Rabbit’s Wonderland

Author David Sanders

Illustrated by Mandy Sharr

Georgia Southern University

Introduction

Leery of higher education? This is a story about my pursuit of a graduate degree at a very Southern University in Statesboro, Georgia. A lazy little Southern town like Statesboro might lead parents to believe than their children would be safe from the, all too common, Northeastern left of liberal-socialist education, but you would be wrong. My adventure seeking a doctoral degree, disguise titled as Curriculum Studies, had little to do with education curriculum. It turned out to be about anything and everything left of Karl Marx.  As an older man, I had many years of conservative background to fortify my backbone, but I found that standing for any principal other than those of the leftist professors ended in low grades. The following is an accurate account of my adventure.   

Figure 1

 (Sharr, Curriculum Change, The Professor and Rabbit in the Burrow, 2021)

Rabbit’s Wonderland

Chapter One

The curriculum plain is everywhere but nowhere in particular

According to the leaders of the Curriculum Studies discipline, curriculum defined as the content of a student’s education courses is old hat. Curriculum should be about everything from politics to human sexuality, from climate change to the abolishment of Christian religion. While not as radical as Curriculum Studies recommends, educators tinkering with the 3 R’s program has been around for many years and has resulted in chaos in our education system. The failure of so many crazy teaching methods like New Math forced parents and governments to intervein and direct the current ‘back to basics’ curriculum in K-12 education.

I felt like a child about to embark on a journey through what appeared to be a new Wonderland like the one Alice once trod. For this story, I will adopt the name Dave Dodgson. I am a math teacher of the current, embarking on a voyage across the Curriculum Studies plain in search of a creature called the Golden EDD (Doctorate of Education).  I am a Christian lecturer and a math teacher. The real Reverend Charles Dodgson was an actual reverend and math teacher.   You see, the original Rev. Dodgson (Lewis Carroll) vigorously disagreed with his chosen discipline and did not know what to make of lecturers and math scholars of his day. Dodgson asked, “Who in their right mind could believe in imaginary numbers?”  Dave Dodgson, like Charles, disagreed with the current math curriculum. He began his pursuit of the EDD because he believed it has the power to unlock the mysteries of the math curriculum. With this power, Dave could redirect the course of the Math river, a dangerous raging river full of whirlpools, foam, and rapids. Like the Reverend Dodgson, Dave wanted to speak out and calm the river, making it navigable for his young padawans.

The Curriculum Plain seemed to Dave to be a very dissimilar place where night is day and day is night; up is down and down is up. Dave is having much difficulty traversing the plain and is becoming very doubtful of the value of catching the elusive Golden EDD. Dave Dodgson is bewildered.

Reverend Dodgson did not believe in imaginary numbers, and one hundred and fifty years after their introduction, students still have trouble understanding them. There is nothing we can touch or feel that is the square root of a negative number.   Today, the concept I do not understand is the Curriculum Studies Plain? The Reverend put his concerns to ink on paper in a book titled Alice in Wonderland, so I will do the same (Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, 1865).

I was talking to a Rabbit the other day, and he said the curriculum is everything that takes place in the universe; everything is the business of the curriculum theorist. We must open up to “history, politics, race, gender, phenomenology, postmodernism, autobiography, aesthetics, theology, the institution of schooling, the world”^{[ (Pinar, 2006, p. xiv)}.   

Does the Rabbit mean that the plain is everything, or is it nothing specific?

I think I will have some tea and ponder my dilemma.  The Curriculum Studies plain is everywhere, but it is explicitly not anywhere, how confusing for my brain.   Does capturing the Golden EDD mean I will be ‘Lord of all the Plain’ or ‘Master of Nothing Specifically’? 

Where is Alice when I need her?

“Are you looking for me?” a voice calls.  I turn to see a young girl with golden hair. She wore a blue dress with puffed sleeves and a white pinafore. Her hair was pulled up with a ribbon tied in a bow on top.

She said, “I am Alice.”

