Journal of Wit, Substance and Masturbatory Habits

Good morning Students-- I'm Jerry P. Reemer, Vice-Principal, disciplinarian, father, and the editor of this issue of Ooze. Summer is once again coming to an end and many of you fine young men and women will soon be roaming the hallowed halls of academia, ready to learn. Some of you, however, will not be so willing. These miscreants, and you know who you are, consider yourselves too "hip" for school. You'd rather be outside on the front steps smoking your "funny" cigarettes than down in the math room learning how to solve quadratic equations. You'd rather poke your nipples full of holes with a rusty needle than be moved by the gripping poetry of Robert Frost! Won't you be surprised, Mister (or Miss) Generation Slacker when you saunter into school this Fall Semester in your ripped jeans and baggy underwear, and find a few things have changed? And for the better, if you ask me.

This year the United States Supreme Court gave me, your Vice Principal, the power to give you students a drug test, ANY TIME I FEEL LIKE IT! I can't wait. If I see any of you spaced-out "hippies" wandering the halls when you're supposed to be in the lunch room, I'm gonna whip out my specimen bottle and sample your urine RIGHT THERE in the hall. That way you can't do some chemical Hoodoo-Voodoo on it because I'll be right there... watching. And I can tell by sight, smell or taste wether or not you're flying high on the Jumbo Jet of Depravity. Then you'll be sorry you tried to make a fool of Big Jer Reemer. It's only a matter of time before the Supreme Court lets me mete out justice with my paddle again. Ever notice the heavily varnished oak paddle that hangs over the desk in my office? It's my "Board" of Education. A finely-crafted, hand-tooled, Rod of Smiting that the one-eyed shop teacher sanded oh-so-finely for me. It's got five large-bored holes chiseled in the middle to cut down on air resistance when I'm smackin' ass. As an added bonus the perforations create a piercing scream as the Rod arcs above a troublemaker's tender, red buttocks. I relish their naked fear, eyes bespeaking terrible horrors to come. My Rod falls again and again, soft as a gentle caress. Hard as a ...

Well, that's why I'm here. Who better than I to lend my firm discipline and benevolent presence to this magazine? You'll be free from the pornographic influence that has turned the internet into a cheap, sleazy red-light district. The kind of place you'd go into a booth and pump quarters in order to glimpse a woman and a donkey perform an unspeakable tango. A place where painted Women of the Night spurn you and your hard earned money because of the hideous sores that cover your body. Where you can purchase frightened immigrant children and make them do light assembly work in your basement. People have to be protected from these deviant activities. Now, I haven't done many of these things with any great frequency myself, but I know porno when I see it. Fear not brave info-naut! Together, we can make the internet as safe as any good American public school.

See you in class,
Jerry P. Reemer

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Ooze #6 ----- Fall '95

Ooze Magazine
The Journal of Substance, Wit,and Dangerous Masturbatory Habits