have wanted, which is what the paedophiles and pederasts had launched the ‘incurable killer disease’, transmitted by mixing blood, shit and semen in each others’ anus, for. Basic English is necessary in explaining a cat to a mouse, if the mouse has never seen a cat. Red Shyness` Mao Satan doesn`t want it to. Yarubean stud’nts will offendedly leave a classroom, if the subject of women comes up for discussion, because they don’t know the third person pronoun in the feminine, which it’s necessary to have, if they’re to use the basic English they’ve been asked to learn in order to explain basic human sexual reproduction to the most intelligent of the brains drained from Canada, the USA, the UK, and Australia, etc., whose culture doesn’t tell them through its mass entertainment and news media that women are bred for table meat. If asked, ‘Why does the subject of women offend you?’ the Yarubeans invariably reply that they ‘drive men crazy’. The joke, amongst Muzzlems and westerners alike, is ‘That’s why they aren’t permitted to drive cars.’ However, it’s because the burkhas won’t shut up and accept that they’re burgers.



 So, how do you get the stud’nts to use the third person pronoun, `she`, when all the women cartoon characters in the New Intochains `special Yarubean adapted version` have multi-colored headscarves added to their pictures that make them look like candyfloss? Stud`nts in Jizzy’s level eleven use `he` instead of `her`, and they always will, because ‘she’ never enters into their consciousness. Not even the simple label `female` enters into their mental framework without an earthquake registering at the same level as that which devastated Haiti on January 12th, 2010, or 9/11. Explaining that She`sus was `the son of man`, because born of the Virgin Mary, whereas Red Shyness` Mao Satan wanted to eat the cat, requires basic knowledge of human sexual reproduction and the feminine pronoun, that is, she, the Virgin Mary, is us, because she’s humanity’s ‘woman’s seed`. God vouchsafed She`sus’ Ascension to heaven, because true men are born of `woman`s seed`, that is, human women fuck each other.



 They used to ask me about My Wife. Cheerful was the response, ‘… descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky and as the sand on the seashore.’ (Gen: 22. 17) However, they weren’t so enthusiastic about her when they’d read the rest of the verse, which of course is Chewdic, ‘Your descendants will take possession of the cities of their enemies.’ If ‘woman’s seed`’ bred they’d have possession of all the cities, whether enemies or not. Morosely relating that women were `very bad`, the Muzzlem stud’nts went off for a burger.



 The Arab News reported a woman found in a rubbish bin. The hypothesis was her family had killed her for having a child while unwed. As they’re `very bad`, they’re rubbish. Because ‘woman’s seed’ is a species’ family, she’s slave-ringed as meat. While her human race is adulterated, her species family is accused of adultery, whereas marriage isn’t necessary for an independent single race, but it’s the device of an alien slaver. The Times Of Israel reported, ‘Saudi Arabia to found women-only town.’3 It sounds progressive until it’s revealed that the women are to be employed as ‘factory workers’. Battery hens perhaps?



 Dealing with Yarubean employers is slightly better than native speaker employees. In Yarubeer, they’re for politesse. If polite, keeping position for a long period is more likely than so-called professional organizations built on Western principles of ‘time and motion’. Arriving at Jizzy Ra, time had been spent the previous year at an Omoan Collage of Head Chuck Occasions, where Rustidiq`s stud’nts were learning to be English teachers. They simply accepted being told what to do, and ‘Slammer in fact means ‘accept’. However, in Riyald, which the residents call `the prison`, a taxi driver summed up the people’s character as `Stroppy.` A youngish fellow in the first class baulked at being asked to write a paragraph. He wanted someone else to write it, and then explain how it was done. It`s quite usual for a stud`nt to say, `very good,` because the teacher has answered a question, or for the stud`nt to say `That is right.` It’s as if the stud`nt had answered, because the teacher is a robot, and the stud’nt has made the robot function, so the stud’nt received the plaudits from his classmates, while the teacher is despised as an inadequately functioning appliance. However, as long as the equipment’s polite it keeps its position by the smart bored.



 However, working is learning to be polite with the impolite, so treating everyone in a way commensurate with their understanding of themselves as Yarubean sheikhs. All play the role to the hilt: even the poor. There are many burkha women who beg for bread, and the bred well help them, ‘Cast your bread upon the waters, for you will find it after many days.’ (Ecc: 11. 1)  At Jizzy Ra, there’s an 85% discount to keep the classes half full, so it costs the stud’nts almost nothing, and in most cases their companies pay anyway. Consequently, teachers are ordered by the stud’nts, who perceive they’re rulers. It’s a role reversal in which the stud’nt is the teacher, because the teacher is the equivalent of a machine. In fact, She’sus is a ‘Meshiah’ in Chewedaism, that is, a Messiah, because he’s ‘Meshiahn’, an inaugurator of the Machine Age. Often described in Greek as ‘the Logos’ (λόγος), that is, logic, because of his effortless refutations of the Chewish religious police, the Pharisees, his legacy in Yarubeer is that teachers are perceived as logic machines, that is, computers, which aren’t functioning correctly if they don’t answer acceptably as slaves when ordered. When a woman caught in adultery was brought to him, She’sus said, ‘Let he that is without sin cast the first stone.’ (John: 8. 7) Obviously, if the species of ‘woman’s seed’ is adulterated by men, she isn’t adulterous. Unfortunately, the Yarubean perspective is that western teachers are machine slaves, because they believe in She’sus’ teaching.



 Jizzy Ra Academy candidates had to present a project worth 20% of their final grade. Invariably speaking about the life and times of Konk Dullah (1924-), successor to Konk Faht (1921-2005), it sounds amusing until you realize that it’s a year listening to their extolling the virtues of the wheeled konks from level 1 to 11. Receiving their vellum parchment with the approved Jizzy Ra symbol, a zygote and sunburst, they bless Selman the Konk. When I began in 2000, it was Faht, and the belief is that, in identifying with their konks, they`re their instruments, which is always true of the Levant.



 Their unchallenged expertise is on the subject of the `Slammer, which means they’re a provider of wisdom far superior to your own. Looking down their wheeled noses at you, the oil under the desert that made them rich is the proof that the profit is the truth. The wheel Konk, who`s the big nose in our parts, is also the Custard of the Two Wholly Meringues, and the purpose of the pilgrimage of the Brafit M’mumhad (ca. 570/571 - 632) to watch the box in Mecar are his beholden duty to promulgate. The US are almost universally defined by Yarubeans as, `The Great Satan`. They’ve another slave system, so have a different Konk, `Teacher! Where from you are?` If it’s Allah’s will, and the wheelie true Konk’s, that they should speak English, `Inshallah!` Inch by inch, and without the aid of any intellectual effort, or English language professional, the mouth will be muzzled, and the nose will brown.



