Betsy DeVos Killed a Bear

Imagine a world where you no longer have to care about a wholly educated society. Instead, your education can be based on your parents’ ability to readily pay for it. No, I’m not talking about college. I’m talking about that Common Core. Sometimes you can’t beat intelligence into your child. They could excel, depending on the price, and soar high above kids whose parents couldn’t afford it anyway. Instead of trying to help fix a failing system, you can completely abandon it and the people involved within it. It’s the best choice. $chool choice.

On a crisp spring morning, Betsy DeVos visited her newly funded private school. It’s just like any other private school, only a little Christ-licious. As long as you make at least $60K a year, you should be able to afford the $70 application. Once you fill out the application and emphasize your yearly salary, you just need to pray your child can pass the entrance exam. Hopefully, your child isn’t public-school stupid, and they pass the test with flying colors. Don’t worry about discrimination based on race or gender. A quick flash of money will calm the messy waters of prejudice.


The school was wide and sturdy. No leaks or cracks were present, the boiler didn’t constantly require repair, and the food didn’t smell like burnt hair. The lunch ladies lacked moles, and especially moles with single, thick hairs. The eats were vibrantly colored and served in heaps to the students – it’s not like food was a precious commodity there. If Grade F meat was delivered to the school, they expelled that meat and told its parents to try a little harder to not raise such a disgrace to society. That meat got rejected until it scored high enough on the meat entrance exam. In fact, the food was a celebrated expendable resource, and lunch was a chance for a child to experience a different culture. So, if Shelly wants a scallion pancake, they would whip that bitch up a mole-free scallion pancake. Too bad for those stupid kids that are stuck in public funded schools. Good thing that, once a year, an anonymous donor paid for the entire school’s “lunch debt”. Look, if your kid can’t afford lunch, they’re a lost cause. They’re so malnourished they might as well eat the flies that are buzzing around their gaping mouths. They can’t focus on a teacher that sips coffee brandy and tries to teach algebra.

The course list had been whittled down to the essentials: Theory of Science, Revised Math, Contemporary Bible Study, History of America, and Gym, sponsored by Erik Prince. The Theory of Science class was taught by a very studious Exxon shareholder. Aside from the daily debates on the benefits of fossil fuels, the science curriculum touched upon evolution and genetic differences between races. Once children were taught that evolution is a ridiculous theory, they were presented with explanations like “We don’t see gorillas evolving into humans at the zoo, so that shit isn’t happening” or “The white race is superior through genetic evolution, but don’t think about it too much because I just said evolution is a lie”. I mean, if anything, God made us evolve as the chosen species to run his Holy White Kingdom, but don’t go telling your parents that or they’ll pull you out of my meal ticket. Also, coral reefs aren’t real. I don’t know what kind of pictures you’ve been looking at, but they’re probably photoshopped by environmentalist fanatics. If you can’t see it, it isn’t happening.


Revised Math was much like regular math, but it did away with any formulas or theories taught by men named Muhammad. Quadratic equations are barbaric and anti-capitalist. The numerical system was credited to Europeans, and there was no mention of its Hindu and Islamic roots. Children were still discouraged from using algebra and instead given expensive calculators. Binomial Theorem was a term that’d get you a one-way ticket to the principal’s office. Geometry was also forbidden because Timmy’s drawings looked like the inside of a frigging mosque and evoked feelings of ritualistic prayer. However, the kids were constantly updated on the rise and fall of the stock market. I think Billy made millions off selling his Tidal shares. He’s only 8!


Most schools would shy away from activism within the student body, but children enrolled in Contemporary Bible Study were readily involved in calling your loved ones fags and showing them pictures of mutilated babies. If pamphlet-making and crocodile tears weren’t their style, children were allowed to substitute group shaming with an afternoon of self-flagellation for impure, pre-pubescent thoughts. The majority of the curriculum was focused on the Old Testament, just to scare the Jesus into their bones, but Jesus himself wasn’t really focused on. The whole hanging out with prostitutes and sharing food thing seemed like the real explanation for Jesus getting his hands and feet nailed into pieces of wood. You can’t go around playing medicine man and make-nice to not expect a king and his servants to publicly kill you. He could have sold his healing properties to a pharmaceutical company, done years of clinical trials and animal testing, and really made some gold coin. Sadly, he was a sap who didn’t know how to play the game. Children were taught that Jesus was asking for it, and if you hang out with prostitutes and share what you earn, you’re probably going to get burned and deserve it. Unless you’re the teacher, or principal, or a rich dad, or the President of the United States – they can hang with prostitutes. There is some element of a ceremony, however. Each kid can place a piece of dried Trump Steak jerky on their tongue and kiss the painted portrait of their new president. They can also choose to donate ten cents to their local church to support the Christian baptism of every missile. Don’t worry, they’re not Catholic.


