Daddy's Horse Is Not A Pet
(This manuscript for a proposed "Rainbow Curriculum"
work unit was discovered in a MacDonald's restroom in Little Rock. Others,
such as Heather's Two Mommies and Daddy Has A Roommate have already been
contracted by publishers. According to a memo attached to this manuscript,
the author of the following work applauds the pioneering efforts of those
who have gone before, and hopes his contribution to the understanding and
acceptance of "differences" will be yet another step forward in
the journey to universal peace and prosperity.)
Daddy's Horse Is Not A Pet
A Multi-Cultural Textbook by:
Mark Matthews
Sarah giggled. "Oh,
there's that new kid! She's weird!"
The Swingin' Sisters, the most "in"
bunch of girls in Brian Mulrooney
Memorial Junior High, were gathered around "their" water fountain.
They turned and looked.
"What do you mean?" asked Cindy.
"She looks kind of cute to me."
Sarah sniffed. "It's her family. I heard
she lives with her mother and father and they're married!"
"Oh!" The rest of the group looked
shocked.
Cindy didn't want to give up so easily. "Look,
that's just a rumor, and a pretty awful one at that! How would you feel
if someone said that about you?"
Sarah looked unhappy. "Not very good,
I guess. And I know my moms wouldn't like it!"
"Nor would my dad and his roommate."
"My momma'd stomp any sucker who said
something like that about me," said LaShonta, "and so would her
boyfriends!"
Cindy waved at the new girl in school.
"What are you doing?" asked Sarah,
shocked.
"I'm going to find out for myself. If
the rumors are true, then maybe she really needs a friend. Come on! Let's
be politically-correct and pretend to like her, at least to start."
The group quieted down as the newcomer shyly
approached them. Her blond head was bent a little as she looked nervously
down at her shoes.
"Hi" Cindy reached
out and put an arm around her shoulders. "I'm Cindy. What's your name?"
"Diane."
"You're new here,
aren't you?" A nod. "Well, what do you say we all get together
at the fast-food place across from the ball field after school and get to
know one another?"
Diane's face brightened.
"Sure! I'll treat you all to some bean-curd burgers with rutabaga fries!"
Cindy hugged her. "Sounds
great. We'll see you then.
Remember to bring your
bullet-proof vest and school-issued condoms."
As soon as Diane disappeared
down the hall, Sarah turned to Cindy with a quizzical expression. "Why
over there? We never hang out in that place!"
"Of course not.
If she doesn't work out, do you want everyone to see her with us? Our lives
would be ruined!"
Sarah nodded. "That
makes sense."
The fine spring weather
had drawn many pupils outside and away from the eating place, so Sarah and
her coterie had no problem finding a booth to themselves.
"Where's Diane?"
Cindy looked around.
"There she is. I guess she had a little trouble getting through the
metal detector at the door."
The new girl made it
over to the booth and sat down.
"Are you okay?
Did the guard give you any hassle?"
She shook her head.
"No, she was just flirting with me."
Sarah smiled. "She's
kind of cute, isn't she?"
"Yeah, but a little
too butch for my tastes with that jockstrap she's wearing on the outside
of her slacks."
"What's wrong with
that?" Sarah bristled.
Diane blushed. "Oh,
nothing! I mean, on you it looks really cute, the way it coordinates with
your studded leather halter-top and Spandex pedal-pushers. But it just makes
the guard look old, like almost thirty or something!"
"Oh. Yeah, it kind
of makes her look like my mom."
"Which one?"
asked Cindy.
"The one who held
the turkey baster. My dad/mom."
"I never can keep
them straight."
"That's 'cause
they aren't. Straight, I mean.
Who wants straight?"
The group nodded agreement.
"That brings us
to some important business, though." She looked at Diane.
The new girl rose from her seat. "Can it wait until we get some food?
I'm starved!"
"Sure." "Yeah." "Sounds
cool."
While Diane went to
the counter and pulled out her TeenCharge card, the other girls huddled.
"Did you see how
she jumped when you said 'straight?'"