 Become a Muzzlem, and muzzle others into speechless drudgery in the `Slammer is the unspoken exhortation. They can be a dreadful bore; frowning because you come from a culture where alcohol is drunk. Called `the demon drink`, alcohol is actually a Yarubeer export. Amongst the constellations of the stars is the Gorgon`s head, who was the creature decapitated by the Greek, Perseus, because she turned to stone those she looked at. Although the myth is understandably misogynistic coming from a Greek culture in which homosexuality in pederasty for war was institutionalized to the extinction of paralyzing women’s beauty, the `demon star`, there in the constellation of Perseus, is Algol, which translates from Yarubric as ‘the ghoul’, that is, alcohol contains the spirit of a ghoul. Drunks describe themselves as `paralytic`, because they’re paralyzed by its demon. Watching 9/11 ‘live on CNN’ is, metaphorically, a glass of Algol, because alcohol paralyzes the watcher into inaction, so ‘TV’ is symptomatic of the spirit of a demon. Muzzlems muzzle, and alcohol is a way of muzzling ‘woman’s seed`, while promoting ‘rough trade’ by destroying the World Trade Center is another. While the Yarubians ghoulishly observe the extinction of ‘woman’s seed` amongst the drunken westerners, they’re bread to the muzzled burkha women. Stoning the devil is a Muzzlem tradition during the Hajj, and ‘stoned’ is what westerners have been since the halcyon 60s ‘flower power’ era of Carnaby (cannabis) Street, London, England, because the hash of the Hashshashin converters of unbelievers to the ‘Slammer, and the alcohol of Al Gol, has not only paralyzed ‘woman’s seed’ in the west, but put bars around it.



 Seeking the company of ex-pats carping about lack of entertainment, and imbibing huge quantities of illicit Johnny Walkers, clannishness becomes bigotry. It’s the English way to bully those who’re different, that is, those who don`t eat fish on Fridays, and She’sus was killed for walking on water (Matt: 14. 25), which he could do because he was ‘woman’s seed`. `We made man … into an alaqah (leech)`, Gran, sura 23, Al Mu'minun (‘The Believers'), 12-14. When Capitalism`s ‘blood-sucking leech’ has drunk enough, ‘woman’s seed` is stoned and assassinated. Muzzlems approve of Crushteen paedophile morality, which explains that women’s thoughts are incestuous because they’d have sex with their own single independent species’ family of futanarian `woman`s seed`, whereas men are in fact women’s adulterate ‘leech’, which has already sucked away most of her human race’s brains.



 Living without the fellowship of native-speakers, that is, brain numbing drug infusions, the `Slammer is revealed. They`re very polite, whereas the angst-ridden Westerner at home rages at the children and news on ‘TV’, because he gets his daily dose of, `We`re all in it together and doesn`t it stink?` The evening`s overdose of wallop at the local deadens all the brain cells, and confers a headache moaned about all next morning. Its ephemeral children drunk by the vampire of Capitalism, Crushteen paedophilia’s hatred of eternal youth is assassinated and stoned by the Muzzlems.



 Living in Buttapes, the daily greeting is, `jo napot kivanok,` which means `good day’, a useful phrase that tells people something simple that they can accept. It helps, and so does saying, `Thank you,` that is, `Köszönöm!` Traveling on three continents, ‘Thanks’ in any language suffices. People respond simply. In Yarubeer `zakat` is ‘alms’. A black shape in the evening`s shadows outside Jizzy means a woman by the local Sunbalah supermarket sitting on the path with a baby. Putting a 100 riyald note in her hand (or something) is obligatory for Muzzlems, although everyone should feel obligated. It’s a simple thing to do, and it demonstrates faith that they don’t have a ‘leech lord’.



 Working for Hungry at Linguige Solubilities with an office at Sternly Morguns, ‘the liquidizers’, it was a 6.00 am start each morning, and a schedule requiring attendance until 10.00 pm in the evening; if there were classes. There almost all day, though only being paid for an eight hour day, the purchase of ELT textbooks, and other materials for course programs the `parent` company wanted to run, consumed any free time. Going to the Libri bookstore in Buttapes` city center during lunch breaks, there was pressure to respond instantly to e-mails, or phone calls, which had no bearing on the actual running of a teaching English operation; other than to poise like an axe threateningly over anything done, or didn’t. The English way is that of the homosexual bully, who’s castrated ‘woman’s seed` to make human sex taboo, and slave its remains. It`s not management so much as torment and torture, because for Crushteen paedophilia that’s what She’sus meant.



 Linguige Solubilities’ `line manager` did her job the way she`d been trained. However, English language is taught by qualified teachers; not machines. It isn’t brain surgery either. Any skullkid could do it. Here`s a book, learn. To burden with snowstorms of instructions; counter instructions, and simplistic recommendations taking hours to implement even if the organization you were realistically working for (Sternly Morguns) wanted you to (and they didn`t), is ‘overkill’ based on the false perception that kindergarten English requires a PhD in Appled Linguistics. Being blamed for a lack of response, and/or failure to comply, is tying someone’s hands behind their back to remove their own brain tumor you`ve given. Working from 6.00 am till 10.00 pm was a sixteen hour day. Paid weekly (flat provided), the company discovered they hadn’t a license from Hungry, although they could employ a Hungriun secretary to administer the part-time teacher. Until permission was found to have a bona fide Buttapes language skull, immediate work was with Skull Novo Nyelv (New Skull Language), so affording necessary breathing space for web searching and a return to Riyald.



 Living on the dole in England affords about as much leverage as a bus ticket does for reaching the moon. Such pitfalls are the bane of the seeker after interesting times in foreign climes. ELT has its rewards, although I`d advise any individual (and you have to have individuality) to look close at seeming opportunity. Beginning in ‘94, employer expectations were three months, a `dole holiday` contract. If there wasn`t any work, I was Lol. Eurasian Transportees Commuted, or ETC etc., paid the equivalent of dole (100 GBP per month). With no work in the offing, many were ‘offed’. Obtaining a position at Deepratson Universe City teaching literature, a return plane ticket to oblivion was missed. Giving up a three storey apartment, replete with several hundred books; a computer; audio equipment, and furniture, ‘Carpe diem!’ ELT isn`t a path for the unwary. It`s a career beset with sharks and opportunists, who have no interest in those they feed on without scruple.


1 Schofield, Clive H., and Richard N. Schofield (ed.) The Middle East and North Africa, Routledge, New York, 1994, p. 147.

2 Prince Andrew, Photographs, Hamilton 1985, p. 8.

3 Yaakov, Yifa ‘Saudi Arabia to Found Women Only Town’, March 8, 2014, .

The Further Adventures of Dr Rusher

07/02/2012 03:20

The Further Adventures of Dr Rusher


The quest for giving students marks for nothing at all goes on apace. The good doctor is now firmly esconced with the Jizzy Ra International Academy of Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, where candidates are greeted with the legend on framed vellum parchment ten feet high that management is 'Dully authorised to provide training in English language learning and award Certificates and Diplomas on behalf of Oxford College Britain.'


After they brighten up and learn to spell presumably. Here circling around the central issue is taken to a fine art, which is of course the problem of writing in English. Something the majority of students resist like a fetish. So, here in the Kingdom where English Diplomas are at stake, the main concern is bums on seats and the students receive 20% of their final grade merely for attending. This is one of the great secrets of working in a language school. The teacher is there solely to keep the students diverted from their onerous task. Language learning is not, therefore, the main goal. Time to put the clown suit on then? Not that it's necessary for the teacher to inject humour into the humdrum world of participles and gerunds. Witness this usual display of incomprehension and incoherence between educator and pupil.