Let’s check out Barbara Jean’s American History paper from the other day:
“This week we learned about Native Americans. Some people consider them to be “true” Americans, but their population is so small we can’t give them that credit. A Native American didn’t invent the light bulb. Native Americans gave white people land because they just knew what they were doing, only a lot better.


My independent study topic was about black and female civil rights. Black people wanted to work with white people to make society better, and until we gave them all these crazy ideas about civil liberties, they were totally happy with their situation. I mean, Africans sold their own people to us, so they’re more to blame anyway. Stop hating on whitey! And stop using my mom’s taxes for welfare-paid junk food at the Big Apple. I learned that women were employed during WWII to manufacture weapons, but now that we have machines to do that, we should return to our natural role as birther and carer. When I grow up, I want to shoot kids out like ping pong balls and use my husband’s money to get my nails done.”


Next week’s topic in American History would consist of Preservation of Culture and Racial Pride. Although American culture adores baseball and football, it is mostly dominated by non-white people and is clearly corrupted with anti-white bias. Children were taught about the most daunting current threat to white society: white genocide. Although to the majority of society, genocide refers to the deliberate, calculated abuse or killing of a mass population, American History’s revised definition refers to other races having more children than white people. Little girls are further instructed to not accept contraceptives of any kind, lest they are labeled not only a baby killer but a perpetrator of the white genocide.


Gym class was truly excellent. Most of the outdoors classes were centered around the hand-built shooting range, and the indoor classes consisted of squats and ice bath conditioning. Former owner Erik Prince’s thighs were incredibly thick and he had several bruises on his shoulder. Every child was eventually equipped with a small pistol. No worries, they’re properly trained. Although, Timmy wasn’t screened for mental health issues and has Oppositional Defiant Disorder, so better keep posted on that. Kids were also thoroughly trained along the guidelines of Academi, formerly known as Blackwater. Charlie recently completed his customized firearms training course, and his school crush Tammy was on her way to becoming a certified canine trainer and handler. Most kids who excelled in gym were offered armed security positions around the school.


Around the property of the private school sat a student-guarded fence. There were a few mines as well, but nothing too serious. On the other side of the armored fence sat the little public school. The school board consisted of one angry mom and advertising agency representatives. With little support from parent-paid taxes, their town, or their state, the public school had resorted to funding lunches with corporate sponsors. Pepsi-Co and drug companies looking for FDA approval would test products and food scrapings on hungry, malnourished children in exchange for free slop. In the fine print, Pepsi contractually forced the school to end their morning announcements with a sound endorsement of crisp, refreshing Pepsi related drinks. In addition, there were free spraying soda fountains next to warm water fountains, and it only cost pennies a sip. A few parents without a diploma of their own, disgusted with the blatant advertisements, pulled their kids out of school and decided to teach ’em themselves. There’s a lot of holistic medication involved in that kind of parenting.


Public school children were required to forage for additional snacks. The science teacher was somehow responsible for identifying poisonous plants, but he’d been out sick for three weeks. The substitute just picked his nails with an old knife and never combed his hair. Teachers gave fewer shits than ever before, as their wages had been cut as punishment for their low testing scores. The kids met a new homeroom teacher every week. Even the principal had been swapped a handful of times. The first one got into some trouble with a loan shark. You could smell something rotting in the brush beyond the school parking lot, but you couldn’t find it. Nobody cared enough to wonder where he was. The newest principal had a gold tooth and sweat a lot. The SATs were replaced with fast food applications and had coupons in the back for discounted cleaning products. Public school kids routinely attempted to pass the fence and blend in with the private school children but were exposed when forced to recite a bible verse or attempt to properly shoot a gun. For whatever reason, however, the public school children were exceptional regarding knife play. They probably developed their skills similarly to how jailbirds do during unprovoked stabbings in prison yards. You can sharpen a pencil or ruler into a shiv, it’s possible.

