Andy said:
Well, absolutely, I was her pet ... and deservedly so! Just look at the attached picture. What an angel!
You see, this is how it happened: I was returning to my desk from a trip to the restroom. (A trip I had taken after politely raising my hand and requesting permission, of course.) As I walked past the desk of a young rabble-rouser named James Charlton (don't know what ever happened to him), he said, "There goes Andy Gibb."
Well that was it! I felt strongly at the time -- as my parents had taught me -- that Andy Gibb and all "his kind" of hippy musicians were long-haired good-for-nothings. I had been greatly insulted. So I responded by turning and really giving him the what-for: "My name is NOT Andy Gibb! It's Andy Mayberry!" (I also included a silent but strongly insinuated, "And Buster, don't you forget it ... or else!") I might have even pointed my index finger in a threatening manner. In times of rage, the details sometimes blur.
Mrs. Pyle didn't hear the gruesome details of our exchange, and how James had all but called me a pinko Communist. She only heard the noise and saw that James and I were talking. She took a popsicle stick from both of us, despite my attempts to explain how justified I had been in my action. I believe she only took a stick from me to satisfy the masses of heathen children in the class who wanted to spill the blood of Mrs. Pyle's favorite student.
You see, this is how it happened: I was returning to my desk from a trip to the restroom. (A trip I had taken after politely raising my hand and requesting permission, of course.) As I walked past the desk of a young rabble-rouser named James Charlton (don't know what ever happened to him), he said, "There goes Andy Gibb."
Well that was it! I felt strongly at the time -- as my parents had taught me -- that Andy Gibb and all "his kind" of hippy musicians were long-haired good-for-nothings. I had been greatly insulted. So I responded by turning and really giving him the what-for: "My name is NOT Andy Gibb! It's Andy Mayberry!" (I also included a silent but strongly insinuated, "And Buster, don't you forget it ... or else!") I might have even pointed my index finger in a threatening manner. In times of rage, the details sometimes blur.
Mrs. Pyle didn't hear the gruesome details of our exchange, and how James had all but called me a pinko Communist. She only heard the noise and saw that James and I were talking. She took a popsicle stick from both of us, despite my attempts to explain how justified I had been in my action. I believe she only took a stick from me to satisfy the masses of heathen children in the class who wanted to spill the blood of Mrs. Pyle's favorite student.
*snort*...that'll teach him, Andy. Nice touch with the pix. : )
ReplyDeleteI have been getting on this site every day and just letting the soundtrack play... thanks for adding some new ones. This is better than pandora!!
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