My Response

Whoops! Sorry, but I must have hit reply before pasting in my response. Here goes again:::::::

So you guys worked hard to make us campers happy. That's super. I knew a kid in the 4th grade who used to spend all afternoon trying to polish some of his dog's turds.... Doesn't mean it was a worthwhile endeavor.

I think it's great that some people want to change the world one child at a time, but Jesus Christ on a pogo stick, just try to help those who want to be helped. I know I was not alone in my misery on that God forsaken hunk of rock, and I was the least manhandled by those forcing us to "HAVE A GOOD TIME, GODDAMMIT!" Really, my kinda-friend James was forced to play "stuck in the confessional with Father" to make up for some of his less than enthusiastic efforts at joining in the fun. Seriously, let the pissed-off-at-the-world kids just be pissed off! It's teachers and counselors like you who think that everybody should be peppy, joyful, and sucking God's ass from dawn till dusk that really frightened normals like me as a kid. Yes, I was one of the few normal kids at that place. No kid with a normal upbringing would like being devoured by giant mosquitoes day in-day out for 3 weeks on an island prison like Alcatraz in the middle of the wilderness, group bathing in the freezing lake (where the watching priests would always insist we "get closer together... Yessss.. Keep each other warm!"), and eating burnt oatmeal and moist peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwiches served by Chef Barth the whole while.

Really? That's your way of dealing with problem kids? Making them paint and do poetry? How much paste have you accidentally (on purpose?) sniffed or ingested over your many years teaching? Holy crap in a hat! We would have eaten you alive with our drawings of vaginas with teeth devouring babies, and our poetry about Jesus partying with and ass-fucking Ozzy during his Second Cumming. I don't think we really understood what a "line of coke" or a "pagan orgy" were at the time, but that didn't stop us from incorporating them in our creative writing assignments.

So me and my cronies filled some kids' beds with dead animals from the latrines when they were at one of the 15 daily masses. So what if we raided other kids' snack supplies when they were taking extra long baths with the priests, and what of it if we broke into the guy counselors' barracks and stole their Playboys and Penthouses.... THAT was fun for us. Who says that what's fun for shirt-eating mongoloids like Sean is fun for everybody?

And on a final note, you say "If I had been allowed to stay and be your counselor, then things would have been different." I couldn't agree more. I would have added a toe extension to my rifle at about the third day.

Cheers!

-the Rossman
(seriously, Jesus Fuckballs Christ, lady! Grow a goddamn sense of humor. Dust the sand out of your vag and lighten up, Francis.)

Rhonda Replies (on and on and on and on)

Good point. In an effort to make my teaching a worthwhile endeavor I ask my students at the end of the year to tell me what they think would make me a better teacher, what they think I should do differently.

I don’t want to change the world, or change the students who are pissed off at the world. I don’t think that everyone should be happy, or even be nice. How can one appreciate joy if one has never experienced sorrow? I find it revealing that you defend the fact that you were normal as if you still don’t believe it yourself. You even put yourself in the category of “problem kids.” That was surprising to me. I read your entire journal with updates and never once thought of you as anything other than a normal teen. It never occurred to me that you were a problem. You were just a teenager who was forced to be somewhere that he didn’t want to be. I so appreciated the honesty in your journal. It helps me see things through the eyes of my students.

Really? That's your way of dealing with problem kids? Making them paint and do poetry?

No, my way of dealing with all students, not just problem is to get to know them and find out what they like and dislike. Then I use that to make the experience as least painful as possible for them. In your particular case, you enjoyed writing, solitude, and physical connections to home. My guess is that mom and dad accepted you for who you were warts and all. Your warts were a shitty attitude, and a general sense of entitlement.

My students trust me, and trust that I genuinely care about them and accept them for who they are warts and all. There are two groups, those who are excited to learn, and those whose parents forced them to take the class. The second group couldn’t give two shits about the subject matter and in some cases their grade. They are pissed off at the world, have shitty attitudes and take it out on me and the other students in the class.

Like I said, I don’t want to change the world, or make everyone happy. I want to make the experience as painless as possible for the normal student who is forced to be there and hopefully in the process release the rest of us from being miserable.

