Pound Of Flesh
Quick Update: I did a movie review for The Greenists. Please check it out!
Tap, tap, tap…testing 1, 2, 3…is anybody out there?
Well, that was an unexpected and unintended bloggy hiatus!
The last two weeks of class were a flurry of papers, projects, exams, and grading. You’d think that once grades were submitted I’d be able to kick back with a beer and revel in the five minutes I have to myself before I begin prepping for the fall. Oh, Innernetz, how silly you are! I had to use four of those minutes to catch up on the many things I had let slide during the summer session. After grades are submitted, my personal life takes over. Among the many joyous tasks I had: calls to my slumlord about the dismal water pressure that had turned my shower into Chinese water torture, involuntary volunteer work, and inventing new miracle diets that magically and effortlessly pack on the pounds. Yes, I did watch eighteen nonstop hours of Seasons 1 and 2 of True Blood, but that indulgence was earned since, even after grades were submitted, I spent a disproportionate amount of time performing cutting edge surgery on students whose heads were so far up their asses that their burps were indistinguishable from their farts
All of the students (and some of their parents) think that if they could just meet with me, they’d be able to convince me that getting that pedicure was much more important than attending the mid-term exam. And every semester I get one or two students who tell me that they thought all of the assignments were optional. I tell you what, if they were as creative and diligent in doing the assigned work as they were with coming up with excuses for not doing it, they’d all be A+ students. But they’re not. They’re just idiots. Two seconds after grades were submitted I began receiving phone calls and emails asking, “What can I do about my grade?” My standard answer always starts with, “First, build a time machine....” They don’t think that’s as funny as I do.
One student failed the course because she missed an entire week of class. She flounced into my office peeling like a soft shell crab, her tan lines fish belly white against her crocodile jerky skin. “I told you that I had a family vacation that was non-negotiable!” she shrieked, waving her arms with such fury and drama that she looked like a fight scene from the Matrix. Layers of baked flesh drifted onto my desk as though I had landed in a dust-mite’s dream. Flake threw herself into the chair next to my desk and crossed her arms like a petulant child. “What do you have to say for yourself?” Flake demanded, her face shriveled like an Appalachian apple doll. What else could I say? I gently pushed a tube of Aveeno across the desk and held up the garden hose I keep in my desk. “She rubs the lotion on her skin....”
The last time I saw skin like hers, I was Flake’s age and working at a video store. (Just in case any of my students are reading: yes, they had televisions and even videos when I was your age. Yes, the videos were made of wood.) My co-irker was a tall bottle-blonde who aspired to be a supermodel. I didn’t see it ever happening only because she had a congenital defect that was impossible to overlook: she was butt ugly. Willem Defoe/Janet Reno love-child ugly. If ugly were a sport, she would win the Tour de Ugly every year and, every single year, the French would accuse her of taking ugly-enhancing drugs. My co-irker would lay out in the sun every chance she got, but her skin never changed from baboon-ass red to the deep copper tan she so desired. I called her Chernobyl Barbie.
One day, after being on vacation for almost two weeks, Chernobyl Barbie walked into the video store looking as if she had vacationed on the sun. Her skin was brown, blistered, and pork rind crispy. In her red and white sundress, she resembled a KFC Chicken Strip. Chernobyl Barbie slathered on cheap body lotion throughout the day to soothe her skin and prolong her third degree burn tan. She scared more children than usual.
By closing time, her chest was an oozing mass of moist, peeling, bubbly flesh. After returning some videos to the stacks, she came behind the counter where I was counting the day’s receipts, noting the surge in rentals of Nightmare on Elm Street. Chernobyl Barbie went to grab the next pile of unshelved movies from the floor and tripped. I tried to catch her but my palm landed with a schwack! in the middle of her lubricated chest. It was like sinking my hand into Vaseline covered Tempur-Pedic foam, patented NASA research and all. I yanked my hand away but, after her twelve hours of regular basting, my hand just slid across her Butterball chest, the skin curling like ribbon candy and encasing each digit like a Chinese finger trap. And the smell! I gagged and tried to breathe through my nose as her skin gave off the swampy, wet smell of a dirty fish tank. Where was her filter? Must change her filter!