Yeah, and commenting
on the guard was pretty insensitive."
Cindy stopped them with
a look. "We haven't even given her a chance, yet. Let's not be hasty;
we agreed not to decide until tomorrow morning before school."
Diane returned with
a well-laden tray of disgusting-but-animal-sensitive vegetarian fare and
placed it on the table. With bestial growls the group attacked the ketchup-drenched
tofu and woody-textured roots.
"Who wants salmonella
shakes for dessert?" offered Cindy.
"Let's lighten
up with a little cocaine-cola instead," suggested LaShonta.
"I can't,"
moaned 11-year-old Juana. "If I don't pass my
prenatal drug scans I lose my welfare bonus!"
They settled on pickle-juice
slushes instead; kosher for Sarah.
When they'd taken their
first sips, Sarah looked at Diane once more.
"Look, you seem
okay to me so far, but there've been rumors going around about--"
Diane burst into tears
of shame, so moving the group that they quit running and returned to their
seats, albeit a bit further from her than before. Cindy reached out and
barely touched Diane's cheek.
"C'mon. It can't
be that bad! Is it?"
Diane snuffled and looked
up with stricken eyes. "Oh, it's only my second day at this school
and already it's begun! I don't know what you've heard, but honest! It isn't
as weird as some people seem to think it is."
"Tell us about
it, Diane, and let us be the judges. What about those rumors?"
"It depends on
which ones you've heard, I guess."
Sarah nodded and moved
closer to Diane, now only one booth away. "Well, first off, we heard
your father and mother are still married and living together. I guess that's
the worst one."
Diane looked shocked.
"Oh, no! But--he does live with a femme."
LaShonta patted her
cheek. "Shee-it, dat ain't so bad! How many girlfriends do he have?"
"Just Eeky."
The girls frowned. Only
one partner?
Juana asked, "Well,
does she turn tricks on the side? Does he do something macho like deal dope
or guns?"
Diane's face fell. "No.
He has a . . . a job."
"Look," said
Cindy. "I've been sticking up for you here, but there are limits. Tell
me the truth. Are they married?"
Diane nodded and whispered.
"They love each other."
The girls moved away
from her again. Diane looked at them, a defiant expression on her face.
"Dammit! Not everyone
can have your advantages! At least she isn't my birth mother or anything
like that! And it isn't Daddy's fault that he has to work an honest job!
The criminal market is saturated now with that new 'Three strikes: you're
out of jail' program the government started to cut prison costs. He can't
help being a rich executive. Gee, he has to feed our family somehow!"
Sarah shook her head.
"Sorry. Maybe you're not as totally hopeless as the rumors said, but
you still don't fit into our group. If we're going to stay on top, we have
to maintain our standards!"
"He has a horse!"
"Not good enough.
Pets are animal exploitation, anyway."
Cindy lingered behind
for a moment as the other girls strutted away, donning their Kevlar coats
before stepping outside into the noise of sporadic gunfire.
"I tried, Diane,
really I did. But you're just not good enough."
Diane's tears had dried
up, replaced with a defiant expression. "I'll show you! I'll show you!
One of these days, you'll respect my family!"
She was left alone,
finally, without even a leer from the security guard. Evidently she'd heard
some of the conversation and wanted nothing further to do with the unfortunate
Diane, either.
Sarah, Cindy, LaShonta,
and Juana maintained their position as "top girl gang" during
the remainder of the school year and into the summer vacation months. Diane
could be seen now and then around the school, walking through the halls
with a defiant expression on her face, two pistols nestled in bra holsters.
Sometimes she would be in the company of the other losers who had after-school
jobs and wore nice clothes, that pathetic group of outcasts with old-fashioned
families.
Meanwhile, Juana moved
into even higher esteem when she delivered triplets--a new school record
for a twelve-year-old first-time mother. LaShonta was jealous of Juana at
first, but that turned to excitement with the news that she was expecting
her own baby; the two girls could be found at all hours chattering about
babies, pregnancy, and welfare benefits.