Stud: 'Teacher!'

Dr Ush: 'Yes.'

Stud: 'Bathroom!'

Dr Ush: 'I don't see the equivalence. I am not a washbasin.'

Stud: 'I go.'

Dr Ush: 'Where?'

Stud: Teacher! Go bathroom!'

Dr Ush: 'I refuse to go.'

Stud: 'Bathroom. Go.'

Dr Ush: 'I am not aware of the bathroom's capacity for movement.'

Stud: 'Can I go?'

Dr Ush: 'There is the door. There is no escape from the window.'

Stud: 'I can go bathroom?'

Dr Ush: 'You can go blue if you wish. I will not stop you. You are now at large within this institution.'


The point, of course, is that, laughter aside, these are mainly fee-paying customers for whom attendance means spending as much of the time as possible washing their hands, faces, and any other extremities they can find, in the bathroom (feet in the handbasin is not a taboo). One of the teachers here lurks outside the classrooms when he has a spare minute or two and collars the students as they emerge from mine after being told they can go to the ceramic palace. 'I caught this one leaving,' he berates me, 'get back in there!' he fumes, and the full-bladdered miscreant returns stoically to his seat. Which, of course, is counterproductive from the Academy's point of view. The customer pays and the customer should be able to leave the premises as and when he chooses. If not, he may stop paying and putting his bum on the seat (whether that of the WC or that of the classroom). He may even, God forbid, begin to consider the concept of 20% for sitting on his bum as anathema to the learning concept and demand that a final exam be the determiner of his standing in English language usage. Because that's what they're really paying for. The opportunity to take an examination. I know I never attended any educational establishment for longer than it took to register for the final three hours.

And what an exam is in store for the Academy clientele! One student, when asked by a friend to explain what he learned in our hallowed halls, said that he was being taught to draw a circle. 'The teacher says that, if I practice hard enough, one day I'll be able to make both ends meet,' he told him. A sample question will quickly allow us to clear up any obfuscation over this point.


Circle the correct answer


What time is it?

a) sometimes

b) a lemon

c)  3 o'clock


We are, indeed, circling around the bugbear of writing. The answer here, naturally, is usually assessed as being 'sometimes' as it is almost never 3 o'clock when the student is sitting his exam. Although one student, taking an exam at 9.00 AM refused to budge from his seat until 3.00 PM in order to answer this very question and was rewarded with extra marks for his studiousness by the Academy's Main Branch Supervisor.

Students may be able to obtain 25% of their final grade for this nonsense and everyone pretends it to be a matter of great moment, so let's pass swiftly on with little remark other than to observe that, with 20% for sitting and 25% for circling, the student can obtain 45% without writing a single word in English thus far; or, indeed, opening any books either. Many is the time I have had to demonstrate how to open a book to a student who replies with a look of surprise on his countenance that is positively rewarding and makes all those long tedious hours of putting on make up and the clown's suit with the red nose and big shoes worthwhile.



Incidentally, one of the more bizarre things they do here in Arabia is tell the students to call you by your first name with 'mister' as a prefix. Your family name is then redundant. It's like becoming an orphan. They then prefix the whole thing with 'teacher'. Upon being introduced to someone like former British Prime Minister Tony Blair, I can only imagine the Saudi Ambassador to England saying 'Pleased to meet you Mister Tony,' like some downtrodden character on the Tara estate in Margaret Mitchell's Gone With The Wind (1936). Teacher Mister Robin likes to explain a few things to them, especially those who are under the illusion that, if they go to England, the Queen and others will speak to them in the supermarket. 'I never speak when I'm in England,' I tell them. 'I read, write, listen to music on my mp3, use the internet, watch tv, and play video and computer games.' At which they laugh good naturedly. But I explain it to them. 'I know where the supermarket is, and all I do in England is pay at the till and say "Thank you", which you never say by the way,' I say, 'it would probably take you half a day to get on the right bus for the post office.' I, in my turn, smile good naturedly. 'For you it's all about information but, when you know where the stop for the number 26 is and you finally have the right change after being told by the driver to get off because he won't change a tenner and the shop proprietor won't either unless you buy some tic-tacs, who's going to talk with you about past present continuous?'


Here at Jizzy Ra we attempt to resolve this problem of communication with the project, which carries 20% of the final grade and requires the student to talk for five minutes (in practise two) using powerpoint images, whiteboards, smart boards, projectors, OHPs, handouts, cutouts (from magazines/newspapers), hand-painted miniatures, water colours, oil paintings, and all other multimedia applications, packages, and miracles of technology that they may feel is essential in order to illustrate the subject of their lengthy discourse, which is usually Taif (a city hereabouts) and requires neither communication nor a listener. Communication requires an interlocutor and the only person paying attention is the examiner who isn't listening for information or interest but only to hear if the material presented is coherent and understandable, which it never is. I often give my students the example of one of their number at a supermarket in England who, having mastered the art of interrogation by the simple expedient of interrogating the teacher for twelve months, asks someone 'Where are the biscuits?' Later he is himself asked 'Where is the milk?' 'I am from Taif,' he explains patiently and with the seemingly mandatory preternaturally black liquid eyes, 'Taif is a beautiful city...'


So, 65% of the final grade can be had without either writing words in English or demonstrating any skill whatsoever in communication. The student will also get 5% for homework and 5% for participation, a boon for the intelligent teacher who doesn't ask for either because he knows that, if he gives homework, the terrified student will not be seen the following day and, if asked to participate, the mortified student will similarly cease to place his buttocks on the chair. But isn't that the beauty of the attendance regulations? If the student doesn't attend, he can't participate or do homework. We're onto a winner! We can deduct marks and not have to justify our machiavelian evil. The student will protest that he did all the homework and participation required for the one hour out of sixty he was present but the teacher can legitimately ignore his pleas and, going against the customary grain, award no marks at all for doing nothing at all. I, of course, aware of the economic situation and the precariousness of my position, always award 5% for homework and 5% for participation. Snoring counts with me as participation. Farting too. Finding the classroom each day also weighs much with me. Clearly the student has done his homework. He has scoped out his daily route to excellence and we have arrived at the magic 75% possible of attainment without writing any words in English: the pass mark being 65%.


Not listening to the teacher is, of course, one of the great weapons in the armoury of the clever student, and I can only assume that it is this that enables the candidates here to successfully navigate the listening exam and obtain a further 5% towards their final grade. No longer having to filter out the hated voice of their tormentor their ears are drawn like magic and magnets to the sounds of the almost impenetrable Scottish burrs and American twangings that I find incomprehensible. In fact I spent almost three hours once trying to decipher what 'Indian earing' meant in the mouth of a South African. After giving up, I discovered five years later - with the help of a South African and a dictionary - that the man on the tape wasn't talking, as I had previously thought, about indigenous North American jewellery, but 'engineering'. Although credit where it's due! Any student able to pass their listening exam roundly deserves their 5% and I can honestly say that it's the only 5% out of the entire possible 80% so far attainable that qualifies as legitimate. Here's a sample.
1. Where is John going? Listen.

Not John: 'Hi John. Are you going to the bus station?'

John: 'Hi, I'm going to the bus station.'

Not John: 'You're going to the bus station, huh?'