“Get it off! Get it off!” I screamed, snapping my hands back and forth. But the dead flesh clung on, not wanting to relinquish its hold on living cells. Chernobyl Barbie was no help. She was staring in disbelief at the raw white skin emblazoned on her chest in the distinct shape of my palm. With a final violent shake, the skin came loose and dropped onto the glass counter with a sickening schlock! Imagine the sound you make when you suck Jello right out of the bowl: schlock!
I don’t remember much after that, and neither would you. But I do remember that, for the rest of that summer, Chernobyl Barbie walked around with my handprint on her chest like a turkey drawing kids do at Thanksgiving, except that, against the crispy pork-rind skin next to it, it looked like a marshmallow turkey. Still, somehow, she continued to scare more kids than usual.
I thought about Chernobyl Barbie as I watched Flake douse herself with my tube of lotion. As she sputtered and spewed about her vacation and how I owed her a good grade, her dry skin crackled and threatened to split like a crusty baked potato. Where was my sour cream?
With the apartment in such a state of disrepair that Dingo Girl and Not a Dingo are weighing the benefits of homelessness and the drama of summer semester just beginning to fade, students for next semester are already starting to contact me (“Do we have to read all the books on the syllabus?”). I have been too tired and unmotivated to blog, preferring instead to escape my surroundings via the Fine Living channel. But that will change soon. I’ve scheduled myself for a thirty minute nap on Thursday. After that, I’ll be Dingolicious all over again.
Posted on Monday, August 24, 2009 at 03:46 AM.
Tags: It's off to work we go, Dingo Girl, Blogging, Little Red Schoolhouse, Not a Dingo, Oh the Horror!, Undomestic Diva
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Comments & Trackbacks
Damn Girl. I am SO happy I never had YOU as a teacher. Did you not understand Flake? The vacation was NON-NEGOTIABLE?????? Kind of like how you should tell me what happens to Lafayette. NON-NEGOTIABLE! So Tell ME ALREADY!
And that jello/hand sound....disgusting. Now I have to walk around all day at school with that sound in my head.
You know, if you need extra money, you could always travel around doing demonstrations of that surgical technique. I know Ms. Darkstar and I would shell out mightily to learn that secret.
You mean the cranium can actually be dislodged from the sphincter? I’m pretty sure that most of the population of The Frozen Tundra is born that way, would that make a difference?
And if you have a non-negotiable vacation lined up, why are you taking summer classes in the first place? For goodness sake, take the summer off, take your vacation and then spend the fall sloughing your skin in the bowels of academia. I guess common sense isn’t something that can be taught.
I’ve missed you, though, Dingo… so hopefully you have a less distracting class this fall.
My guess is Miss Flake had to take a summer class because she also had a non-negotiable obligation when she failed her spring class.
Also, I’m so grossed out by this! 
P.S. A clean house is overrated. I am sure Mr. Dingo and Dingo girl will see that in time.
By the way, good to see a post from you!
I love the student stories. I was never that creative.
welcome back! I kinda knew you’re students were keeping you busy.
I would freak out too if I see her skin in my hand eeewwwwww! AWhy do people do that?! The sun is the number one cause of aging! Leather-like skin? Hello?!
Enjoy the little break you have between now and the Fall semester. =P
Btw, I am not sure if awards are your thing but I gave you one anyway he he he so head on over my blog when you get a chance!
You make them read ALL the books on the syllabus? Tyrant.
and the skin glove? guh-ross
Do enjoy your ever so brief break. More flakes and bakes coming in the fall!
Kids these days. (**shakes head while sneakily covering student ID card**)
Glad to see you back.
Oh good god, i say you fail them all. It’s college for fuck’s sake.