School opened in the
fall with a bang. Fortunately, the damage was limited to the faculty lounge,
the nurse's station, and the administrative offices. Since the athletic
department was unharmed, the school board decided there was no reason to
delay the start of the session.
During the first week
the usual confusion reigned as students found their classrooms, teachers
re-qualified on the shooting range, and the cafeteria inventoried its year's
stock of toxic waste. Gang territories were settled amidst the usual hilarity
when the youngest members inadvertently found themselves on the wrong sides
of the lines and were tortured.
Finally, as things settled
into a semblance of normalcy and the riot squads packed up their gear and
returned to the armories, the first special activities began with an announcement
of a general assembly on Friday.
The Swingin' Sisters
had grown by one member, a Libyan girl who proudly showed them all her "female
circumcision." The others agreed this was "way cool" and
proved how tough Maryam was. The mini-Uzi she carried in her swastika-dotted
purse enhanced the image. She even offered to circumcise Sarah, but her
mom and mom wouldn't let her do it until she was at least sixteen years
old.
"That's dumb, Sarah.
Do they think you're still a child?" Cindy was indignant."I guess so. You know how old people are.
Jeeze, it just takes a razor blade; it's not like it'd cost anything! We
could even sell videos."
LaShonta rubbed her
swelling belly and spoke up. "Hey, I seen that Diane dweeb 'round again."
Juana replied, "Huh.
How's that loser doin'?"
Cindy jumped in again.
"Gee, she can't help it, can she? I mean, we can't let her hang around
us, but I guess somebody has to pay taxes for us to live on."
Sarah was still mad
at her mom, and didn't feel like taking any arguments off of anyone. "Aw, who cares? The government pays, and they print all the
money. What's the difference?"
Juana nodded and even
Cindy had to concede that Sarah was right.
LaShonta continued,
"She look awful proud of herse'f since dat special assembly was announced.
Dumbitch says we change our tunes after Friday."
The girls looked at
each other in puzzlement. What could Diane be up to? It would take something
pretty far-out to overcome her bad start the previous term.
Sarah wasn't easily
convinced. "We'll see. Be sure and bring your Bobbit knives in case
those pesky Rodney Rape Kings try to sit next to us again."
Gossip had spread about
"something big" in the wind and the student body was simply agog
with excitement Friday morning. The teachers wore smug smiles and the principal
even appeared in a hallway until a couple of near-misses reminded him of
his folly. He withdrew to the fortified office.
Following lunch and
the mid-day casualty report, the students filed into the auditorium, each
careful to use the proper entrance for their religious, sexual, gang, and/or
ethnic affiliation.
When that complicated
social dance had ended and all students were seated, the curtains opened
to reveal the Lexan-protected stage with a podium sitting directly in front
of the concrete secure-access tunnel. The principal stepped up to the microphone
and motioned for silence.
This was the signal
for several of the rowdier students to let loose, throwing rotting fruit,
vegetables, and the random bullet stageward. The principal kept his hands
up, but nodded to the crews of the water-cannons located in the orchestra
pit.
When the soggy crowd
settled down, Principal Gorbachev began to speak.
"Students, teachers,
fellow administrators: we face ever-growing crises in education. I don't
have to tell you that, despite a four-hundred percent increase in spending
over the last five years, the government is still trying to starve our educational
system to death. They don't want you to succeed! Reactionary elements call
for a return to outmoded means of discipline; to old, insensitive ways of
grading students based on performance; and teaching basic subjects instead
of enlightening you, our future leaders, about your heritage, your traditions,
and the reasons you can't possibly succeed without government support. We
feel your pain. I feel your pain!"
He paused while cheers
echoed through the hall, then continued:
"Unfortunately,
we must face reality. If they won't give us what we need, we must make do
with what we have. We must find new, innovative ways of utilizing our up-scale
down-effectiveness socially-bankrupt budgets."
He tugged on the collar
of his red-white-and-blue multi-cultural gang jacket, adjusted the Malcolm
X yarmulke, and stamped to settle his feet more comfortably into the patent-leather
Nazi jackboots.