John: 'Yes, I'm going to the bus station. Do you know where the bus station is? Can you tell me the way to the bus station? I'm trying to find my way to the bus station. It's where I'm going. The BUS STATION?'

Not John: 'The bus station is right over there! There's the bus station. It's right there. The BUS STATION!'

John: 'Thanks. That's where I'm going. The bus station.'


Now circle the correct answer.

a) Harry Potter and the Magnanimous Gerbil

b) a large tree

c) the bus station



I had a student who was convinced that John was going to Listen but didn't know where that was. I myself often have to get up at 5.00 AM in the morning here in Riyadh to be taken to some godforsaken spot that noone knows the whereabouts of except our driver. It amazes me when I look at the huge automobiles around us made by GMC. In this land of the gas guzzling SUBURBAN where everyone can have four wives and a car the size of a bus to drive them and the kids to the local Gallery (yes, I was enthused at the plethora of such until I discovered that here a gallery is another giant shopping mall and not the Kingdom's equivalence of the Tate Modern) the joke here is that as we, far too far from merrily along in the stream of traffic congestion, go bouncing, jouncing and sweating in the sandstorms and 70 degree heat, the Jizzy Ra Academy is about to purchase even smaller vehicles because the teachers don't arrive at their destination properly cooked. It fills me with positive amazement that our Academy provides us with cars that were clearly built circa 1934 for the munchkins in The Wizard of Oz and that three of us teachers are supposed to bear them no ill will for making us share a back seat for upwards of two hours a day.


It's akin in mystery to the pen shared by the three students. Unlike the one eye held in common ownership by the three Graeae of Greek mythology and held hostage by the hero Perseus in exchange for disclosure of the whereabouts of the Gorgon whose head he was to cut off in order for its petrifying properties to adorn the shield of the goddess Pallas Athene, it's obviously a plausible hypothesis that two more pens could be purchased. Perhaps it's a cultural thing. I told one student to go and get a pen when he didn't have one and proposed to share. I went off to do some photocopying and found him and a classmate in the corridor. I could only assume that the classmate was there to carry him and/or the pen should he falter in his Herculean task. 'I'll send someone else to carry the pen,' I told them and went back to take the register.

I have two Mohammad Alis in B3 at the Further Institute for Pottery Maintenance. 'Mohammad Ali,' I poise with my pen over the register at student #4. 'Present,' he says. I pause. 'And who are you fighting next?' I ask to general hilarity. A minute later I come to student #15. 'Mohammad Ali,' I say. 'Present,' he says. I pause. 'When are you fighting Joe Frazer again?' I ask. It always brings the house down.


It's at the FIPM that the Japanese 'technical advisers', in somewhat Bridge Over The River Kwai (1957) mode and led by a kommandant who looks inauspiciously like the Emperor Hirohito, force the students to stand in the sun at the beginning of the day (7.15 AM) and do karate exercises. Japan's fascination with gizmos has certainly caught the students imagination even if learning to shoot your fist into the air and scream 'Ha-yah!' in the mornings doesn't. I spend most of my time in the classroom holding my hands in front of my face to protect me from the hidden cameras in their mobile phones, shouting 'First money, then photographs!'


We're told, of course, to be culturally sensitive when we come here, which is why there is no usage of s/he here in this article. There are no female students with male teachers. All of the English language teaching books cover up the faces of the cartoon women (in case the students get excited) with what are supposed to be headscarves but that look like someone has dumped yellow and pink candyfloss on them. It's particularly useful when the text is asking what colour hair Marie and Liz have? Clearly the correct answer is 'peach and meringue'. But it does prepare one in a way for seeing the students walk up to you hand in hand and say that they are going to the bathroom together. Women do not work in Saudi Arabia and, apart from shopping, are never visible. They wear a one-piece black coverall like a sack with a slit for the eyes. I guess going to the bathroom hand in hand with a man is a major culturally sensitive event in anyone's language and even Susan Boyle (please don't let them put her picture on the album sleeve) would look good here to a young man if she were visible. I just wave on the hand-holding young men in the direction of the door and the toilet cubicles. Sometimes I only have three or four students in the classroom out of around thirty. The rest are in the ceramic palace - shaving their legs in the handbasins and tweezing their eyebrows perhaps. I have no comment to make. Cultural sensitivity - like feminism and being politically correct in the West - is a must in the Middle East. They pay my wages, have all the oil, and declare fatwahs on writers. What more can I say? Lots.


Students of the Academy can obtain their final 25% towards their final grade by taking an exam in reading and, wait for it, writing. Which means that it's possible to attain to 87.5% without doing any writing. And this is what the students do - or rather don't do. They do do the reading. Here's a sample.


Dingo the jimblegrobbit spongled doobledly, jimming on his jignoodle while spongjobbling ettwarbly. 'Jinglespoonfully!' said Thrognardle the fnoor. 'Hibble becktwarts!' The djarbungle threeg jongled bagnorbally. 'Hobbly doof! Threep spardlejung. Hooble goofunt.' Jeeble snarfung grebt thrubwardle.


And more of the same. Here's a sample question.


How did the djarbungle threeg jongle?

a) the square of the hypoteneuse

b) tight end

c) bagnorbally


The example is extreme but the essence has been preserved. I have seen students who are unable to read a syllable pass a reading exam at the Academy. It's only about recognition. See the word, know the answer. We don't need to know what a jarbungle threeg is, or understand how to conjugate the verb 'to jongle', we only have to recognize that bagnorbally is in the text and is adjectival.


And so to the writing! We are nothing if not ambitious. Students constitutionally unable to use either the definite or indefinite article are routinely asked to write paragraphs of at least ten sentences about their family, where they work, or the excitements of Taif. 'I am student' they will begin. It's almost Shakespearian isn't it? Reminiscent of Herman Melville's opener in Moby Dick (1851) 'Call me Ishmael.' Alas we deteriorate from here on in and it's a rare student that amasses more than three marks out of a possible fifteen in his writing component. But we process them on twelve monthly - or 'termly' as the Academy would have us say - certificated levels until at level twelve they again fail their writing exam and obtain an Oxford College Britain Diploma with 87.5% and an A.


Failure is deservedly blamed on the teacher. One of the Supervisors took me to task one day for not using the Smart Board technology in a sparkly enough manner. With a sweeping movement of the electronic pen he demonstrated how one could fill the students with awe and amazement by producing veritable constellations of coloured stars to highlight words and phrases. 'Now I am a magician!' he said. 'Well, if that's your fantasy,' I yawned. I call it The Sound And The Fury Approach To Language Teaching. It's all about mesmerising the student with loud discourses that are difficult to ignore and covering the board in seemingly scientific formulas and other indicipherable hieroglyphics that appear to communicate much but actually signify nothing. The students applaud the magnificent performance of the suit at the board but, when asked, have no idea what the lesson was about. I liken it to being a kid at school who, when asked if he saw Star Wars, says 'Yeah. Wow!' Loves it but has no idea of the plot (not that that matters in Lucas and Spielberg's '77 space opera). It's the Zap! Whiz! Bang! school of language imparting. Cousin to Streetfighter II and with about as much relevance.