I told Alice about my dilemma, and she said she had heard of the problem before. Alice had a brief encounter with one of the Queen’s ax men some time ago. The Curriculum Ax Bearer Whitlock was intent on changing the curriculum to force “the fundamentalist Christians to acknowledge that their homophobia and the other “isms”-racism, sexism, classism, ageism, etc. impede spiritually” (Whitlock, 2007, p. 112). 

With that, she was off, suggesting that I visit Professor Curriculum’s burrow,” he is very smart and knows all about the curriculum.” she said.

I said in parting, “Alice when you close a reading in Developing the Curriculum by Professor Oliva (Oliva, 2009), watch your step through the halls of the curriculum because the rabbit holes are everywhere.  You may think the Professor prepared you for Reconstructionist Theory, but you need to be prepared for the Queen’s axes.” 

I followed signpost after signpost to professor Curriculum’s burrow; finally, I arrived at a small place called States; knocked on the door, and out came a little fellow dressed in a bow tie and spectacles.  He welcomed me to his States-burrow, offered me a cup of tea, and we began to chat.  You see, the Professor knew everything about the curriculum from A to Z.  We talked for a long time.  He told me a curriculum is always changing from the last change to the next (Oliva, 2009, pp. 26-38).

 I was impressed and much fortified in my ability to control my dilemma, so I asked the Professor what the last curriculum change was that he made.  To my dismay, he said he had not made any. You see, people do not come to my States-burrow to inquire about curriculum changes before they are made. He did not know why; just that professors are rarely consulted for curriculum changes.  He told me that I would have to find Curriculum Change and ask her why that is.  I wondered where I might find her, and he said he did not know. She had not been to see him in an awfully long time.  As I left, he asked me a strange question, was my white fur difficult to keep clean?  I was so frustrated that I did not even think about what he was asking.  “Goodbye, Professor,” I said.

“Getaway, butterfly.”  I sit down on a toadstool and pondered my frustrating dilemma; the Professor never makes curriculum changes?  He obviously had the EDD in his possession at some point in time, and yet, he was not about to change anything.  So, if I navigate the Curriculum Plain and find the Golden EDD, I may know all about the curriculum but be unable to redirect the dangerous Math river? But, how can I know everything about the curriculum when the curriculum is about everything, but about nothing? “This place is so very, very strange. Muddle…muddle… muddle.”

I really must find Curriculum Change and see who changes her.  “Where to look,” I asked. I remembered the Queen’s Axe Bearer Whitlock knew about curriculum change.  Should I venture to the Queen’s palace to find Ms. Change?  This just sounds a little too dangerous for my way of thinking. Speaking of danger, I seem to hear danger coming much easier than I used to.  I wonder why? Could it be that I am developing phenomenological hermeneutics, as Jardine described (Jardine, 1998, p. 11)?  Wow, such big words for how I feel about an encounter or experience. “Maybe they are not big words; maybe they are not even about an experience. So confusing. Maybe I can hear more clearly out on the Curriculum Plain, but I do not remember being able to hear ants walking around on the ground, curious, and curiouser.”

Then, I had an idea, Alice found the Queen when she walked on the chessboard.  Where is the chessboard? I do not see one, but I do see a yellow brick road? Hummmm, “follow the yellow brick road, follow the yellow brick road.” (Yes, I know that the yellow brick road is in another story, but it led to a castle, didn’t it!)  Oops! There is a guard ahead with “several” heads, oh my.  My ears stand straight up, and the guard says, “Mr. Rabbit come in, the queen is waiting for you.”  Mr. Rabbit? What the…? 

Well, I am in; without getting into any trouble or did I?  It’s pretty tough hopping up this hot paved road barefoot to the castle. 

Suddenly my ears pick up at a faint “pssst, pssst, over here, come quickly!”  In one big bound, I am off the pavement and into the tall grass seated next to a fair young lady who says, “Sorry for the secretive ways, I’m Curriculum Change, and I’m hiding from the Queen.”

 “Why are you hiding,” I asked.

 “Because the Queen wants to make another change,” she said.

“Is that a problem?” I asked. 

“Yes it is, says Curriculum; she makes all the changes. They come every day, and they are rarely useful.  Last week we made a change called neopolitanliber–autism (or something like that) to generate more revenue for the Queen’s gold treasure room.”

