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fandomhigh2011-01-21 12:04 pm
prof_of_cunning) wrote in fandomhigh2011-01-21 12:04 pm
Entry tags:
Dealing With Idiots | Friday | Period 4 (Session 3)
"Someday, there will be a Baldrick-free class; I'm not just stringing you along," Edmund said once the room was as full as he expected it to get. "Today, however, is not that that day."
It was, however, a slightly more pleasant-scented day as long as one didn't walk too near the scruffy little bugger, because thanks to several weeks of hotel television, Edmund had discovered the wonders of Glade Plug-Ins. One would think he'd hold the television itself at the top of the 21st Century's pinnacle of wonders, but... he lived with Baldrick. Self-dispersing room deodorizer vs. the ability to record astronomically overpaid actors faffing about with mood lighting and background music and watch it over and over? No contest. Which was why Baldrick was standing next to his desk holding one of the former in his hands, attached to an extension cord.
"Last week we began by identifying a particular class of numbskull," Edmund began, then wrinkled his nose and took one more step away from Baldrick, who was thoughtfully providing the realistic whiff of fertilizer that the people at SC Johnson had left out of the Orchard Breeze scent. "Keeping with that theme, today we'll explore two of the basic methods of surviving their presence: insults and threats."
He turned his gaze from the class to Baldrick. "Not the subtle, epigrammatic sort of insults and threats that you'll spend the next week congratulating yourself on and desperately hope were overheard by your future biographer so that generations from now people who think they're clever will try to impress each other by quoting you in upmarket coffee shops. That stuff's wasted on his like; if I told Baldrick that his presence fills a much-needed gap in my existence, he'd say... what would you say, Baldrick?"
"...What?"
"Exactly. But if I said 'your mother, Baldrick, is so stupid that when the pubkeeper said drinks were on the house, she climbed up to the roof,' you'd say..."
Baldrick shot him a sad, dark look. "S'not funny, sir. We had to call out the fire brigade. It took three men to wrestle her onto the ladder and a fourth on the ground waving a pint of lager to coax her down."
Edmund pinched his nose (doubly useful in this case!) as he looked at the class again. "Perhaps a slightly more literal example than intended, but if you don't take my point, that's your cue to get out, while the rest of us move on to threats: particularly useful when attempting to get the brain-cellularly-challenged to do something you wish them to do. The more evocative and terrible-sounding your threat is, the better. This need not be something you are prepared to do or even capable of carrying out; the purpose is for the imagery to strike raw fear into the heart and various digestive organs, not to engage the brain, after all. Clever is fine, if it affords you bonus amusement, but take care to avoid subtlety; we don't want to be so clever that the target doesn't understand he's being threatened."
Turning to his unlovely assistant again, Edmund raised a pointed finger. "Though 'go away' isn't the only thing you might want an idiot to do, it's certainly the most popular option, so let's work with that. Baldrick, leave my sight and more importantly my olfactory range immediately, or I shall insert my boot so violently, firmly, and deeply in your backside that the rest of the guttersnipes will call you Bootnose for the rest of your hopefully brief life."
Instead of helpfully fleeing, Baldrick frowned and tilted his head. "Actually, that's a step up from what they call me now."
Manfully resisting the urge to jump ahead to the class on physical violence took every bit of Edmund's patience, leaving none for maintaining composure in the face of his example being undercut in front of the class twice now. "Sod off, Baldrick!"
"Yeah, that. Exactly."
"NOW!" Edmund roared, pointing toward the door. At last, it got through; the deodorizer winged toward (and thankfully into) his hands, while Baldrick sprinted for the exit. A deep orchard-scented breath later, a much calmer teacher added, "In a pinch, angry shouting also works."
[OOC: OCD up, post open, Robert Drake, if you run naked through my class again, I'll fill you so full of lead they could sharpen your head and call you a pencil.]
It was, however, a slightly more pleasant-scented day as long as one didn't walk too near the scruffy little bugger, because thanks to several weeks of hotel television, Edmund had discovered the wonders of Glade Plug-Ins. One would think he'd hold the television itself at the top of the 21st Century's pinnacle of wonders, but... he lived with Baldrick. Self-dispersing room deodorizer vs. the ability to record astronomically overpaid actors faffing about with mood lighting and background music and watch it over and over? No contest. Which was why Baldrick was standing next to his desk holding one of the former in his hands, attached to an extension cord.