"It has come to
be more and more obvious that many of our troubles with violence stem from
sexual frustration. Many young men face enormous challenges when young girls
refuse to cooperate with them; many young girls find these young men leaving
them unsatisfied, finishing before they do. I won't even mention the gay/lesbian
difficulties with certain old-fashioned students insisting that they not
be approached by same-sex people. While everyone would cooperate in a perfect
world, this world won't be perfect--at least, not as long as the government
insists on strangling our efforts by refusing reasonable increases in spending."
The principal paused
to dab at a stream of spittle drooling from one corner of his mouth. He
bent forward, concealing his face from the crowd. The public-address system
picked up and amplified long, loud sniffing sounds.
When he straightened
up, he seemed in somewhat better spirits.
"Anyway, we can't
solve all the problems of the world. We can't do anything about the government-issue
condoms . . . I know, I know, either they break or feel like an inner-tube.
We've gone as far as we can with mugging classes, teaching you the proper
way to submit to robbery without getting hurt much more than half the time.
The problems with mathematics won't go away until everyone is given their
own computers that play good-enough games you won't want to sell them the
next day. And there simply isn't any way to get more than twenty-four hours
per day, per channel, of music videos on cable."
The students were hushed
as they sensed a dramatic climax approaching.
"However, this
summer we discovered we can take innovative steps to help relieve the sexual
tensions which are so overpowering in young Americans. This will be the
first test-bed school in what we hope is a long line of educational institutions
adopting a new program. We are honored! And, more exciting still, this program
came to our attention through the efforts of one of our students; yes, one
of you! Diane Topper, please come forward!"
The crowd was too surprised
to attack as Diane, head held high, made her way to the stage and was admitted
behind the shield after she checked her weapons at the gateway. The principal
and teachers applauded as she took her place at the podium and began to
speak.
"Many of you think
you're pretty hot stuff. Well, you are! You're way-cool kids, tuned in to
the real world around us. You have neat families who explore the boundaries
of human experience, unburdened by the harsh necessities of life. Many of you have your own children, children for whom there is
hope of an even better life, guided by your love and concern and surrounded
by the love of many brothers and sisters to come. You don't let old superstitions
or traditions hold you back simply because they've always been there. Logic
cannot overrule the importance of feelings. You are leaders!"
The students went wild,
cheering Diane, slapping each other on the back. Some gang members even
smiled at their rivals, temporarily united by the Truth.
When the noise abated,
she continued.
"However, not all
that is old is bad, neither ideas nor people."
The students growled
a little at this. "Listen to me! There are good things hidden in the
past, things the old-time oppressors kept hidden, things we can and must
re-discover!
"Many of you who
know me think I'm just a loser, growing up in a hide-bound traditional environment
because my father works, is married to a person of the opposite sex, and
they stay true to each other."
The students laughed,
cynically nudging their neighbors.
"Well! There's
tradition, and there's tradition! You have some things to learn. So, without
further ado, I want to introduce to you my parental units, Mr. & Mrs.
James and Eeky Topper!"
She stepped down and
the podium rolled aside as a synthesizer blared the opening chords of "Thus
Spoke Zarathustra." From the slanting tunnel a man's head appeared,
followed by his upper torso clad in a gray flannel blazer, white shirt,
and striped school tie. The people in front hooted cat-calls at this manner
of dress. But then they fell silent as it became obvious that these were
the only clothes he was wearing. Some began to cheer. Then, behind him,
they saw . . . a Shetland pony? It was!
A pony! A pony? James
stopped and the pony came up beside him, turning her head to nuzzle his
exposed, aroused genitals.
Diane walked over to
her parents, hugged her father, and stroked her trot-mother's nose. Then,
in triumph, she raised both fists to the crowd.
They roared. Some few laughed, booed, hissed. More cheered, louder and louder
as realization developed.
"Cool!" Even
Sarah was thunderstruck. "Do you suppose they really . . . ?"
All doubt was removed
as Eeky stepped forward, turned sideways, and raised her tail. James walked
up behind and quickly began copulating, much to their obvious mutual pleasure.