“Wow, you must be exhausted,” I said.

 Curriculum spoke softly, “I get tired, but then again, I am inevitable.”  (Oliva, 2009, p. 18). 

I sat and told Curriculum my problem. Basically, I do not understand the Curriculum Studies Plain and that it was either everything or maybe nothing specific, and I really wanted to find the golden EDD so I could tame the math river rapids and save the students who drown in that awful river.    She told me that the problem is that the Plain has been at war between the Essentialists (Ornstein, 1982, p. 404) and the Postmodern Reconstructionists.  Around here, we call them the 3R’s and the Pists for short.  The 3R’s have captured the flag of the Pists and marked the territory with a giant red apple core curriculum.  The Pists, although no longer in control, are sworn to disrupt the plain in every way possible.  They vowed to defend the principles of no business models, no testing, no teaching objectives, and no responsibility for outcomes. (Pinar, 2006, p. 184).  They even posted a declaration of dissidence by a Raving-Mad Hatter at the edges of the plain; Hatter accuses the Queen and the workers alike of heresy and traitorial conduct (Ravitch, 2013, p. 18). She wants the Queen to hang. As for me, I must follow the Queen to implement the red apple core curriculum and dodge the hissing tongues of the Pists at every step.  I used to love my job, spending every day with the children on the curriculum plain, but today I must wear this coat of garland maille to protect me from the disagreeable Pists.

 She said, “Today, I’m just going to hide here in the tall grass.  You are welcome to stay here with me if you like.” 

I said, “Yes, I think I will, this is a lot like our gardens at home.  You know, education has a long history of associations with gardens just like this one. Plato’s Academy had a garden, in a grove sacred to the hero Academos.” (Harrison, 1972, p. 61). I am not sure that the Pists would want Plato in this garden teaching logic and thought processes. Perennialism does not appear to be on the Pists list for the moment, and student needs do not seem to be on the Pists agenda either.  The Pists seem to be much more territorially oriented than any other motivation.  That is it!  Territorial Pists! Or Terrorpists for short.

I must see Professor Curriculum and seek his advice. Hop, hop, hop…. knock, knock…

“Hi Professor, I have certainly changed here in Wonderland; notice my long ears and fluffy tail; I hopped over ‘hare’ too, much faster than walking. I believe I am adapting to Wonderland so I can stay awhile.”

I began to explain to the Professor about the red apple common core and the war on the plains.  The Professor was not in the least surprised because he had heard the rumblings of conflict before, back in the waning days of progressivism. (Fraser, 2001). The Professor was not aware that actions had broken out, but there were plenty of hostilities to go around at the time.  I told the Professor that I had some thoughts on the war.  You see, the Pists are not fighting for curriculum; they are fighting for their territory.  When they saw the 3R’s carrying the banner of the red apple common core, they thought that the 3R’s were disposing of the Pists, closing their schools, and killing their soldiers because they were poorly performing. The Pists were naturally petrified; the 3R’s were going to exterminate them. Professor, I think they are right to be fraidyfrighted.

Professor Curriculum puzzled over that and nodded his head in agreement.  “Now what rabbit,” the Professor said.

“Well, Professor, I said, “I want to know everything about the curriculum studies plain, and I need a brilliant tutor to teach me. Do you know of any available?”

“Why yes I do, the professor said, I think I can help there,” I said, “It may take you quite a while to fill my brain; however, on the bright side, it will give the Pists time to calm down.  I want to be ready to search a peaceful Curriculum Studies Plain for the golden EDD. Are you sure you want to put up with me that long?”

“Of course,” said Professor Curriculum.

“Professor, I will need a burrow to stay in, know of any available here in States?” ……………

 I know that Wonderland and the real world have not resolved the issue of the Queen, making all the curriculum changes.  The overriding point is the administration’s failure to call upon curriculum academics to assist in national and state curriculum change issues.  At the moment, Rabbit has to find the golden EDD. Perhaps, in the future, the fact that he is from a burrow near the grassy plain as opposed to academia will provide the leverage Dr. Dave Dodgson needs to make changes to the rapids on the roiling Math river.