"Last week we began by identifying a particular class of numbskull," Edmund began, then wrinkled his nose and took one more step away from Baldrick, who was thoughtfully providing the realistic whiff of fertilizer that the people at SC Johnson had left out of the Orchard Breeze scent. "Keeping with that theme, today we'll explore two of the basic methods of surviving their presence: insults and threats."
He turned his gaze from the class to Baldrick. "Not the subtle, epigrammatic sort of insults and threats that you'll spend the next week congratulating yourself on and desperately hope were overheard by your future biographer so that generations from now people who think they're clever will try to impress each other by quoting you in upmarket coffee shops. That stuff's wasted on his like; if I told Baldrick that his presence fills a much-needed gap in my existence, he'd say... what would you say, Baldrick?"
"...What?"
"Exactly. But if I said 'your mother, Baldrick, is so stupid that when the pubkeeper said drinks were on the house, she climbed up to the roof,' you'd say..."
Baldrick shot him a sad, dark look. "S'not funny, sir. We had to call out the fire brigade. It took three men to wrestle her onto the ladder and a fourth on the ground waving a pint of lager to coax her down."
Edmund pinched his nose (doubly useful in this case!) as he looked at the class again. "Perhaps a slightly more literal example than intended, but if you don't take my point, that's your cue to get out, while the rest of us move on to threats: particularly useful when attempting to get the brain-cellularly-challenged to do something you wish them to do. The more evocative and terrible-sounding your threat is, the better. This need not be something you are prepared to do or even capable of carrying out; the purpose is for the imagery to strike raw fear into the heart and various digestive organs, not to engage the brain, after all. Clever is fine, if it affords you bonus amusement, but take care to avoid subtlety; we don't want to be so clever that the target doesn't understand he's being threatened."
Turning to his unlovely assistant again, Edmund raised a pointed finger. "Though 'go away' isn't the only thing you might want an idiot to do, it's certainly the most popular option, so let's work with that. Baldrick, leave my sight and more importantly my olfactory range immediately, or I shall insert my boot so violently, firmly, and deeply in your backside that the rest of the guttersnipes will call you Bootnose for the rest of your hopefully brief life."
Instead of helpfully fleeing, Baldrick frowned and tilted his head. "Actually, that's a step up from what they call me now."
Manfully resisting the urge to jump ahead to the class on physical violence took every bit of Edmund's patience, leaving none for maintaining composure in the face of his example being undercut in front of the class twice now. "Sod off, Baldrick!"
"Yeah, that. Exactly."
"NOW!" Edmund roared, pointing toward the door. At last, it got through; the deodorizer winged toward (and thankfully into) his hands, while Baldrick sprinted for the exit. A deep orchard-scented breath later, a much calmer teacher added, "In a pinch, angry shouting also works."
[OOC: OCD up, post open, Robert Drake, if you run naked through my class again, I'll fill you so full of lead they could sharpen your head and call you a pencil.]
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This was called how to turn losing your temper into a teachable moment or in common parlance, I meant to do that.
"Insults need not be limited to the subject's parentage; intellectual, physical, olfactory and sartorial shortcomings are all fair game. Be creative."
Talk to Blackadder
This would explain the satisfied smile.
OOC
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and LJ was being a skank, but she felt she couldn't beg off participation, not after skipping last to week."So, just a regular conversation for us?" she said, trying to sound flippant as she slid into the desk next to him.
[And will reply whenever LJ sees fit to give me pings again.]
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"But why would I want to take that label away from you?" Karla asked innocently. "You wear it with such pride."
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And why did she have this sinking feeling in her stomach?
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//In need of a partner, mate?//
He was not exactly a social butterfly, but he was putting forth an effort today to at least behave half-decently towards his classmates. That wasn't too terrible, really.
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"Act up?!" Okay, Alex was just asked for a phantom hand to the back of the head. But she did sit back, just because she could live without whatever he had on his phone being played for everyone. "You even think about saying 'Sit. Stay' to me, I will hit you," she warned.
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