That might involve predicting that you would use the dead animals in that way and finding a way to prevent it. That might mean planting things for you to steal in my bunk, like a porno CD called Chitty chitty bang bang, and the actually Disney movie with no porn would be inside.

How did you end up at Owakonze? If you didn’t want to be there, then why did you compete for a scholarship? If you didn’t want to go then why did those wonderful parents that you couldn’t wait to get back to, make you go? Maybe they recognized your state of being and thought that wilderness church camp would help? Maybe they were accustomed to spoiling you, and needed a break? I get students all the time who are forced into my class by their partents.

I was thinking that it was selfish of the counselors to not force you to go on the overnights. You do know that they allowed you to stay behind because none of them wanted you on their trip. When the adults picked up the list and looked at it, they were all holding their breath hoping to “not” see your name on their list. How relieved they must have been to see your clever option.

I see that same irresponsible crap at school every day. Set the student in the hall with a desk and a book, just because the student needs more than the teacher wants to give. Not every student fits the industrial model. Some students challenge your teaching skills. Good teachers rise to the challenge, and in that class life doesn’t suck. Other teachers are lazy and the student sits in the hall.

How much paste do you accidentally (on purpose?) sniff or ingest over your many years teaching? Holy crap in a hat! We would have eaten you alive with our drawings of vaginas with teeth devouring babies, and our poetry about Jesus partying with and ass-fucking Ozzy during his Second Cumming. I don't think we really understood what a "line of coke" or a "pagan orgy" were at the time, but that didn't stop us from incorporating them in our creative writing assignments.

I don’t sniff or eat paste. I don’t share crack pipes in the teacher’s lounge. Ozzy did however ass fuck me when he was finished with Jesus. And I liked it. See, I do have a sense of humor. I have seen many forms of expression that would offend the average adult. Not me. I see them for what they are, expressions of emotion. Most students just need someone to listen to their expression. I probably would have given you tips to improve your vagina drawings as I have one and know what they look like, and you had never seen one in person before. I would have pointed that out to you at the time too. If you are going to feel comfortable enough to show me a picture of a vagina then be prepared to accept tips and answer questions, like why does the baby have red hair? I have one student who gives me these stupid little origami animals every day. Because I actually care about him, I smile and appreciate it. Then I make a great effort to throw it away where he will never find it, and know that I threw it away.

Okay, so you didn’t enjoy the same activities as shirt-eating Sean mongoloid. Who says that it’s okay to treat other campers so bad? How can you justify being such a jerk? Why couldn’t your fun on the sly have been harmless to other? You were smart enough to come up with something. Something like sneak into the kitchen and make breakfast for the camp that was kick ass better than chef Barth, and never tell anyone you did it. That could have provided weeks of material. “Thanks for breakfast Chef. When are you bringing back the mystery chef? Your gruel just doesn’t compare.” Why not rig the confessional with a fake camera or a sign that says “smile you’re on camera.”? Tons of shit you could have done to create mischief without hurting anyone or making someone else hate the world as much as you.

And on a final note, you say "If I had been allowed to stay and be your counselor, then things would have been different." I couldn't agree more. I would have added a toe extension to my rifle at about the third day.

I don’t know what a toe extension is, but I’m sure it has something to do with killing me in a more efficient manner. Thank you for caring enough to put me at the top of the list. I am thinking that if you liked the playboy’s and penthouses then you would have liked me. I am a curvy, busty, trim beautiful redhead. Your fantasy method of making me pay for your misery would have involved something other than immediate death. I almost forgot. I myself am an excellent shot.

Cheers!

-the Rossman
(seriously, Jesus Fuckballs Christ, lady! Grow a goddamn sense of humor. Dust the sand out of your vag and lighten up, Francis.)

How does one get sand in their vagina? I’ve gotten sand in the folds from the beach, but never the actual vagina. (Yes, I got the meaning of it, I’m just being factious.)

Double Cheers!