Anyway, Betsy DeVos was excited to see how the curriculum affected the students. After an exhausting night of throwing money at targeted trustees, Betsy had secured, down to the detail, the establishment and full enrollment of her prized private school. She awoke every night before its completion, hearing the voice of God, demanding that she offer tax vouchers for the parents footing the tuition bill if they were to donate to a private school scholarship fund. God’s voice was not only clear but husky and a little sexy. After stepping onto the property, she felt the cool wind billow around her ankles and sighed in an attempt to center her thoughts. God was with her, but the winds of disruption foreshadowed an event she felt necessary to prepare for. She went back to her car and opened the trunk to reveal a rather large carrying case for some gun-shaped object. She would be prepared this time. She wouldn’t let anything happen to these kids. Not like last time.


Betsy sauntered onto the edge of the shooting range and waved to her brother. He waved back and pointed enthusiastically at a child being weighed down by his own assault rifle. Betsy flashed a shiny grin and waved her hand while miming an exaggerated laugh. Things seemed to be going great. She eyed the newly constructed parts of the fence. Two kids had a public school child cornered at gunpoint while speaking about the lord and his will. They were just doing their job. The public schooler seemed to get the picture, anyway. As she ran her finger along the newly reinforced metal shuttered fence, picking up bits of pollen and dirt, she felt that same ominous breeze. It seemed to be pushing her towards a more isolated area of the shooting range. As if she was being led, she followed. In the distance, she could see a few children doing entry-level back flips off of stumps and comparing gun sizes. Her teeth reflected enough light to make her lips sweat as she flashed another grin. They’re America’s future, she boldly thought. How nice of her to cultivate our future. The trees at the edge of the shooting range swayed rhythmically as critters darted in and out of the brush. Little Betsy started shooting them as a warm-up exercise but secretly relished ending a life.


Usually, when children play, there is a great deal of yelling and screaming. What Betsy DeVos heard, however, was not child’s play. “Help me!” A student’s desperate cry shattered the serenity of the shooting range. She saw her brother, Erik, dash over to the distressed shouting, only to witness him fall over onto the bloodied child he was saving. He scrambled for his pistol and shot in the direction he ran from. “It’s not enough!” Betsy heard him shout as he hurriedly limped towards the school, dragging the injured kid behind him. All at once, adrenaline shot through her body, rocking her limbs. Her brain subconsciously began operating her arms and eyes as she scrambled for the case she left at the entrance of the shooting range. She ran until her high heels became too cumbersome, but only paused briefly to remove them before accelerating tremendously. Saliva began thickening in her mouth and attempting to escape the cracks of her perfectly pursed lips. This was the saliva produced in preparation for digesting sheer rage. Who could be assaulting her beloved students and beloved brother? It didn’t matter because they would be meal worms once Betsy got behind the wheel. The metaphorical wheel of slaughter.


“Betsy!” She heard a voice above her as she reached her gun-shaped case. It was Erik. “It’s too strong! I only made it angrier!” Betsy’s pupils dilated. Nothing was too strong. Several clicks and flashy metallic noises later, and she was prepared. In the distance, her opponent loomed. She could hear its heaving breaths and smell its jowls. Once it came into focus, she knew she had recognized the wound pattern on her brother’s arm. It was a grizzly bear. Betsy had warned her constituents of the probability of that occurrence, and they would truly rue that day knowing the casualties that followed. However, so would that bear, because that bear didn’t bet on Betsy.


Betsy whipped out her recently imported and assembled Sturmgewehr 90 with extended stock and bayonet attachments. It was always set to 20 sputtering shots. She swung the trigger guard and pulled the rifle to her side. Her hips were prepared for every sweet kiss ejected from it. That was what being guided by God felt like. She popped that bear dead. The entire school body watched the spectacle through the generously large windows, mouths agape. The bear groaned its last hot breaths as its full weight rested against a hole-ridden target.
This incident was not uncommon, and Betsy had to kill an entire family of bears across the creek just to ensure it would not escalate further. She walked, barefoot, through the ice cold water, her dress covered in bear urine. They laid sleeping in their tiny hovel before being killed awake. Erik’s wounds were immediately tended to, as every child completely the mandatory medical safety course and brought their own safety kits to every class. The bloodied child that didn’t try hard enough to make it to his next class was expelled on the grounds of failure to motivate. Even the public school kids saw something positive come from such a brutal attack on our values, our neighborhood, and our society. Thanks to the generous donation of one bear corpse by Betsy herself, those public school kids ate for months. The meat, the bones, the bladder, you don’t waste anything when it’s a grizzly bear. “Thank you Betsy!” they flashed their toothless, fluoride program-less smiles. Later that night, Betsy dreamed of God giving her a thumbs up and winking. She was really on her way to fulfilling God’s educational plan.


And the public school science teacher never came back from his extended sick break. Ever. The end.

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