Figure 2

 (Sharr, The Academic Community, 2021)

Chapter Two

Formal Introductions

The professors I met at Georgia Southern University in the Curriculum Studies department were a completely unexpected lot. Most were left of Karl Marx and quite vocal, not only about their politics, but their condemnation of conservatism as well. Let me introduce them to you.

“Professor Curriculum, I think I am losing my fur,” I said, “I was out on the curriculum plain, and I encountered some extraordinary creatures.  The first was a very normal looking animal with an exceptionally large head. He told me his head was so large because of the thousands of marbles he had read. He told me something about being left-handed and how sad he would be when he died because death is the end? He seems really sad, and I imaginated that he had nothing to live for and noted that he held his paper-scratcher in his right paw?  He also worried me greatly, because he had consumed thousands of wonderful marbles, and had even had tea with the Curriculum Axe Bearer Whitlock and yet remains lost on the plain, wandering without direction.  I sure hope all my reading does not make me lose my way.  In any case, the creature with the large head was no help finding the Golden EDD because he had lost himself.”

“Remember the rabbit I met on the plain last summer?” I said, “Well, I ran into one of the rabbit’s protégés on the plain, such a strange-looking little fellow, wearing an overcoat that made the pink-crit look like a blue-crit or perhaps a purple-crit.  I wondered if the overcoat was a disguise of some sort, but I dared not ask.  This crit was very supportive of the widest Curriculum Plain encompassing all things and mastering none.  Purp-crit did not want to be restricted to a narrow field but wishes to forage everywhere on the plain, especially on the simply ‘marbleous’ emerging French cuisine. Ah, “tant de billes de verre de la France,” said purple crit.  Perhaps, I was encountering my first ‘free-range crit.’  Purp-crit was very sad as well because there are no famous pink-crit philosophers on the plain.  I suspect that they are all around, but hiding from Purp-crit. Next time I will hide too. In any case, Purp-crit had no idea where the Golden EDD resided because, in the process of foraging on such a considerable plain, there was no time for close examination of anything.”

“I met a bright red monocled fox wearing a bowler hat.  At first, I was sure she would eat me, but I found that the monocle allowed the fox to view everything through a special jeweled lens.  This red fox could see racism and misogyny, where others could not see at all. Oh, the stories she told of disagreeabumps crits twisting of her tail and degrogatory discussions she had with other plain dwellers.  Just because she was a fox was no reason for the wee plain dwellers to avoid her like the plague. The fox told me she had not seen the Golden EDD, so I can assume the golden EDD is not racist or misogynistic because her “special lens” (Crit-lens she called it) would indeed have detected it. Come to think of it, I did meet one of her little kits on the Plain several days ago, he hollered across the plain that I was a “white privileged rabbit,” whatever that is, and I might have been offended had I not realized he was just a kit and his eyes were not yet fully open. I told him to be careful, crying like a wolf when you are just a kit might make you a crit dinner.”

“Professor, it seems that the territorial Pists were more frightened than I thought.  In response to the 3R’s, they have reinvented themselves.  They call it reconceptualized.  In short, it means that when the Pists lost power on the plain, they decided that they needed more territory to control. The Pists proceeded to expand their territory through acts of terrorpistism. Forgetting to expand their knowledge as their territory grew resulted in the little bit of knowledge they had was spread too thin or diluted. Diluted to the point that Pists know NOTHING ABOUT EVERYTHING.”

 “I am sure I met a minstrel a while back who told a similar story about an Emperor and his new set of clothes (Anderson, 2014, 1837).  The cloth was so soft and thin that it was invisible to the average plains rabbit. The terrorpists stretched their knowledge base so widely that their information was invisible to the average uneducated plain dweller, but for the educated Pists, the information was happi-bliss-joy.”  Professor Curriculum began to laugh and laugh until a small wet spot appeared on his trousers, and he laughed some more.

