A Letter from Your Pistol-Packing Tennessee Teacher

"The proceeds from this year’s annual car wash will go toward ammunition for me."

What could go wrong? (image via reddit).

Dear Parent:

Although under Tennessee’s new law I am not required to notify you, I am taking the time to let you know that starting Monday I will be carrying a concealed loaded .45 Magnum in the classroom, lunchroom, and anywhere else I feel my penis is too small. Finally, you can send your child to school with confidence knowing that if one fine day a madman armed with a fully equipped AR-15 wanders the school hallways, rather than simply cowering inside classrooms and closets waiting to die, students have the option of taking a bullet on their own terms.

Of course there is always the possibility that yours truly will avert all that and save the day. I can see it all now unfolding in my mind like the bootleg version of Active Shooter I play in my mancave when I’m not posting inflammatory rants on red pill sites. Me in head-to-toe Kevlar gear armed only with the .45, slinking along the hallway walls looking for my one kill shot amidst a hail of relentless enemy fire. Taking shrapnel to the knee, chest, face and shoulder undaunted. Then, an in-and-out shot through my left calf sets me up to finish it as I lock eyes for an instant with the assailant, assume my stance, find the target, and against all conceivable odds put a single silver bullet in the heart of the shooter. Or not.

Anyway, you should not by any means overlook the additional perks of your kid’s teacher packing heat. You will probably start to notice gradually rising test scores. Solutions to quadratic equations and algebraic word problems will come a little quicker. Lessons will be peppered with “Yes, sir,” “No, sir,” and “Please, sir, may I be briefly dismissed to go to the bathroom because I really can’t hold it in anymore.” Homework will be handed in complete and in a timely fashion. Falling asleep in class will be rare and punishable. Posture will improve. Anxiety disorders will magically disappear. Or else.

It is important to note that as my professional duties are not limited to the classroom, the collateral benefits of my new weapon status will extend to the far reaches of school life. As girls’ basketball coach, I anticipate a much better finish than fourth in the division this year. Look for improved dribbling, smarter passing, more efficient rebounding, and more success at the foul line. Parents of boys on the track team can expect better times overall, especially on the gun lap. And I do not expect nearly as many students to go missing on this year’s annual field trip to the wildlife reserve.

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Perhaps most importantly, there was a rumor going around the last couple of years that I was having inappropriate relationships with several of my students. While that was and continues to be patently false as far as you know, let me add at this time that if for some bizarre reason I were to have a private postgame meeting late at night in the auxiliary parking lot with the really pretty power forward where my only purpose was to console her after a tough loss and then suddenly out of nowhere a stranger appeared and tried to photograph your daughter without her permission, wouldn’t you feel better knowing no harm would come to her? Safety first. An armed society is a polite society. Think about it.

While I have your attention, let me tell you a little about myself. From the first grade through the tenth I was one-on-one homeschooled by my father, who himself was armed and ran a tight ship. Those were some of the best years of my life. I was first in the class most years. I was voted best dressed, most likable, and cutest. I was voted most likely (and also least likely) to succeed.

One time my dad found a paper airplane on his desk and asked who did it. I blamed it on the boy sitting next to me, and when my dad realized there was no boy sitting next to me he fired a warning shot. Right through my right foot. It was kind of like that scene in Goodfellas where Joe Pesci gets upset during the poker game and fires a shot that hits the club bartender, Spider. Well, there was blood everywhere and I would have limped to the school nurse except that in addition to there being no locker room, no auditorium, no metal shop, and no principal’s office, there was also no school nurse. So I wrapped my foot in an apron, which strangely was like another scene from Goodfellas.

But I digress. The point is that overall I had a great scholastic experience with a pistol-packing teacher in a school where bullying was virtually unheard of and attendance was perfect. I was well on my way to becoming valedictorian until the state police arrived that one fateful day, shut down our thriving school, seized my dad’s moonshine, exchanged fire with my dad for several tense hours, brought in a hostage negotiation team, and finally had me finish my scholastic career under the close supervision of a group of county psychologists. You don’t have to take my word for it. It’s all in the results of my background check.

In any event, I am looking forward to a successful and extremely orderly school year. The proceeds from this year’s annual car wash will go toward ammunition for me. The school play will be Annie Get Your Gun. The football anthem will be “Hit Me with Your Best Shot.” The school’s silly beaver mascot will be replaced by a U.S. Army sniper. Kids at the homecoming dance will be doing shots all night. The non-alcoholic kind. And I look forward to seeing you at parent-teacher conferences. Please be punctual.

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