A Random Image

Jett Superior laid this on you on || January 15, 2003 || 1:29 am

One of the Superior Heatherns brought in a D.A.R.E. ‘contract’ and dropped the thing on my desk earlier.

“I signed it, momma, and you need to sign it, too. I have to return it to my teacher tomorrow.”

“Okay…” responded I, “check this very desk in the morning. Do you need it in triplicate?” Groans, mumbling of the ‘why’s-my-mudder-serch-a-smartASS’ variety. For the record, my children are not disciplined for their own smartassedness, because I set such a lousy example.

Nosiree, it’s that fancy insubordination crap that gets you the strop around here, not cheeky mouthiness.

So anyway, I set about reading the thing, pen poised and ready to sign. While I do not support propaganda of the Channel One variety, I support D.A.R.E. propaganda. I support it because, Good Lord Willin’, maybe a flood of information and lack of a nearby rich-kid Catholic high school will keep my children from wandering down the path of addiction at the tender age of thirteen like their good ole momma, will keep them from ‘poking themselves with pointy things’ as the dear waistdog says.

But that strop is always waitin’, jest in case.

So okay, I picked the thing up, intending to peruse and sign, and began to read. Here’s what the first paragraph said:

“Welcome to the D.A.R.E. program. You are about to begin an exciting 17-week (Ed. note: Jeebus a-jumpin’! The Marine Corps doesn’t even brainwash for that long!) program to help you recognize and resist the pressures that may influence you to experiment with tobacco, alcohol, marijuana, inhalants and other drugs. You will also learn how violence hurts everyone.”

And I swear to you, fair and fine reader, I swear on all that is holy and pure in this crapfuckingtastic world of ours that I had to read that sonofawhoring (that particular expletive not necessary, I know: It was simply thrown in for color) paragraph THREE times before it no longer read, “…program to help you recognize and resist the pleasures that may influence you to experiment…”

Heaven help me, I smoke, I gnaw on my nails and I eat protein bars by the caseload, but the body (as I’ve told you before) won’t let the mind forget. I fear the day that I have to tell my children of my own proclivities for excess, raining all the muck of my unholiness down upon them. I hope that day nevernevernever comes swingin’ around, beating all ornery and mean on my door, stamping leaden boots on the porch.

For, gentle readers, that will mean that it’s time for some impassioned pleading because one of my little roundfaces has already taken some sort of experimental dip. Because, as I and others have proven, it’s not in their genes to merely swish toes around coyly, but to take a headlong dive in, only to be left mired and flailing and maybe not caring overmuch about rescue.

pee ess….the sick, twisted side of me wants to sign this thing all goofy and scrawling, then attach a note that says something along the lines of “Sorry so sloppy; I don’t scribble so well when I’m this high/experiencing D.T.s/jonesin’ haaaard for a hit, even an eeeeeensy one.” I know. Send hatemail.

5 worked it out »

  1. mikey 1.15.2003





  2. waistdog 1.15.2003

    You may not be able to stop the little tadpoles from checking things out; But you can teach them enough, so they at least, give some thought to what they’re doing.

  3. tel 1.15.2003


  4. April Love 1.15.2003

    God I LOVE you!

  5. sarabella 1.19.2003





    I had that bumper sticker for a very short time. A VERY SHORT TIME. removed it rather quickly


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