Many of the students and even some of the teachers began massaging their
groins as they watched. Meanwhile, Diane went to the wings of the stage
and brought out a large dog. With an economy of motion that bespoke of long
practice, she removed her clothing, knelt, and was immediately mounted.
More of the audience moaned and reached for their own natural toys.
The principal wandered,
fascinated, close to Diane and dropped his pants. She reached up and grasped
him, but couldn't get her mouth high enough. He stepped over in front of
Eeky, who took his member into her mouth. His eyes bugged and he began humping,
rapidly approaching orgasm until he stopped with a screech of agony.
"Sorry, Principal
Gorbachev," said James, "she sometimes forgets and bites down."
This sent the crowd
to its knees, laughing. Some students took advantage of the position.
On stage, both James
and the dog had finished. He and his daughter switched partners. The gym
teacher ministered to the principal's bleeding organ, murmuring "Mr.
Frank kiss it; make it well!"
Then things got a little
confused.
Following the astonishing
success and enthusiasm, the school board immediately added a new elective
course called "Animal Husbandry" to the curriculum. All other
schools in the district were to follow suit at the beginning of the spring
semester. It proved to be the most popular new course offered in years.
But let us return to
the fast-food restaurant across from the ball field after school on that
fateful autumn Friday.
Diane was surrounded
by students who wanted to see her, talk to her, touch her. The security
guard stared longingly at her.even removing the jockstrap to reveal that
her uniform slacks were crotchless.
It took determination,
courage, and a few well-placed punches for Sarah to get near Diane. The
rest of her entourage had no chance of following as more and more people
crowded inside to worship the new Generation X heroine.
Finally Sarah caught
her attention.
"Uh, I guess we
misjudged you, Diane. Would you like to join the Swingin' Sisters now?"
She shook her head."You
can even be the leader. We'll join you!"
"Forget it. No way."
Sarah felt a tear trickle
down her cheek."But--but, why?"
Diane faced her and
sneered. "Your insensitive comments last spring offended me. Daddy's
horse is NOT a pet!"
This is the end of Unit Three
of the Rainbow Curriculum multi-cultural education and awareness series.
Unit Four begins with "Baste Thy Neighbor," a history of cannibalism
in Borneo, Uganda, and Milwaukee. Test your
understanding of the material with the questions below to prepare for the
examination covering this section. Remember: unlike courses in mathematics,
science, or English, grades are important here.
THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU HAVE READ
1. Is it moral for an exclusive clique to dominate a water fountain,
or should they hang around the soda machine instead?
2. Was Juana acting like an ethnic stereotype with her attitude towards
children and welfare, or was she rightfully following her cultural heritage?
3. Should a girl be allowed to have a "female circumcision"
at age thirteen without parental units' permission?
4. Should teachers, aministrators, and security guards be allowed
to carry guns in school?
5. Does the use of bullet-proof shielding to protect school officials
indicate irrational fear or merely a desire to oppress students?
6. Should those who work and pay taxes to support welfare programs
be regarded as second-class citizens or should efforts be made to legislate
them the same respect as those who accept the government as a benificent
caregiver?
7. Do you think schools should pass out better-quality condoms?
8. Do you think textbooks like this one are for hopeless losers who'll
never graduate beyond hamburger-flipping?
9. Why is the sky blue?
10. This is the last question. Why are you still reading this? You
have better things to do than waste time learning. Go play basketball or
something.
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR OF THIS RAINBOW UNIT: Raised a Methodist
minister's son, Mark Matthews was emotionally abused by the liberal policies
of the World Council of Churches and resolved to henceforth deal only with
those possessing horse sense. This led to his marriage to a small Shetland
pony and public acclaim from the New Left--much to his disgust. The current
administration considered commissioning him in the sole remaining mounted
cavalry unit as Animal Morale Officer, but his wife said "Neigh!"
She insists that she
be the only horse he is hitched to.
Copyright 1994, George
Willard
First N.A. serial rights
GEORGE WILLARD
pen-name "Mark Matthews"
Rt. 1, Box 134-B
Carl Junction, MO 64834
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