Bravo, Mr. Governor

I say, this Andrew Cuomo is a smashing chap, just smashing. When I read a plan like this one, I’m heartened to see that all that money we gave him is finally paying off. It appears we’re dispensing with that nonsensical plan that the Regents cooked up with that odious union, and finally coming up with something we can manipulate any way we please.

This way, we can send teachers to classes where we know no progress will be made, and in a mere two years we can get them off the payroll. This will free up job opportunities for those whom we feel actually merit them. It could be in-laws, cousins, or reliable contributors to political campaigns. After all since we really represent 1% of the population, it’s really well-advised to shore up our numbers whenever possible.

Let’s have a hip-hip hooray for noble Andrew Cuomo! Every man has his price, and I for one shall sleep sounder knowing he’s bought and paid for. And for those teachers who are always complaining, there will always be dignified non-union jobs at the Smellington Academy for those who know how to do what they’re told. Sure, they won’t pay as well, but you’ll have the satisfaction of knowing you’re training the little urchins for their own jobs that won’t pay well. Thank goodness that Obama fellow didn’t go through with his threat to enable that Employee Free Choice Act, promoting those nasty Bolshevik trade unions!

It’s morning in America again!



Filed under Bravo, Bravo old chap!, Holy crumpet!, innovation, old chap!, plebs, rabble, Smellington Academy, Training the great unwashed, Uncategorized

11 responses to “Bravo, Mr. Governor

  1. Yes indeed, glad that Andrew is nothing like that rabblerousing Dad of his.

    • I say, you’ve hit the nail on the head Mr. Beckerman. I had hoped that Carl chap would win, but despite being a Democrat, I have to hand it to this Cuomo fellow, whose apple, thankfully fell rather far from the tree.

      • Anonymous

        I like the apple doesn’t roll far the tree metaphor. Seems to be the case with this Barack chap, whose grandmater, she brought him up, was a banker. All power the the bilionaires!

  2. KIPP Teacher

    Mr Cuomo is doing a fine job and I’m glad to see you blogging again. I think this new measure will improve the quality of education for the children. We can have teachers who are accountable instead of always running to the union so they cna read there newspapers while the kids aren’t learning.

    • We will see to it that the little rabble get the most inexpensive teachers possible and are taught whatever rudimentary skills needed to serve us better. After all, this is the point of educating the great unwashed when one cuts through all the nonsense.

      • KIPP Teacher

        Again i think your message would be stronger if you stopped calling children rabble. I know your trying to do the right thing, but a lot of people will take that as an insult. Let’s work together to do good things.

      • Smelly, Kipp has a point there. If we call the children of the working class “rabble” we should do that privately, among ourselves, not in a public forum like this where the unwashed can read it as long as they can get access to a computer at one of the few remaining public libraries, or by borrowing one from a friend, or stealing one.

    • lifetimemovie

      Their newspapers. You have no business in the classroom.

  3. Anonymous

    Best education notion ever: teachers read union papers while kids race around the room. Thank you Mr. Kipp. Myself, I would smoke a joint.

  4. Yes those teachers are a bad lot, going around trying to poison childrens’ minds with the notion that they could be equal to the offspring of billionaires.

    Of course the true public servants are billionaires like Smelly and myself, and our corporations; it is we who have taught the children of the poor and the working class the truly important lessons in life –> might makes right + everybody for himself

    • I say, I like the cut of your jib. However I must disagree on the point of whether or not we should call the rabble rabble. For the love of Smedley, I walk down the avenue, they’re here, they’re there, and one can only marvel–why aren’t these people working? Aren’t there floors to be scrubbed, dishes to be washed? Are there no prisons? Are there no workhouses?

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