High school parents get really upset and go to my principal when I tell them that family vacations are not excused absences.
and then i threw up.
Glad you are back!
“Chernobyl Barbie”
Oh Fuck! I’ve missed you! You never disappoint, Girl. NEVER!
Wait, Willem Dafoe is ugly? This cracked me up. And made me throw up in my mouth a little.
Jules — I don’t want to give spoilers. Not a Dingo doesn’t mind giving spoilers though so I’ll let her use the keyboard for a quick second. Here’s what happened to Lafayette: sidfn;uamanal;iugp a;kdng heo. There! Happy now?
Mr. POSSLQ — I was thinking of seeing if Discovery Channel: Health would give me my own prime time show.
MsDarkstar — Don’t you know the world revolved around them? Bitch didn’t even bring me back some salt-water taffy from the shore.
justrun — You seem to have Flake pegged. I’m sure she’ll tell her professor this fall that she has to miss class because of a non-negotiable ski vacation. At this rate, she’ll be America’s most illiterate jet-setter by the time she’s thirty.
k8 — Student stories are like bad haircuts, they’re funny until you have one.
freetyeme — I wear sunscreen every single day. Leather is great for shoes and handbags. Not for skin. And thanks for the award!
Shania — The skin glove was like a paraffin manicure — except wet and smelly and disgusting.
inkpuddle — I’m glad to see you here! Now, get off the computer and get to class on time today!
Pseudo — College. Kindergarten. Some days they’re the same damn thing.
sorrin rose — That’s the only appropriate response.
Kori — After writing “Proofread,” “Clarify your thesis,” and “You have GOT to be kidding me!” over and over again, I was afraid I’d forgotten how to blog.
Summer — Clarify your thesis, I mean, it’s good to be back!
Kristina P. — Hmmm, from your question I can only assume you agree with my assessment of Janet Reno.
I’ve missed you!!
Love the cutting edge surgery to remove heads from asses idea. Can non-students (for example, the people I work with) be added to Dr. Dingo’s surgery roster?
Hilarious! Although, Im not gonna lie to ya Dingo.. the explicit dead skin explanation made me gag a little.
Wait, what? She went to the shore, didn’t bring a bribe and STILL whined about her grade? ::sigh::
EVERYBODY knows if you have a “non-negotiable” obligation when you should be doing something else you bring a bribe to try to get in the good graces of whomever you gave the short shrift to…
(Trying to figure out why the captcha gave me “pliant” as my word...)
You are hilarious!!! And that was positively disgusting about the jello-sounding skin. I mean EW. I was already Gagging over Flake. HOW can you be so rude as to spray your own dead cells all over other people’s property and not clean it up? LMAO
tee-hee, my capcha is 69nation!
Ah, Dingo, even your supposed non-posts are the best. I laughed, I cried, I was thoroughly disgusted.
Ugh, I had so many problems with this post. See, first I had to wipe all the spittle off my screen from the laughter. THEN, I had to clean up the vomit off the keyboard from what has to be, hands-down, your most disgusting description ever. Really, this post was just far too much work…
Hey now, I waited until after class to even turn on the computer, thankyouverymuch. Week Two is more adequately planned, and destined to be a rousing success.
That read more like a Stephen King tale. Seriously, how to you cope with these gruesome stories rattling around your head? Ugggh, you need to make a disclaimer not to read this post right after lunch.
Doooood!
Ewwwwww!
Glad you’re back at the keyboard. Thought I was the only one who took regular sabbaticals from blogging!
Ahh..."Chernobyl Barbie!”
But, for us guys, a chest of “oozing mass of moist, peeling, bubbly flesh,” is still a chest.
1. The kitties and I had a meeting to discuss Not a Dingo’s message. Kitty #1 said that Not a Dingo must have misspelled something because it didn’t quite make sense. She would like Not a Dingo to use spell check from now on.
2. HOW DARE YOU NOT TELL US WHAT WAS IN BUSEY’S SUITCASE??????!!!!!!!!!!! DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY HOURS I’VE SPENT PONDERING THIS??????!!! AND FOR WHAT?