On the other hand, it's not about failure. It's not possible to fail. As you've doubtless guessed. It's about satisfaction. And a lot of the satisfaction derived by the students is from getting what they want or, as we in the trade understand it, getting the teacher where they want him. Here in Riyadh a teacher has the same general status as the Philippino houseboy, which takes a professional teacher some time to get used to. He is used to being civil with students and fails to understand that he is expected to be servile. I saw one Egyptian teacher here actually bow to one old boy (who was parading the obligatory evil leer) while saying 'My respects to your father.' For some reason the older old boy had been mentioned and the younger old boy, positively gleaming with malice, encountered that thing he was there for - satisfaction! The satisfaction of seeing someone who was clearly his superior in every dimension humbling himself in order to bolster his job tenure.


Of course one cannot ignore the religious aspect of one's situation. One isn't a Muslim but one will relate a single anecdote in order to convey some impression of what is encountered here. I was giving a conversation class to a group of students from the Food and Drug Administration (FDA), so the talk turned to drinks and, after roundly condemning alcohol and the drinkers thereof in the strongest possible terms in order to continue depositing riyals in my bank account, I began to talk about soft drinks, Sprite meaning something like 'djinn' and Red Bull getting it's name from the drug taurine that is found in it and so on. Then I asked about Coca Cola. 'What does Coca Cola mean in Arabic? How does it translate?' 'It means there is no God,' said one. In a nutshell! Coca Cola is an American company and therefore a branch of Satanism. And the student probably believes this as an article of faith. It's a part of the popular myth.


Apropos of which, ten years ago I was teaching in Saudi Arabia's Tabuk, a town most interesting, perhaps, for its curious placing of an ancient Lightning, as well as other Air Force planes like huge Airfix models, in the middle of traffic roundabouts that also often have captured military vehicles from wars with the Israelis decorating them. I was an instructor at the King Khalid Military City's North West Armed Forces Hospital (NWAFH) and, apart from being taken to the guard house by soldiers perturbed at my hovering at 7.00 pm outside the closed building where I worked while strolling around one evening taking the air as I waited for the bus after a visit to the recreation centre to borrow a few videos from the library, my abiding memory is of the strangeness of finding, in an environment notorious for its lack of pictorial representations of anything other than the tomb of Abraham, a 30×20 poster of the Twin Towers of New York's World Trade Centre stuck to the wall of a training centre otherwise bereft of imagery. Strange because it was still there on 9/11. As was I. Rumours of applause amongst the hospital staff, as they watched the events unfold on TV in the lounge, remain just that; but the picture remains forever in my mind: almost as a reproach for not being able to understand the omen.


America's invasion of Iraq is now enshrined in the Arabian consciousness as a part of the myth of the USA as the Great Satan. That they're interested in learning English is also a myth. The male army nurses I instructed in Tabuk explained that they needed English to work with the Americans after the first Gulf War. The impetus hasn't changed. Saudis have to have English for their work. But they're about as interested in us as we are in the mating habits of gadfly. Which is a big problem if you're in the habit of assuming hegemony with English language teaching. We're told not to talk about religion, politics, sex or music. We are, for example, actively encouraged not to play the musical intro to the audio material that goes with the coursebooks. I have a student who, I kid you not, like one of the three monkeys in the 'see no evil, speak no evil, hear no evil' pantheon, sits with his hands over his ears when the funky boogie-woogie vibes of the New Interchange audio CD intro comes on. It is neither rare nor unusual for them to complain or even leave upon hearing music or discussions thereof, which makes it difficult when the hegemonically obsessive West insists on creating course units based on our perceptions of the beauties of jazz and hip-hop. No cherry or mauve headscarves to cover that lot up, eh?


I spent half an hour explaining Thanksgiving to some students. If you wanted to define the phrase 'a pointless exercise' that would do it. Without being asked one explains that Thanksgiving is the fourth Thursday in November and Independence Day in the USA is, of course, on the 4th of July. The book then wants us to cross examine our students on their 'special' days. 'Ramadan' is the inevitable reply. Is it a holiday? 'No, that's the Eid.' Further interrogation reveals that the feast of Eid comes after the fasting month of Ramadan but it's impossible to say when that will be because of the peculiarities of calculating by the phases of the moon. In short, the Arabic peoples have no definite days for holiday time as we do in the West, so explaining ours is a bit like telling them that ham is pig but that hamburgers originally came from Hamburg and are almost always beef. They don't eat pigs because they are 'unclean' and forbidden (haram), so why would they need to know the etymological derivations of the word 'ham', never mind 'bacon' and 'pork'? Their point of view. Not the teacher's. Christmas Day? Now you're not trying to introduce religion, are you? No, it's just another silly excuse to eat turkey, honest. 'Turkey [a man's name here] does not want to be eaten!' I am reprimanded in harsh tones. 'And what is this problem with swine fever?' they ask gloatingly. The logic is that, because they don't have pigs, they won't have swine fever (they already do here in Riyadh) - and naturally all of us heathens will shortly die horribly. 'Do you know Allah?' they ask. Clearly Allah and swine fever are meant to be two halves of an equation that will kill or cure this pig of a teacher. Fortunately Ala is a girl's name here, so I pretend confusion and, explaining that I knew her in Sudan, ask if I can have her phone number.


Until English text books are devoid of Western culture you won't find anyone genuinely satisfied in Arabia. There is a real hatred for what they perceive as us making them do. I had a student who, when asked to write a paragraph at level 5 about a painting by John Singleton Copley entitled The Shark (1778) complained that I wasn't helping him. 'Is this a good sentence?' he asked 'The boat water.' 'No,' I told him. 'The boat is in the water.' Clearly he was not impressed. '"The boat water" is not good?' '"The boat is in the water" is good,' I said, emphasizing for good measure. I always have problems with explaining the verb 'to be' ontologically and, as a rule, order them to buy a copy of Descartes, learn Latin, and decode cogito ergo sum. I guessed from his silent sullenness that he was happy with his understanding of the present simple in the sentence and also with the preposition on account of the shark's medium being water and their not likely to be seen flying above it, but he hadn't liked my tone and decided to stall on the definitive article. 'Why isn't it "a water",' he decided to goad me beyond bearability. 'We use the definite article when we're clearly talking about something already identified, like the water in the picture.' I said aloud, while fulminating silently and juggling in a Prince Henry-esque fashion with the idea of giving sonority to words less carefully chosen. Goading is, of course, one of the great student entertainments. My favourite is the student who, when told Unit 15, exercise 7, keeps demanding of you the page number, as if it were a veritable impossibility to find Unit 15, exercise 9, without a map, compass, team of sherpas, and a guide dog. I could see this one didn't like my tone again. 'Write it for me,' he said. I duly wrote - 'Water boat is the in.' - in his book. 'What is another good sentence?' he said. Clearly this would go on until I understood I was a peon and the paragraph was written. I refused and was replaced in good order in that class by management desperate to keep a customer.


Conversations with management can be quite illuminating. Happiness - or at least the simulacrum - is at a premium in Arabia. After three months here, one of the Egyptian teachers noticed my usually taciturn frown melting a little. 'That's the first time I've seen you smile,' he smiled. You don't understand how insulting that is unless you know that the Koran exhorts the faithful to smile - continuously if possible. I was being criticized. 'Well, fuck you!' I thought. But happiness is what the management seek to find in their students. One representative explained to me that he didn't care how many units of the coursebook were covered as long as the students were smiling inanely. Another explained that the syllabus was of no importance. 'Just smile, talk to them about their family, get them to write a few sentences about their job,' he smiled on presently - and continuously.