The next introduction is to a group of professors who teach at Georgia Southern in spirit if not in body.  Frank is the collective of a dozen professors that Hitler tossed out of Germany before the second world war. These men knew that Marxism could not sustain itself economically and set about developing seductive ways to enamore it to American students.

“What is that?” I cried. It was long like a train and round like a ball, sort of like a fallen tree, but it was dark red and sort of shiny.  It spoke a strange language I did not understand.  “Hallo,” it said, “Ich bin Frankfurter, Wer bist du?”

I was screechless and replied, “What are you?”

“I am Frankfurter,” it said in a language I understood.

I said, “My name is Dave, but you can call me Rabbit.”  “You can call me Herr Frank if you wish, I only recently have journeyed to the plain from a place called ‘Frankfurt am Main,’ and I am here to help the Pists train their troops to battle the 3R’s.  Can you tell me where I might find them?”

I said, “that will be difficult because they are everywhere but not really anywhere. They buzz about but light nowhere.”

Frank said, “He used to be like that before he found that little furts/farts could be spread evenly over an area without anyone noticing the dust.  Little farts here and there until they form a thin brown fog, you may have heard of my spawn the politicallyinsurrectors.”

Evilishous, I thought; the Pists and the Frankfurters together in battle, little Pist-furters everywhere and nowhere at the same time. 

“Quiet!” I said to Frank, “I hear a grumpy noise, look it is Purp-crit, moving quickly here and there stomping everything in its path with green and white saddle oxfords, hide, hide!”

Purp-crit was growling something about Sigmund (Freud) and everyone making fun of his alchemy (Illies, 2013, p. 6).  

“Touchy, touchy isn’t he?, or she?” I said to Herr Frank, “I know who Sigmund is! It is Sigmund the Soothsayer; he lives in a cave under the big tumtum tree. They say he has a boiling caldron in that cave, and he conjures the cogitations of critters. There are rumors of a deep underground stream that links to a cavern where all manner of evil conjuring goes on. The little crits make fun of him because he says he can tell what crits are thinking or dreaming by the way they hold or wish to hold their crit-willies. They say it must be true because some little crits have seen Sigmund the Soothsayer holding his willy a lot when he is thinking. Perhaps it is true that willies have a mind of their own, and Sigmund has a special crit-lens that gives him true “willy” understanding. Either way, he better be careful waving his willy around a boiling caldron. You might try talking to the Soothsayer to see if the ole willy-waver knows where the Pists are. Careful he doesn’t mistake your frank for a willy and boils you in his cauldron. Good day, Herr Furter.”    

Speaking of grumpy, I suddenly remembered that Special Lens Foxes’ kit hollered at me yesterday for being a “privileged white rabbit.” I do not know what that means, so I must find Professor Curriculum and ask him.

Professor, Professor! “What is a privileged white rabbit?”

“Where did you hear that?” the Professor asked.

“From Special Lens Foxes’ kit,” I said. “I was talking to the critters on the plain saying that I judge the animals on the plain by the content of their character, not by their gender, race, or the size of their teeth (Hyatt, 2016). That was when I got the blast from Special Lens Foxes’ kit.” “ I think ‘special lenses’ may have special hearing too because I did not even know the kit was around.”

“Well, Rabbit, that comment was a mean thing to say. That term, which I won’t repeat, was originally slang for animals who believed they were superior to other animals (Allen, 1967). You know, like foxes are superior to mice, and mice are superior to snails.  Today, it is words used by the “special lens” folks to say, YOU shut up, YOU should feel guilty, YOU must prioritize the animals we say are SPECIAL, and give them most of your carrots.  Rabbit, when you hear those words next time, watch to see whose paw is slipping into your carrot basket.”

I decided that the next time I saw Special Lens Fox or her kits, I would tell her I did not appreciate the mean things her kit said and hope she doesn’t eat me.

Sexual harassment of children is rampant in American schools. Three out of five male and four out of five female high school students are sexually harassed. While school administrators are adamant about preventing racism or wearing the wrong kind of t-shirt; they routinely ignore sexual harassment of their students (Steinberg, 2013, p. 367).

“Professor, do you feel up for a walk on the plain today?”