NOTHING! A BIG, FAT, NOTHING!
Oh, how can I even go on?
My co-irker was a tall bottle-blonde who aspired to be a supermodel. I didn’t see it ever happening only because she had a congenital defect that was impossible to overlook: she was butt ugly.
What can be funnier than that?
Also, been to cold stone. loved it loved it loved it but it’s a bit of drive from my home
You crack me UP!
And to your students who don’t think the time machine comeback is funny?
Eff ‘em!
Why would you ever need to diet with that living memory of chernobyl Barbie in place to put you off your meals?? Seriously, that’s traumatic.
Do you offer an internet course I could take? I don’t know what you teach but it sounds like great fun.
Oh, Dingo. I so fear that my son will be the male version of Flake. Seriously...he’s my own and I’ve not seen such entitlement EVER........
Although, he can be quite charming......
Sigh. I pity his teachers......
This story was totally disgusting AND totally hilarious. You are a true master.
What?! You expect the students to read ALL the books on your syllabus?! You mean you don’t just come up with the list for your own personal enjoyment? Sheesh!
Veronica “Suzy Tofu” — I have my hands full with students right now but I’ll let you know if an opening becomes available.
Rian — Believe me, the description doesn’t even come close to how disgusting it actually was. I tried to describe it accurately but I got light-headed and vomity.
MsDarkstar — Nope, no bribe. Not only was she crispy, she was stupid.
Nikki — I’m sure that at home, she has someone running around after her with an Swiffer. And a cocktail.
April — So you’re giving me a two-thumbs up?! Yeah!
GeekHiker — I know! It’s disgusting how students don’t want to do any work these days, isn’t it? It makes me sick, too. That’s what you meant, right?
inkpuddle — Hey, no need to go gettin’ all crazy on me. All this talk of reading my posts after class. Humptf! You can definitely read my posts BEFORE you go to class.
Toe — I figure if I have to be miserable with these images inside my head, I’m takin’ you all down with me!
Crissy — What you said.
Tress — You’re only allowed to take sabbaticals if you are trapped under someone else’s dead skin. That’s especially true if it’s Bill or Eric.
MTAE — You are a sick man. A very sick man.
Jules — Okay, you wanna know what’s in Busey’s suitcase?! I’ll tell you, ya’ whiney baby. Lafayette. Lafayette is in Busey’s suitcase. Happy now?
Jessica — The only thing funnier would be a butt ugly girl with a palm print on her chest.
Ms. H — I laugh my ass off every time and they just sit there. Crying.
Lyvvie — Well, Chernobyl Barbie made microwave popcorn easy. I just had to hold it in her vicinity and *poof* perfect popcorn every time.
Shelly — I’ve said this before but it bears repeating, do not under any circumstances call your son’s professor. Unless you are inviting her to your Aspen lodge for the weekend, she does not want to hear about your kid’s vacation plans.
Suzy Voices — If only we had youtube back then. I would’ve given you visuals.
Jules — I have this crazy idea that in a literature class we actually might read the books on the syllabus. But what do I know? I’m old school like that.
I will never get that image of the hand-with-dead-skin-stuck-on-it out of my head. And I’m not grateful.
I dislike you a lot right now and wanted you to know.
You should have told her that if her parents came in and offered to take you next year…
Ewww...that story got unexpectedly grody. But ‘co-irker,’ haha.
Marjolein — Like a glove! It encased my hand like a dead skin glove! Just in case you needed another description.
Jules — Mwah!
Ree — I don’t know how long I’d survive at Camp Chernobyl without a never ending supply of martinis. Hey! That’s not a bad idea!
Prosy — But it made you crave pork rinds, didn’t it?
Eeew! I wanted to write more, to post a real comment, but when I think of jello sounds and someone else’s skin sloughing off on your hand all I can say, write, or think is EEEEWWW!!
Ugly-enhancing drugs. Oh, how I’ve missed you.
