Mr. Hard-On
Frank and I have been best friends for as long as I can remember. We grew up together. Shared video games, "ugly toys," supersoakers, and tormented Joey together.
When we were 15, my Papa, his Dad, put him in college with me. It was either his first or second semester, I don't remember which exactly, that we had Mrs. Phillips - the beached whale - for Art 101; Dr. Kellogg - Rice Krispies - for Psych 101; Professor Hardy - Professor Hard-On, for International Relations.
Hardon is an obnoxious, short, fat alien who just happened to squirm his way through an interdimensional portal, and get his sorry, stupid, hairy lard-ass stuck on OUR planet, teaching college international politics classes.
Hardon liked nothing more than torturing his students in the most obscene way possible: soverneighty. That's right. Sovern-fucking-eighty. The first several class periods were spenting with Hardon standing up in front of the class, with his hands resting on his paunch, steepeled fingers at his nose, sniffing his fingers, and talking about soverneighty. He would sniff his fingers and say "so, the meaning of soverneighty is....." and pause for anothe sniff.
"Mmmm. Broccoli...." Frank & I would joke.
Other classmates made obscene drawings based on him, but Frank took it to the next level and made a comic.
IR was in the same room as Psych, and only a few hours later. We had our usual seets, and would pass broccoli notes back and forth, and joke about his hands smelling like broccoli. We'd also joke about how he could never remember where he was the night before, because he happened to be a zombie, sleep-walking alien, who stuck broccoli up his mother's ass.
--If you can't tell by this point, Frank & I are very fucked up and perverted.
Hardon really brought it out of us though. He was one of those teachers that you could tell, you could just tell, beyond a bloody doubt, that you would fail the damn class. He would push, and push the students, and push them as far as he could; perhaps it was to see us little science experiments writhe and squirm under the pressure of passing his class. Maybe he was saddistic and got some sick pleasure out of it.
Every night, we'd go home to GranMa & Pa and regail them every night with tales of the oafish, snide, alien motherfucker. Turns out Frank's parents, and my parents, know him!
"Yeah, he was an ass 20 years ago too." my mother would say.
It came to nobody as a big surprise when we failed, but it didn't matter when we did fail. It was too late to drop the class, and our parents knew we wouldn't pass anyway. The students who didn't drop after the first week, were there because they had to be. IR is a required class in several majors that the State University of New York offers.
Nobody passed the class.
Especially those who told him off when he would start lecturing us for not caring about soverneighty.
"and the meaning of soverneighty is...."
"Oh shut up. We talked about this last time."
"Yes, but you don't understand the meaning of soverneighty."
"Oh, blow it out your ass hardon" Frank muttered under his breath one day.
A few moments later, I got a note scribbled on the edge of his notebook, "I wonder how much broccoli the fucker shoved up his mother's ass last night."
Perverse, Yes. Profoundly and irreversibly fucked up? Probably.
Hey, twisted people have more fun.
"Hense thee forth, and fetch me a flaggon of mead."
When we were 15, my Papa, his Dad, put him in college with me. It was either his first or second semester, I don't remember which exactly, that we had Mrs. Phillips - the beached whale - for Art 101; Dr. Kellogg - Rice Krispies - for Psych 101; Professor Hardy - Professor Hard-On, for International Relations.
Hardon is an obnoxious, short, fat alien who just happened to squirm his way through an interdimensional portal, and get his sorry, stupid, hairy lard-ass stuck on OUR planet, teaching college international politics classes.
Hardon liked nothing more than torturing his students in the most obscene way possible: soverneighty. That's right. Sovern-fucking-eighty. The first several class periods were spenting with Hardon standing up in front of the class, with his hands resting on his paunch, steepeled fingers at his nose, sniffing his fingers, and talking about soverneighty. He would sniff his fingers and say "so, the meaning of soverneighty is....." and pause for anothe sniff.
"Mmmm. Broccoli...." Frank & I would joke.
Other classmates made obscene drawings based on him, but Frank took it to the next level and made a comic.
IR was in the same room as Psych, and only a few hours later. We had our usual seets, and would pass broccoli notes back and forth, and joke about his hands smelling like broccoli. We'd also joke about how he could never remember where he was the night before, because he happened to be a zombie, sleep-walking alien, who stuck broccoli up his mother's ass.
--If you can't tell by this point, Frank & I are very fucked up and perverted.
Hardon really brought it out of us though. He was one of those teachers that you could tell, you could just tell, beyond a bloody doubt, that you would fail the damn class. He would push, and push the students, and push them as far as he could; perhaps it was to see us little science experiments writhe and squirm under the pressure of passing his class. Maybe he was saddistic and got some sick pleasure out of it.
Every night, we'd go home to GranMa & Pa and regail them every night with tales of the oafish, snide, alien motherfucker. Turns out Frank's parents, and my parents, know him!
"Yeah, he was an ass 20 years ago too." my mother would say.
It came to nobody as a big surprise when we failed, but it didn't matter when we did fail. It was too late to drop the class, and our parents knew we wouldn't pass anyway. The students who didn't drop after the first week, were there because they had to be. IR is a required class in several majors that the State University of New York offers.
Nobody passed the class.
Especially those who told him off when he would start lecturing us for not caring about soverneighty.
"and the meaning of soverneighty is...."
"Oh shut up. We talked about this last time."
"Yes, but you don't understand the meaning of soverneighty."
"Oh, blow it out your ass hardon" Frank muttered under his breath one day.
A few moments later, I got a note scribbled on the edge of his notebook, "I wonder how much broccoli the fucker shoved up his mother's ass last night."
Perverse, Yes. Profoundly and irreversibly fucked up? Probably.
Hey, twisted people have more fun.
"Hense thee forth, and fetch me a flaggon of mead."
posted by squishedlizard at 1:04 PM
2 Comments:
Some of the best days of my life those were. Shira
they were totally some of the best!
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