“I do,” said Professor Curriculum, “it has been a while since I strolled the plain.”

“Well, let’s go,” I said.

The sky was blue, very blue, and the Pists flitted about like dragonflies. There were red apple banners above the doors of every schoolhouse, and the little plains critters were reciting multiplication tables and practicing writing skills in every classroom. Suddenly we overhear a blue-crit say to a pink-crit that he should be shagging her vajayjay. I look at the teacher who clearly heard the odiously lewd remark, and to our surprise, the teacher said nothing. She just stared at the floor. The pink-crit moved away from the blue-crit, but the tirade continued. “I want to shag your fuzzy-thing chica!” said the blue-crit. The teacher froze. “Oh me, oh my, we don’t have a procedure for this, where is my disciplinary action guide, read, read, read, no nothing there, better call my supervisor, no help there,” she said, “ don’t get me involved, oh me, oh my, what shall I do?”…did blue-crit stop? “No, oh me, oh my,” the teacher said, What to do, what to do. Oh goodness, where is my sand bucket?” hunt, hunt, hunt…“there it is,” scratch, scratch scratch, “there, now my head is buried.”  I guess we know why Pervasive Vulnerabilities was written (Rahimi, 2012, p. 158). Too bad the book came with a gift certificate for a big bag of sand so that teachers could make they’re personal ‘bury their head” buckets.

The Professor and I looked at each other and shook our heads.

Rabbit, “So, Professor, if one crit calls another the N-word, they get discipline; if they fight they get punishment; if they bully, they get a penalty; but if they harangue one another with sexual content, the teachers do nothing…huuuum…

Rabbit, “These teachers are fascinating creatures. Perhaps, after the teachers spend so much classroom time instructing small-crits on the Kama Sutra of crit-practices,

passing out free pre-lubricated critdoms,

and implanting IUDs in all the pink-crits;

they do not want to discourage the use of all that procreative energy, even if a bit of crit sexual harassment goes with.

After all, the way pink-crits dress nowadays, they are asking for it, right?”/sarc

The Professor will point out that not all sexual harassment against children originates in the classroom.   

“WRONG,” the Professor said, “If you ponder the blue-crit was ugly to the pink-crit, you should go out onto the western side of the plain to a place called Lost Morales. There you will find the inhabitants speak a language of rhyming filth. Their language is so vile and degrading to pink-crits that it smells of meadow muffins. The rhymers are known as Raptors and are descendants of prehistoric flying meat-eating birds. I believe the vile rhymes and smells are a result of years of internal decay, the weight of which prevents the raptors from flight.”

“There was a time before you were born that raptor rhymes were punishable by death, but today, as a result of post-neon-modernist-progressivist mania thinking, the rhyming can be heard in many swampy- decaying areas of the plain.  You see, the post-neon-modernist-progressivist, or as most call them, the Critical Thiests (CT) were one of the causes of the 3R’s revolt. CTs were the forerunners of the Pists. I have noticed that Pists, as they morphed from CTs, were also reluctant to punish rhyming in the presence of crits of all ages. They call it centorshitz or ageism or some preposteramus thing like that. “the goal of Critical Theory was to reduce human beings to levels of animals (“If it feels good, do it”) (Walsh, 2015, p. 82)”.

“Professor.” I said, “I saw Special Lens Fox talking to all her little kits in the glen. She was ranting that no matter how fair the red apple curriculum claims to be, the blue-black-crits still end up food insecure on the plain. She explained that it was because all the red apple schools are anti-blue-blackcrit. She insisted that no matter what the rules say, the red apple teachers insist the blue-black-crits have jail cells with their names on them from the time they were pups (Ferguson, 2001).”

 “Now Professor, I remember you had me read Ogre Ogbu’s marble about the problems many black-crits face in education. He said many moons ago that the problem with blue-black-crits was that they didn’t have respected adult authority figures in their predominantly single pink-black-crits led families” (Ogbu, 1987, p. 171). “Who is right, Professor?”