Loved the film review, too. I think I’ll have to go see that - being a Prius driver and all.
Eeeeuuuuwwww. Just Ew. On so many levels.
I’m glad I don’t have your job. I could never come up with cut-downs fast enough for the situations.
Ugh, gagging. The sound effect put me over the edge.
I’m trying to motivate myself to be excited for school starting next week. Not happening!
Sometimes I think you may be too hard on your students. I mean, family vacations should trump class assignments because the children are our future, and when I’m looking up at the EMT after my cardiac event, I’d rather he/she was well-rested from a family vacation than up-to-the-minute on lifesaving techniques. You may also want to consider some counseling to get some closure on that Chernobyl Barbie memory. I know I will.
megan — You can play that sound over and over again in your mind. It can be the soundtrack of your life. Sounds like fun, doesn’t it?
Mel Heth — Back in the day, people were beat with the ugly stick. In these modern times, they just use ugly enhancing drugs.
Freedom First — The best comebacks are the ones I think up after they leave. But I figure it would be inappropriate to call or email them with my pithy response.
jane — The sound put you over the edge but you were fine with the idea of your hand sinking into a vaseline covered Tempur-Pedic? You’re weird.
Unindicted Co-Cospirator — I can’t get closure on the Chernobyl Barbie memory! Every time I see and ad for a Coach handback, I have a traumatic flashback.
Getting a pedicure isn’t a viable excuse? Who knew?
Kristin — Getting a pedicure is not a viable excuse unless I’m the one missing class because my nails haven’t dried yet. I have to set an example for my students and smudged nail polish is a felony offense in my book.
I read your posts and I wonder why I, with two whole university degrees and so many decades of experience, can’t begin to express myself a tiny fraction as well as you. Your giftedness haunts and taunts my ancient mind.
But then I pause and realize that I can paint nightmarish pictures that can move (haunt) the prof; that pleases me:)
Man, you gotta warn me if your post may make me hurl my breakfast. You are far too good a writer for me to NOT to see skin ooze in my hardboiled eggs.
glad you’re back...I too have been grappling with slippery students this week
Nice! Gotta love the handprint story....super gross and awesome. 
Gary — I think you need just one more degree. I’m sure that’s the secret.
thecoconutdiaries — Should I post a NSFB warning next time? But I think we’re even. I’ll never look at hardboiled eggs the same way again.
rosie — Slippery as in vaseline and Tempur-pedic? Ew.
AnnQ — I wonder if she’s still wearing my hand print on her chest. Now *that* would be awesome!
“First build a time machine...” LOL! That is so awesome...I keep laughing everytime I think about it. I want to use that on someone. Maybe when MI asks how to get me back I will say,"First build a time machine....” Effing hilarious.
Courtlynn — But you won’t get that call/email/text from him because you’ve blocked his email and telephone number, right? RIGHT?! Don’t make me come over there. Wherever there is.
Ugh...why do people still do that to themselves? Flake sounds like a wretched child. I’m glad you flunked her.
Here In Franklin — She definitely flunked. Although she probably though the F on her transcript meant “Fine” instead of “Fail”.
Well. That was repulsive.
I still have some of those wood videos. Sadly, though, the Betamax machine stopped working a few months ago so I can’t watch them.
Yep....you definitely need some wind up your skirt ))
this is what i come back from indonesia for? no one has ever made me laugh and puke simultaneously before. thanks a lot.
flurrious — Darn it! Maybe you can upgrade to a laser disc?
Braja — I know, right?
blakspring — I hope you took the red eye straight back to NYC so you could catch this post.
I never understood want to fry your skin to that extent. I’m white… I’m like really really white. Some might even say pasty white. But you know what? I embrace it. There is no need for me to lay out and get skin cancer. I don’t have the patience nor desire to lay out and get tan. Pass the SPF 50 please.
Ugh...why do people still do that to themselves? Flake sounds like a wretched child. I’m glad you flunked her.