On the subject of insults, working in Arabia is a bit like being gay, and you have to understand the culture to cope with that. Here it's almost a crime to be single. You're not allowed in the Kingdom Tower, the glorified shopping mall here, for example, if you aren't with a family. MacDonalds is split into areas for single and marrieds, and a family would be offended if it weren't. So, if you come to the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia (KSA), be prepared for the shock that you are expected to share if single - as a punishment if you're prejudiced to see it that way. 'Why don't you share?' management wanted to know. I could live in a compound with the rest of the alcohol drinkers and have a bar with a swimming pool with women to gawp at as long as I was happy with a man to live with. Insulted? You bet. At the derisory accommodation allowance described as sufficient for 'all my living space and travel needs' for one thing. You don't want to explain that you're not homosexual, thereby accusing their culture of being so, but the phrase 'I'm not gay' would readily spring to mind if our government in England decided to resolve the housing problem by forcing single males to cohabit. Riyadh is even split into married areas and single areas. The students complain over it being 'hard'. Just how it is, one can only guess. But at least at my cheap hotel I'm not walking hand in hand with a man into the bathroom - or indeed the sunset for that matter. 

Start Talking Sense

07/02/2012 03:15

Start Talking Sense


In language teaching in the Muddle East talking about religion, sex, and politics is taboo. Although the UK is more repressed in some ways, the difference is that the Yarubeans are prudish, whereas the English are prurient, for example, Esther Rantzen waving a potato ‘shaped like a thingy’ on the ‘TV’ show, That’s Life, wouldn’t be tolerated by Yarubean prudes fearful of offending the misogynist establishment. However, given the fact that women’s penis’ semen has all but been eradicated from the knowledge repositories of English culture, misogyny there is capable of perceiving that it’s the woman’s thingy anyway, and so is laughable as it’s always been risible for men in host womb parasitism upon the species of ‘woman’s seed`.



 Working in Yarubeer, and Eastern Newrope amongst the Hung, guarantees a perspective not vouchsafed to all. The Faith Church or ‘Hít’, as it is in Buttapes, are Evangelical, which amounts to, ‘Jesus saves!’ However, the truth is that Crushteen paedophile religions are Muzzlem, because its Muttawahs muzzle the broadcast hours of the mass media’s vision of the planet Earth, and the absence of women’s cocks from the picture indicates that the message of Jesus’ death, Resurrection, and Ascension, which prefigures that of ‘woman’s seed’,  is muzzled by Crushteen paedophilia, which sponsors homosexuality in pederasty for war to kill its children, rather than that society should pursue rejuvenation through medical science, so the ancient are regenerated until, looking twenty-one years, they can resist the paedophiles who want to torture and kill children. She’sus was crucified as an example to the Rumun Empire, and overburdening its wage slaves to ensure greater output is what modern Capitalists do.



 In Nobyu, Pseudi Yarubeer, for example, teachers were required to have an International Drivers License, so that the nominated driver could ferry colleagues back and forth from the Collage. Teachers were required to have their own laptops to present bookfilms, internet videos, and other course-related materials. They were required to set up electronic mail accounts for administrators at the Collage to communicate their orders. The calculating of course grades required a knowledge of statistics and mathematics incommensurate with the requirements of teaching English language, while inputing grades online required software skills equivalent to that of an Informatician, that is, Yarubeer, along with much of the world’s ELT environments, is where foreign governments seek to give orders to English, Americans, Australians, and Canadians, etc., to see if they will obey their commands in time of war.



 Genuine Christians pray either to escape from the slavers and torturers, while the Crushteen paedophiles pray to be slavers and torturers. For true Christians, She’sus` Ascension to heaven prefigures that of futanarian `woman`s seed`, that is, human brainpower to condemn slavery and escape from it to the stars, produced from women`s futanarian species’ sexual reproduction. She’sus, born from his mother, the Virgin Mary, that is, as ‘the Son of Man’, was Salvation for ‘woman’s seed`, which is the human race. However, in the prurience of English society, which has been prepared, since its acceptance of the false morality that women’s adulterated species of ‘woman’s seed’ are adulterous, to be muzzled by the Muzzlems, women`s cocks are out.



 As a pastor, preaching ‘the Word’ of God is Evangelism, that is, conversion. However, what Crushteen paedophiles mean by conversion is gender surgery. A common euphemism for pregnancy in England is ‘a bun in the oven’, which contains overtones of the German National Socialist (Nazi) Party of the 1930s that incinerated 20, 000, 000 men, women and children in ‘ovens’. With gender surgery, the bun would never get out off the oven. `Are you saved?` `Yes,` the Crushteen paedophiles asseverate, `I am saved.’ So buns are parrots.



 `Slammeric stud`nts proselytize. Offering guidance in their Gran’s path to the ‘Slammer of the Brafit M'mumhad, it’s economic suicide to say, ‘I’m a Christian.’ Consequently, Orwellian ‘doublethink’ needs to be employed so that the Muzzlems believe that the ELT professional is a Crushteen paedophile muzzled by exposure to the Muttawahs of US TV. During its 24 hour programing women’s cocks are definitely out, so it’s only necessary to say ‘God bless America’ and the ‘Slammer accepts you. The states of Muzzle America are ‘Slammeric’s sisters. Although there is an entire state in the US, Ooh Ta, whose people, the Onmoms, have a Brafit, Onmom, and a book, Onmom (2, 500 BC - 400 AD), with a great US entertainer, Marie Osmond, who has a member in the sect, its Chewdic ambitions aren’t so dissimilar to those of the`Slammer. Both Chews and Muzzlems are identified as `people of the book`, that is, the Tearer and Tall Mud (5. 39 am - 5. 34 am) and the Gran (6. 10 pm -  6. 32 pm) are about the God of Amaninabra (c. 1996 BC - 1821 BC), who was the father of I-pod (born of Sara Gellar) and `E`smale (born of her maid, Hajer), and from whom the branches of Chewedaism and the `Slammer emerged. The Chewdic perspective was that ‘woman’s seed` ought to be allowed to chew her own, while the Muzzlem belief was that she shouldn’t.



 Sometimes the stud`nts express a bizarre ambition to study in London, English. The teacher muses upon the runaround they`ll receive from the local population. Ridicule meted out to those taking out a prayer mat in order to face Mecar by the side of the bus on skull trips, while the rest of the class jeers from the safety of the seated herd, returned to memory. A student related of a friend taking a degree in Camel Race Predicting at a Universe City in English, who was told he couldn`t buy a melon, because he didn’t know the correct word in British. Being refused service because the item couldn’t be asked for by name? Buttapes, surely?



 Prejudice against the `Slammer isn`t causeless. However, despite the abomination of the terrorist attacks by Muzzlem extremists on London`s tube, which are known in infamy as 7/7, the `Slammer and its Gran, like the New Mendedtoaster (1. 17 pm - 1. 38 pm) of the Boble, don’t advocate murder. US’ President ‘Gerb’ Ush declaration of a ‘War On Terror’ in 2003 wasn’t against the `Slammer per se, which is something the Crushteen paedophile churches would support because, if you can’t kill the kids, you can always put them in prison, and wait for them to die of AIDS on those tubes.



