when I lived with Philistines

As July wound to a sweltering end, I started getting antsy because of repeated terrible chill seshes with Kiwi and Pillsbury. I had taken to wuxing them on a frequent basis just to mind-fuck them for my own amusement, but even that was getting old.

It could still be pretty funny though. One time we were all sitting in the living room and Kiwi was talking about his upcoming gig as a "geography teacher" at a local school for international students.

"So, I can't wait to get my first paycheck, it'll be really nice to be earning money again," he said.

"Do you like children?" I asked.

"No, I hate kids, they can be real brats," he replied.

My eyebrow raised in a combination of derision and confusion. "So...why did you choose this profession?"

"Well, I like teaching what I like to teach, and I'm just doing this for now because I haven't figured out what I want to do for the rest of my life."

I turned that over in my mind while I looked at him impassively for several moments. "I respect men who are passionate about what they're doing," I said finally.

Pillsbury had been shifting uncomfortably on the couch during the awkward lull as he looked at me, then Kiwi, then back at me again.

Some people just can't handle being real.

"So...how old are the kids you teach?" he asked Kiwi.

"I've taught a wide range, when I started teaching I was only a little bit older than my students. This time I'll be teaching high-school kids, like 14 to 16 year olds."

Even though Pillsbury was trying to go down the conflict escalator, I wasn't done wuxing out the Kiwi. "That's interesting, do you ever find your students attractive?"

"Well, I do my best to avoid any situations like that," he said.

"Have you ever found yourself in a compromising situation?"

"Well, there have been times where female students harassed me."

"Because...they found you attractive?" I said disingenuously.

"I suppose, sometimes female students would."

"But fortunately, you felt it was unprofessional to fancy yourself...a Casanova of underaged girls," I concluded with as much sardonic irony disguised as laudatory candor as humanly possible.

Kiwi didn't know what to make of it. Pillsbury is not the brightest crayon but even he could tell there was something going and that I wasn't Kiwi's number-one fan.

He giggled. "You would be a great first date," he said to me.

I gave him a withering look.

If only looks could kill.