He had a face like a penus.

He was always screwing somebody.

His mouth had residue on it.

He wore these little suits.

His head was bald.

He was growing a pubic beard.

I noticed something…

Principals love to refer to their teaching years… to their subject.

“I was a Science Teacher which means I’m pretty smart,” the prick said.

“I was a Math Teacher which means I’m pretty smart, the other prick said.

They love to admire their heads, and talk.

Our principal walked around like a shriveled dick, hunched over, investigating things.

He sniffed around, looking for children, where they shouldn’t be.

When he got on stage, he waved. He grabbed his microphone.

Oh, they are so political. Their balls are shrunk. They spend all day making feminists happy.

Their wives make their lunches for them.

Principals love buzz cuts, or they go bald.

They remind me of military men, preparing for war.

They work with women.

Rarely, do I see a principal with long hair, and if she has long hair, she won’t last long.

Feminists have buzz cuts.

What is the point, of pointing out the obvious?

The truth is full of laughter.

We dress it up, and put lipstick on it, and pretend it’s not a prick,

but we all know what it is.

Professionals play-along with their pricks

because they’re supposed to,

but if they were given a paycheck for life, would they sit in the audience?


All the pricks would be able to do, is to shake hands with each other,

and admire their swelling brains, while the prick-less people

play with their fruit

in the summer sunshine.

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