On another final note, I loved reading the journal! I had actually seen the heart boxers before you wore them. You probably had to carry off my shit when you cleaned the latrines (Ha ha hah). The two new cabins along the lake front, I actually helped build. I learned the art of hammering. I should dig out my pictures. I helped set the foundation for the new chapel. I swam to the rock and back in the 51 degree water. I went on a canoe trip / hike where we found a dead moose (cool). We also found a Canadian nickel that we threw at the bloated moose. I helped clear the ball field. We raked the woods, cut down saplings, a made a burn pile. A hotel chef (woman) made chocolate cream cheese brownies from memory for us. That is the only food that I can remember from the entire ten days. My friend whom I went with was the brother to Irene and Dorothy. I stayed with them in the girl’s cabin, and he stayed in a cabin way at the other end of the camper’s cabins. He kept his cases of Labatt’s Blue cool by storing them in the lake water just outside of his cabin. It was one of the best trips that I have ever taken! And I am normal.

Digger biting you was so not about you. He was old and arthritic. That makes people and dogs cranky.

Fire works in the woods. Duh! They probably didn't want to deal with the whole safety issue and used the Canadian law to their advantage. Trust building: I would have just out right said, "I don't want to deal with the safety issues, so no fireworks." Then we could have done some other minor things like recite the pledge to our flag, or have a short parade or some other crap that a teenager would hate because it wasn't fireworks.

...Did you actually read through all that? Lord knows I didn't; I just saw that she went from insulting to wanting to be my pal to being my personal savior, and then finally trying to entice me into wanting her hot and horny redheaded body. I had absolutely no clue what to say back to this loon that wouldn't elicit yet another Stephen King novel, so instead I sent her reply to a friend of mine who specializes in this sort of thing. Below is the complete letter that I sent back to Rhonda.

Me Again

Wow. I had no idea what to make of your last reply, so instead I forwarded it to a friend who's a psychiatrist for her analysis. Her thoughts are in green:::

Good point. In an effort to make my teaching a worthwhile endeavor I ask my students at the end of the year to tell me what they think would make me a better teacher, what they think I should do differently.

Ross, here she seems to have a genuine inferiority complex, and needs to have those around her, even those in positions well beneath her both in status and maturity-wise, praise her and tell her that her life's choices are indeed the right ones. In telling you how super and loving and understanding she supposedly is, she is looking for the same kind of acceptance and praise from you, a complete stranger who has already told her that he did not appreciate her volunteerism 20 years ago, and who already openly mocked her status in life at this time as well. Just from this opening paragraph I can sense that she is a very needy person. Possibly an enabler too.

I don’t want to change the world, or change the students who are pissed off at the world. I don’t think that everyone should be happy, or even be nice. How can one appreciate joy if one has never experienced sorrow? I find it revealing that you defend the fact that you were normal as if you still don’t believe it yourself. You even put yourself in the category of “problem kids.” That was surprising to me. I read your entire journal with updates and never once thought of you as anything other than a normal teen. It never occurred to me that you were a problem. You were just a teenager who was forced to be somewhere that he didn’t want to be. I so appreciated the honesty in your journal. It helps me see things through the eyes of my students.

After being openly roasted, for lack of a better term, by you in your previous response -- though I thought you went fairly easy on her myself -- she still won't let go that she's here "to help you," and apparently every kid who's ever had a problem with authority in their lives. Now, I've heard some of your friends talk about your youth before, and I know that you were the very definition of a "nerd" back in grade school, so your camp journal really made me wonder if you were completely honest with your experiences, but even if you weren't, I'm intelligent enough to understand that you run a web site that mostly mocks and pokes fun at those other sites that try to act very serious and treat even the smallest and least important problems in life as if they were DEFCON 1. This woman seems to have understood that too, but then can't make up her mind as to if you should be taken at face value or with a grain of salt and a frozen margarita. Then she choses face value to the chagrin of every adult in the world who can understand the implications of somebody so dense being in charge of children. This distresses me too, knowing full well that my two little ones may have somebody as imbecilic in charge of their development in the near future. God save our children.

