As Livvy did such an ace job writing a doctor parody, I thought I’d take a crack at writing an education parody for EuphOff! It feels a bit more lilac than purple, but it is full of absolutely terrible puns. I’m not actually entering the contest because I also have the exact same toys to give away and am still trying to figure out the best way to do that (Satisfyer reviews forthcoming!), but this was SO much fun to write. Also, trigger warning: This is a piece about an administrator and a high school student.
“I hear you’ve been behaving very badly,” Principal Johnson said, cupping Tina’s chin in his rugged, yet tender, hand. Tina looked down at her cheeky cleavage and blushed; her button-down white uniform shirt could barely contain her nubile breasts. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said innocently, her enchanting eyelashes fluttering just so. “You’re supposed to graduate next week, Tina,” Mr. Johnson said – “but I don’t think that’s going to happen with an F in English.” “But Mr. Johnson, that teacher doesn’t like me!” Tina protested with a startling urgency. “I think she’s jealous,” she pouted.
“And what might she be jealous of?” Mr. Johnson asked. “She keeps making snide remarks about my body,” Tina said, finally looking Mr. Johnson in the eye. “She says that skirt length has an inverse relationship with depth of thought – but I have an A in all my other classes. Do you think my skirt is too short?” “I don’t know, Tina,” he replied. “I’ll have to examine the evidence.” Tina stood up; he walked languidly around his desk, stepped behind her, and crouched down, her apple bottom teasing his bulging eyes. “Now,” he said, “You know your skirt isn’t supposed to be shorter than two inches above your knee.” He ran his animated fingers up the backs of her trembling thighs until they reached the elevated hem of her skirt, far too scant for a schoolgirl.
“I have to graduate, Mr. Johnson,” Tina pleaded with crystalline teardrops threatening to fall from her large, impassioned blue eyes. “Isn’t there something you can do to help me?” “Perhaps,” Mr. Johnson said in a composed voice. “I want to see just how bad you really are – let’s have a look at your best practices.” “Sir?” Tina asked, her heart thudding in her chest like a timpani drum. He continued moving his hands upward, under her skirt, until they reached the three-way junction of her thong. “Tina, Tina, Tina,” he tutted, his fingers hooked into the skimpy strings, “I don’t think this is what a scholar would wear to study hall.” I’d love to study your hall, he thought, suppressing a smile.
“But sir –” she started. Mr. Johnson cut her off. “It’s no use trying to talk your way out this time, Tina. You’re going to have to show me that you’re willing to work to get me – er, your grade – up.” He could feel his principal organ doing some higher-order thinking skills under his trousers. “Yes, sir,” she said in a husky voice, feeling a few participatory flutters herself. Mr. Johnson placed a piece of paper and a number two pencil on his desk; she loved the smell of his wood. “Now, Tina,” he said – “You’re failing English, right?” “Yes, sir,” she confirmed. “I’m going to give you a few vocabulary words,” he said; “I want you to write them down, along with their definition and their part of speech. Think you can do that?” “Oh, yes, sir!” she said, eager to commence. As she tipped her youthful bosom over the slender paper and took the pencil in her delicate fingers, he lifted her skirt. “There’s no question about it,” he said. “I’d like to punctuate your bottom.”
“Mr. Johnson?” she queried, a puzzled look in her eye. “Never you mind,” he said. “Your first word is turgid.” T-u-r-g-e-d, she wrote. Looking so closely over her shoulder that he could smell her rose perfume, he gave her ass a thwack. “Incorrect spelling,” he said. Her cheeks flushed; he looked down and noticed his participle was no longer dangling. Adjective, she wrote next to it. “Good,” he said. “And the definition?” “I- I don’t know, sir,” she admitted. “You’ll find out soon enough,” he said, adjusting himself. “I don’t think this written assessment will work, Tina. But don’t worry – we can do a performance assessment.” “Oh, thank you, sir!” she said. “Yesssss,” he drawled. “We’re going to do some daily oral language.” She turned around to look at him as he unbuckled his belt.
“Now that’s a proper noun,” she said, looking at his pulsing paste-maker. “I bet you’ve got quite a portfolio, Principal Johnson.” He chuckled. “I think you’re getting it, Tina,” he said, knowing his semi-moist treat stick was also about to get it. “You’re going to make an excellent subordinate clause. And remember,” he said as she dropped to her knees, her succulent lips parting as she readied for her hot lunch: “Show your work. If you do well on this assignment, we can move on to conjugation.”