 Snodbore Meths, a pastor at the Hít Gyülekezete, received an award from the Israeli Knesset for being a Chewdic supporter. Condemning Al Coholics, Commonests, the `Slammer, fornicators, that is, unmarried adulterers of the human species of ‘woman’s seed’ as opposed to those who are married, and anyone else, Snodbore’s congratulations were overdue. The people must be good Germs, rather than Crushteen paedophile AIDS. Snodbore`s name means `German` (Meths), which is a lot like Drano, although so were the Nazis. People who are shot aren`t entertained. Yet it’s the entertinament that Chewdic, its sister Muzzle America, and its brother ‘Slammeric proffer. Go and shoot a human species not your own.



 There has always been a huge feeling in western Europe of the need to atone for what Germany’s Chancellor, Adolf Hitler, did to the Chews in Germany and Europe during World War II (1939-45), although World War I (1914-18) was ostensibly over Germany’s Imperial ambitions, which resulted in its atoning through the relinquishing of territories. Hitler’s Anschluss, whereby Austria became a part of Germany, represented German rejection of atonement, which ultimately resulted in the pogroming of German Chews and elsewhere as a sign of Nazism’s total rejection of atonement on the basis of territory. As Iraq was an ally of Nazi Germany, it wasn’t unpredictable that its dictator, Saddam Hussein, should arise in the Muddle East to threaten Jewish Palestine.



 As ‘Vlad’ Puttin’s Rushon Federation pulled out, so losing its stake in Iraq, as it’d lost its stake in Eastern Europe, which had resulted in the Bosnian (1992-95) war in which Christian Serb militia set up male braining ‘rape camps` for Muzzlem women, the vampires, Saddam Hussein, and the former Yugoslavia’s Slobodan Milosevic, amongst others, arose at the commencement of the Crazy Golf War. Vlad, ‘the impaler’, Puttin`, perceiving that he still had a big stake in Rushon, considered puttin’ a hole in, or two, after the fashion of 15TH century namestake, Prince Vlad Dracul III of Wallachia (1428/31 -1476/7), which resulted in war with the Federation’s Muzzlems of Chechnya when Puttin’ became President, because the region of the Caucasus was ‘the gateway to the east’, that is, the Persian Empire, which was modern Iraq and Iran. Although the Rushons didn’t seem involved in 9/11, 2001, when Al Qaeda terrorists, operating under the auspices of the notoriously misogynist Muzzlem Taliban regime in Afghanistan, hijacked civil airliners to crash into the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center in New York city, the subsequent April 15, 2013, bombing of the Boston Marathon in the US by Chechnyans suggested that Puttin’ did have a stake in the Crazy Golf War. As 9/11’s hijack occurred at Boston, Logan, Logan’s Run was the link, a 1967 novel by William F. Nolan about a society that kills anyone reaching the age of 21, and 9/11, 2001, was the commencement of the 21st century, which suggested an attempt to kill the human race. Crushteen paedophilia’s vested interest was to play war games with children, while Chewdic and Muzzlem refused to allow ‘woman’s seed` a voice. That Puttin’ had a stake in it couldn’t be denied:


‘You don't know how lucky you are boy,

Back in the U.S.S.R.’1



 While the commonest accusation against Commonests is godlessness, the Chews believe in the God of Amaninabra, while the Muzzlems of the `Slammer believe also in the Brafit M’mumhad as well as the God of Amaninabra. Woken each day at 5.00 am, by the local Meringue broadcasting `Allah Akhbar!`, God is Great!, the Muzzlem people pray five times at equally divided parts of the day from early morning until late evening. At the language skulls, carpets are provided for the kneeling, so they don`t harm themselves while bowing as low as possible with their nose against the fabric. Crushteen paedophilia, Chewdic and Muzzlem all have their stake in God, while the Commonests’ take is determined by how long it’s been in the game.



 The most holy site in the `Slammer is the Ka` Ba or `cube`, a vestige of `The Borg mother` left at the end of `Regeneration`, Season 2, Episode # 23 of Star Trek: The Next Generation `TV` series. However, according to the traditions of the ‘Slammer, it was built by Adam, the first man or Anthropos, and the first woman, Eve, created by God, who were slaved for burger meant by the serpent, Satan, who was probably a reptile from the Mesozoic period of Earth’s evolution 248 m.a., that is, 20 million years before the hominids began appearing upon the Earth, 220 m.a. As Adam and Eve were created by God after the angels, and Satan was turned into a serpent by God, that is, he effectively lost his wings and winged intelligence, it’s a depiction of a saurian race become degenerate after a period of civilization. The Ka` Ba, or ‘Borg box’, is located in the ‘forbidden’ city of Mecar, that is, you can’t leave, although at MacDonald’s the food is passed in through the window, which is meet to slave drivers, although their feet on the pedals of the treadmill in the circles of hell suggest that it’s the wheel of what the Buddha of India called karma, that is, they’re slave drivers. The Borg were known for cannibalizing peoples for spare parts, ‘Think of them as a single collective being. There's no one Borg who is more an individual than your arm or your leg.'2 The women of the ‘Slammer, wearing their traditional burkhas, are driven by the slave drivers to MacDonald’s, slave-ring for burger meat. Known as the Ka’ Ba because, in the religion of ancient Egypt, ‘Ka’ means ‘spirit’, while ‘Ba’ means ‘soul’, that is, futanarian ‘woman’s seed`, the ‘Borg artifact’ is, symbolically, a MacDonald’s ‘burger box’. Atop each Mosque, while the `key toes` drive in, is the crescent moon symbolic of the grim reaper’s scythe, who represents the slaughterhouse for ‘woman’s seed`. While the Mosques ‘key toes’ buzz about leeching blood, there are a plentiful supply of burkhas at MacDonald’s. Putting a burger in a bag is what women were for, according to the saliva of the ‘serpent’s seed`; however, the girls don’t begin to wear the burkha until they’re beginning to physically develop as women.



 The forbidden city of Mecar was built out of meccano by Yarubeer’s wheeled konks. The Ka’ Ba was later believed to have been used by the people of Amaninabra as a temple, and Muzzlems are exhorted by their Molars to pilgrimage there so that the burkhas can see the box at least once in their lifetimes, because the men always have the remote control and sit in front of the ‘TV’ at home, because women and children must be protected. ‘TV’, that is men and women who’re made by the misogynist alien homosexual in pederasty for war against ‘woman’s seed` to manufacture themselves as a single male brained transvestite creature, ignore the fact that She`sus was in their Gran as well as the new Boble. Though convenient to despise the Muzzlem peoples, because of the self-hatred that the west feels for what was done under our wheeled noses by the false konk, Hitler, and their declared intent in 1948, after Palestine was given to the Jews as recompense, to ‘throw the Jews into the sea’.3 Moreover, it was Iraq that allied itself with Nazi Germany in the Muddle East, and that produced the movement for a state independent of the Chews in the Levant, which resulted in Rushon’s ‘Vlad’ Puttin’ repressing ISIL in Chechnya, although the big game hunters still wanted to shoot it, because the Levant was perceived as a ‘Trojan horse’ for ‘woman’s seed` to emerge form as She’sus was a Chew.