No, my way of dealing with all students, not just problem is to get to know them and find out what they like and dislike. Then I use that to make the experience as least painful as possible for them. In your particular case, you enjoyed writing, solitude, and physical connections to home. My guess is that mom and dad accepted you for who you were warts and all. Your warts were a shitty attitude, and a general sense of entitlement.
My students trust me, and trust that I genuinely care about them and accept them for who they are warts and all. There are two groups, those who are excited to learn, and those whose parents forced them to take the class. The second group couldn’t give two shits about the subject matter and in some cases their grade. They are pissed off at the world, have shitty attitudes and take it out on me and the other students in the class.
Like I said, I don’t want to change the world, or make everyone happy. I want to make the experience as painless as possible for the normal student who is forced to be there and hopefully in the process release the rest of us from being miserable.

This is truly where she begins to lose it, as it were. "People like me! I am needed! I am making a difference in this world!" she screams in her text. Why she's pouring her heart out to a complete stranger (who has already made it clear that he has no respect for her or her "accomplishments" at all already, makes it clear that she is indeed a poster child for abandonment issues and more than likely some very serious anxiety disorders. She should seek help from a professional quickly, especially before the next school year begins. Her sudden use of profanity tells me that she can see the cracks in her own facade and cannot counter them logically after you've pointed them out to her. She still cannot see the satire at work in your journal entries and insists on playing amateur shrink herself, using what she thinks are professional words such as "warts" when referring to your psyche, and "general sense of entitlement." This is quite ironic considering she herself has such and enormous "general sense of entitlement" in that all her students must praise her and physically write down all the things that she did right each year. I am positive that she has somebody else go through those responses first and remove the negative ones. For every negative one that does get through I would bet good money that she cries herself to sleep for three nights while sobbing "I am too a good person! I volunteered to build cabins at a summer camp! I am too a good person!"

That might involve predicting that you would use the dead animals in that way and finding a way to prevent it. That might mean planting things for you to steal in my bunk, like a porno CD called Chitty chitty bang bang, and the actually Disney movie with no porn would be inside.
How did you end up at Owakonze? If you didn’t want to be there, then why did you compete for a scholarship? If you didn’t want to go then why did those wonderful parents that you couldn’t wait to get back to, make you go? Maybe they recognized your state of being and thought that wilderness church camp would help? Maybe they were accustomed to spoiling you, and needed a break? I get students all the time who are forced into my class by their partents.
I was thinking that it was selfish of the counselors to not force you to go on the overnights. You do know that they allowed you to stay behind because none of them wanted you on their trip. When the adults picked up the list and looked at it, they were all holding their breath hoping to “not” see your name on their list. How relieved they must have been to see your clever option.
I see that same irresponsible crap at school every day. Set the student in the hall with a desk and a book, just because the student needs more than the teacher wants to give. Not every student fits the industrial model. Some students challenge your teaching skills. Good teachers rise to the challenge, and in that class life doesn’t suck. Other teachers are lazy and the student sits in the hall.
I don’t sniff or eat paste. I don’t share crack pipes in the teacher’s lounge. Ozzy did however ass fuck me when he was finished with Jesus. And I liked it. See, I do have a sense of humor. I have seen many forms of expression that would offend the average adult. Not me. I see them for what they are, expressions of emotion. Most students just need someone to listen to their expression. I probably would have given you tips to improve your vagina drawings as I have one and know what they look like, and you had never seen one in person before. I would have pointed that out to you at the time too. If you are going to feel comfortable enough to show me a picture of a vagina then be prepared to accept tips and answer questions, like why does the baby have red hair? I have one student who gives me these stupid little origami animals every day. Because I actually care about him, I smile and appreciate it. Then I make a great effort to throw it away where he will never find it, and know that I threw it away.

These last few paragraphs are truly frightening! I could write a paper on them alone. She makes it clear that in her mind she is the be-all end-all expert on child psychology. I personally would not allow her 10 minutes to analyze my golden retriever. She tries to get you to understand that she could have "fixed you" had she been given the chance, despite the fact that previously she had mentioned that had she truly met you back then she would have thought that you were just a normal tween who didn't want to be at a certain place at a certain point in his life. Now she knows that you had severe problems -- which is okay because she would have fixed you. Her attempts to show you that you were wrong about her not being funny are painful and forced. She is not a person with a healthy sense of humor, and this fact disturbs her more than it should. She wants to be considered a very humorous person, but deep down she realizes that this will never be the case. She probably tried out for the drama department in college, or the improv club, and was told to her face that she would never cut it. They probably insisted that she would "make a much better teacher. Apply for the college of education instead," not realizing that that advice created a disturbing monster instead. Teachers need to know that they are in charge, cannot save the world, and are not their students buddies. This woman knows none of those necessary points. Once again, God save our children.