 “Well Rabbit,” the Professor said, “while both Special Lens Fox and Ogre Ogbu have seen and held the Golden EDD, the Great and Grand Poobah of the Curriculum Plain did not pass out smartables with an eye toward equality. Special Lens has spent a lifetime in academia developing her special talent to find and identify racism-sexism-ism-ism where there is none. Her Holy Crayon Marble is constructed on antidotal information, not a scientific study. For example, the pink-crit First Lady of the Plain (FLOP) told a story about a visit she made to the market, “Can you reach on that shelf and hand me the detergent”…. I reached up, cause she was short, and I reached up, pulled it down — she said, ‘Well, you didn’t have to make it look so easy.’ That was my interaction. I felt so good,” said FLOP. The Professor continued, the next time FLOP told the story, it went like this, “The only person who came up to me in the store was a woman who asked me to help her take something off a shelf because she didn’t see me as the FLOP, she saw me as someone who could help her.” In other words, FLOP is a blackcrit and, therefore, a servant helper. “So the story changed to fit the circumstance, one day happy the next day racist. Nothing changed, but the focal length of the special lens. You see Rabbit; this special lens thing was created to prevent colorblindness. If you wish “specialcolortreatment,” (i.e., a basket of someone else’s carrots), you don’t want any colorblind critters. Else, they won’t notice how special you are.” FLOP is always quoting Ding-Dong-Bell and his ‘ass-insertation’ that “racism is an integral, permanent, and indestructible component of our society” (Bell, 1992, p. ix). “A lot FLOP knows and Ding-Dong as well, the elite proclamations of the Queen. In surmerizating, everybody is racist, and there ain’t nuttin gonna change. Every crit hates every other crit and so on and so forth.” the Professor said. “Fortunately, it is all just plains patties,” he continued. “Otherwise, the plains crits would fade away. Instead, white-crits adopt red-crits, marry brown-crits, and share charity with purp-crits. As I said, that Holy Crayon Marble is based on tales told by the boys on the corner. A sailor friend told me you can always tell when these stories are coming because they always begin the same way “Now listen, This is a no-shitter….”

Chapter Three

A wellread may be a poorlyread wearing a wellread jacket

My curriculum was heavily laden with books about racism. Book after book about the Irish, the Chinese, the Indians and dozens about the Blacks. The histories and the biographies were all very one-sided. They conclude that America is a racist country without rebuttal. That one-sidedness became a revelation to me, exposing the blatant bias and ignorance of my professors.

There was a great deluge this fall on the plain. The rains of resistance fell from the heavens like great globs of heavy cream. Thick and sticky, pulling my fur down into the Plain mud. There was Freire, Marx, English Lads, the New Jim Crow, and all manner of the new neopolitanliber-autism manifestos. We had one rain that was pure blue-black crittendom (Collins, Another Kind of Public Education, 2009) (Collins, Black Feminist Thought, 2000) (Ferguson, 2001) (Watkins, Black Protest Thought and Education, 2005) (Watkins, The White Architects of Black Education, 2001). A rabbit would think that it would not be necessary to play marbles with every published word of black plains hegemony. The rains were unabated all winter, the floors were treacherous with new marbles, and the amazing part was the way the plain’s dwellers turned out in yellow rain gear to redirect the surging currents away from the red apple core schoolhouses. A few drops seeped in, but the 3R’s were there to dry the flooring and keep the little crits safe from the mold that the thick goo might cause.

Professor, after that rain last fall, I began to reconceptualize my view of the curriculum plain. It seems to me that the Pists declare that every step a rabbit takes on the Curriculum Plain results in a splash in a muddy puddle. Rabbits cannot move without tripping over cold and shivering black-crits. Thus, every journey becomes a quest to find homes for little black-crits. It would be sad if so much of my time on the plain had to be spent looking for new burrows or better burrows or safer burrows for black crits. However, I have never tripped over a single black-crit, and I’m glad I haven’t because rabbits need time to dig their own burrows and gather carrots for winter; Winter, Oh Me…Carrots, Oh My … Professor, do rabbits grow carrots in the winter?