 For Hungry’s Snodbore ‘Crystal’ Meths, God is `Isten`, while the British sten guns were instrumental in keeping the Levant peaceful before 1948, although the Levant September, 2001, terrorist attack was a German, ‘Nein!’ Moreover, the election of US’ President Donald Trump of the Republican Party, which has the elephant as its symbol, suggests that the writer thought he’d be the ‘Last Trump’ before God’s punishment to the evil of ‘eternal unendurable pain`, that is, perdition.



 Amongst the Chews, God is ‘Eloah’ and for the Muzzlems, God is ‘Allah’, and so Snodbore Meths’ Hungry name for God is ‘Isten’.  All pray to the God of Amaninabra, and although She’sus is perceived by Chrushteen paedophilia, for example, as a scapegoat, which is what they want, that is, victims to victimize, She’sus’ teaching is that ‘woman’s seed` isn’t the scapegoat of Satan, so how could Snodbore Meths be accused of worshipping a British sten? The BBC’s  Monty Python’s Flying Circus (1969-74) ‘TV’ comedy team appeared in purple hooded robes to debate the  fate of a gerbil accused of heresy, `No one expects the Spanish Inquisition!`4 The inquisition were all Coholics, who ostensibly tortured people to accept She’sus’ teaching, whereas torture was what they liked, which is why they did that. She’sus’ teaching was that ‘woman’s seed` would have Resurrection and Ascension, which was why he was tortured and killed, because that’s what the ‘serpent’s seed’ of men like. Consequently, Snodbore is a defender of the Faith worshipping Isten. To attack the (meat) `Slammer, in the belief that Chewdic and Crushteen paedophilia have nothing in common with it, is dangerously fallacious. It’s to lose our humanity in the creation of an evil myth, where in truth there is one.



 Yarubeer can seem strange to the non-alien. In the North West, in Dalek, for example, you find yourself driving your nose on wheels with the rest of the Daleks, and full size passenger aircraft loom from the middle of roundabouts. Like giant Airfix models on their plastic stands familiar to those who construct planes for their shelves from glue, molded plastic parts, and ceramic paint. In Dalek’s Konk Carlid Hospital, I walked around a globe in the centre of a traffic roundabout, so could claim to have circumnavigated the Earth several times within a few minutes. There’s a whimsical humor in the Yarubean consciousness not seen in media reports of Muddle Eastern ‘flashpoints’. Although the boys owners’ adulterate of women`s race to the planets amongst the stars is pederasty, that Levant mousetrap next to the bus lane in Kuwait is an indication that, despite actress Koo waiting for the release of her character, Camie Marstrap, in the film Star Wars IV: A New Hope (1977), director George Lucas refused, so `woman`s seed`, that is, the mouse as big as an elephant, trapped by the war god Mars in the Levant game, Mousetrap, can’t escape to the stars.



 In the Pseudi Yarubean city of Riyald, there`s the Kondom Tower, which resembles the eye of that needle from the proverb in the New Mendedtoaster, `It is harder for a rich man to enter the Kondom of Heaven than it is for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle (Matt: 19. 24).` Shah Jehan was the central character of the 1001 Nights’ tales about how he beheaded his wife for falsely supposing her adulterous with his brother. Taking a fresh wife each day, Jehan cuts her head off each evening. Scheherezade, a woman, tells Jehan tales he wants to hear, so he marries her and so she saves the Kondom’s women. In other words, the women of the Kondom belong in heaven, because they’re the separate independent human species of futanarian ‘seed`, whereas Jehan is a male brainer, that is, the ‘serpent’s seed’ of men want women to have their brains, so that they can’t escape their role as submissive meat producers. Consequently, Yarubean women are often called ‘camels’, because they can’t escape their drovers through the ‘eye of the needle’ of their own penis’ hole’s ‘seed`.



 The Konks of Pseudi Yarubeer are known as The Custards of the Two Wholly Meringues. Keepers of what is most slowly in the `Slammer, for those in the computer age, ENTER is the `Open Sesame` of the future paradise of heaven on Earth, which the Yarubeans call ‘Jennah’. Meanwhile, Walt Disney studios in Hollywood are rumored to be making, A lad In Behind His Headlamps, while animations like Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) tell us that men`s `TV wars` using the software they`ve made of themselves, through excluding the human species of futanarian `woman`s seed` from its own race`s host womb, will rage on indefinitely as our language skulls continue to try to understand these different Daleks.


1. Lennon, John, and Paul McCartney ‘Back In The U.S.S.R.’, The Beatles, Apple, 1969.

2 Stewart, Patrick as Captain Jean Luc Picard in `I Borg`, Season 5, Episode # 23 of Star Trek: The Next Generation, May 10, 1992.

3 Eldar of Ziyon ‘Did Arab States Really Promise to Push Jews Into the Sea? Yes!’, The Algemeiner, February 20, 2014, 12. 04 pm, .

4 Palin, Michael as Cardinal Ximénez in ‘The Spanish Inquisition’ Monty Python's Flying Circus, Series 2 Episode 2, September 22, 1970.

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Black Education in English Language Teaching

23/08/2018 15:15
Black Education in English Language Teaching     Many English language teachers in the foreigners` classrooms have experienced failure, for the simple reason that the students wanted to learn English, not English language, which is a means to understand the socio-economic `ins and outs`...

If You Seek Gamey - A Receptive Skills Based Lesson Focusing on Listening

23/08/2018 11:43
If You Seek Gamey - A Receptive Skills Based Lesson Focusing on Listening   Introduction   Although reading is an integral part of the task, because it's a video, with a videoscript chosen for its authenticity, the text is motivational insofar as it pertains to real life`s `stimulating...

A Game Sport

11/12/2017 02:16
  A Game Sport   Background   The 15 male adult class of intermediate level Asian students sent by a government college for people living and working in Saudi Arabia to a language school there to improve their English language usage, so that they have a common means of communication...


11/12/2017 01:52
  Pottered   Background   The teenage class is a general International English Language Testing System group of upper intermediate level students who want to achieve 6.5 band IELTS to get into a European University, where they`ll study English literature, and so they need to be...

Metaphors in a Selection of Course Books

07/07/2017 14:54
Metaphors in a Selection of Course Books   To improve teacher-student approaches towards their course book selection, students can be asked to participate in a survey with a questionnaire to be completed, and a focus group selected to take part in an in-depth probe into understanding the...

Bored Game

26/01/2017 16:46
Bored Game Invited to Azerbaijan as a teacher trainer with KASPI Liseyi for a month, discovering a simple way of enthusing any class containing students preparing for Cambridge KET, PET or FCE examinations, the method is applicable for any group of learners with an ELT professional to assist. All...

Shanghai Surprised

04/10/2015 16:14
Shanghai Surprised   Imagine my surprise when the normally parsimonious Chinese agreed to pay my airfare to Shanghai and guarantee to return me to pasture when the juice had been squeezed from the orange of my teaching capacities. A rurally idyllic perspective quite in keeping with traditional...
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