Okay, so you didn’t enjoy the same activities as shirt-eating Sean mongoloid. Who says that it’s okay to treat other campers so bad? How can you justify being such a jerk? Why couldn’t your fun on the sly have been harmless to other? You were smart enough to come up with something. Something like sneak into the kitchen and make breakfast for the camp that was kick ass better than chef Barth, and never tell anyone you did it. That could have provided weeks of material. “Thanks for breakfast Chef. When are you bringing back the mystery chef? Your gruel just doesn’t compare.” Why not rig the confessional with a fake camera or a sign that says “smile you’re on camera.”? Tons of shit you could have done to create mischief without hurting anyone or making someone else hate the world as much as you.

I don’t know what a toe extension is, but I’m sure it has something to do with killing me in a more efficient manner. Thank you for caring enough to put me at the top of the list. I am thinking that if you liked the playboy’s and penthouses then you would have liked me. I am a curvy, busty, trim beautiful redhead. Your fantasy method of making me pay for your misery would have involved something other than immediate death. I almost forgot. I myself am an excellent shot.

Double Cheers!
On another final note, I loved reading the journal! I had actually seen the heart boxers before you wore them. You probably had to carry off my shit when you cleaned the latrines (Ha ha hah). The two new cabins along the lake front, I actually helped build. I learned the art of hammering. I should dig out my pictures. I helped set the foundation for the new chapel. I swam to the rock and back in the 51 degree water. I went on a canoe trip / hike where we found a dead moose (cool). We also found a Canadian nickel that we threw at the bloated moose. I helped clear the ball field. We raked the woods, cut down saplings, a made a burn pile. A hotel chef (woman) made chocolate cream cheese brownies from memory for us. That is the only food that I can remember from the entire ten days. My friend whom I went with was the brother to Irene and Dorothy. I stayed with them in the girl’s cabin, and he stayed in a cabin way at the other end of the camper’s cabins. He kept his cases of Labatt’s Blue cool by storing them in the lake water just outside of his cabin. It was one of the best trips that I have ever taken! And I am normal.

Digger biting you was so not about you. He was old and arthritic. That makes people and dogs cranky.

Fire works in the woods. Duh! They probably didn't want to deal with the whole safety issue and used the Canadian law to their advantage. Trust building: I would have just out right said, "I don't want to deal with the safety issues, so no fireworks." Then we could have done some other minor things like recite the pledge to our flag, or have a short parade or some other crap that a teenager would hate because it wasn't fireworks.

This letter is so damn long that I'm just skimming these last paragraphs. Please forgive me, but I think we've already decided what her main problems are already. I find her ideas of what you could have done to make your time on that island camp enjoyable to be utterly laughable. "Sneak into the kitchen and make breakfast for the camp"? Is she serious? First of all a 13 year-old in charge of a greasy gas grill on an island with no fire station near by? Brilliant! I also find it strange that after all the verbal abuse you've given her she proceeds to tell you that she is indeed a sexy, curvy, busty, trim and beautiful redheaded woman. This is by far the easiest part of her letter to dissect: When people try to inform other people how beautiful they are it means that they are hitting on them and therefore sexually attracted to them. My guess is that this woman saw some other parts of your website and noticed your pictures of you as an adult, and she liked what she saw. You are a handsome devil, you. The rest of the letter discusses how great a person she is -- really! You can trust her! She says so herself. She simply NEEDS you to understand this. It is driving her crazy that somebody in this world, somebody she finds sexually attractive at that, finds her to be inane and possibly psychotic.

That's it from me. I have to put the little ones to bed and then make it a point to set up a meeting with all their potential teachers in order to find out if somebody as, pardon the term, mental will ever be in charge of their education. Goodnight.

Good going, Rhonda, you scared a loving mother shitless because of your psychoses. And if you're so hung up on me liking you, well, there is one thing that you can do: send me pictures of you. I want to see if you are a natural redhead. I don't believe you. LIAR!

-the Rossman