One thing I learned during the flood was that so many of the wonderfully well-read people I have met on the plain are not well-read at all. I hear a wellred say that they teach English literature to little crits. Still, they never read Huckleberry Finn or the Bell Curve because these marbles were raceleetist. They would never read Dinesh D’Souza because he had a kerfuffle with a malijoit.  Serres says, “all pedagogy takes upon the begetting and birthing of a child anew: born left-handed, he learns to use his right hand… born … French, … he travels and becomes Spanish, Italian, English, or German…  His mind resembles Harlequin’s iridescent coat” (Serres, The Troubadour of Knowledge, 1997, p. 49). Weaver uses Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein to explain that, “the concept of the master-scientist is eerily accurate yet woefully outdated while the scholar-scientist is desperately needed” (Weaver, 2010, p. 44). Whether we are teaching the left-handed about the right hand, the mad scientist to appreciate Liberal Arts or Huck Finn to the leftist; the wellred becomes, in fact, a poorlyred because without knowledge of the other half of the phenomenon, the poorlyred is, in reality, just a half-assed in a wellred jacket. If a scholar is to be a scholar on the plain, they must understand both sides of their body, the left hand and the right hand. Knowledge of any subject must be complete and passionate for both sides of an issue, anything less is hypocracy. Poorlyreads are posers like the very normal looking animal with an exceptionally large head who said he was left-handed and held his paper-scratcher with his right paw.

Figure 3

(Sharr, Pists Posts, 2021)

Chapter Four

Post-pists popping into posts

I found that many professors who have ‘poorlyred’ backgrounds begin to write crazy stuff. What does an object think about people? Let us do away with religious beliefs for all people. The world would be much better off without people. They publish the crazy stuff and make their students read it and students become ungrounded

“Professor, what are these?”

“Rabbit,” he said, “those are posts.”

“Posts,” I said. 

“Yes, Posts,” said the Professor. “We used to have a free and open plain as far as the eye can see. About twenty clansics ago, one of the Pists got really flustamagrated that nobody was listening to him, so he said, “I am rethinking everything I know (which was really very little), and I’m going to erect a big wooden post and write my very special thoughts on the post. My very special thoughts will be immoralized on the post and all who read my words will walk around and around, reading my words from top to bottom.”

“Professor, I tried that, and the words made me very dizzy as I hopped around the post.”  

“No matter,” said the Professor, “the post words make everybody dizzy.”

“Are they all different,” I asked.

Professor, “Not really, Rabbit, there was a Pist who believed that we should disregard all the philosophy that had been written from our crit perspective and look at things from a non-human or ‘real world’ perspective, no longer discussing everything from our make-believe world here in Curriculum Studies Land. We called him a Post-Pissed-Pists. His post is over by the swamp.” “You will notice that there are quite a few posts near the red apple core schools.”

Professor, “Many of the Post-Pissed-Pists-Pals Planted a Plethora of Purple Post Passages Pertinent Posts on the Pretty Picturesque Playground Pasture.”

Professor, “The crits are warned not to play near the posts, least they have an untimely meeting with a Jabberwocky or a Bandersnatch” (Carroll, Jabberwocky, 1871, p. Chapter 1). “Nowadays, there are so many posts on the plain that many of the Pists are injured by posts as they flit from one discipline to another discipline and become confused by the Post-Pissed-Pists post positions.”

A very famous curriculum fellow, while observing the Post-Pists popping into posts, exclaimed:

“if your head’s floatin’ off into some outer space dimension, or if your hoity-toity attitude’s pissin’ some people off, then you need to git back in touch with reality. “You need to bring it down a notch” is a little more civil than “Take the stick outta your ass, you shit-for-brains,” but it means the same thing” (Saldaña, 2014, pp. 976-980).

The Professor went on, “So you have to be careful when scampering around the plain in this day and age, in fact, if you want to dizzy yourself again, ask Alice if she will accompany you on your reading adventure. As well, make sure she brings her vorpal sword in case she needs to snicker-snack some dangerous E-Pists-co-Pole-Post-Christian Mephistophelian Baalberith or even a lowly borogove” (Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There, 1871)”.

“Wow, the Professor knows a lot of stuff; I never realized there was so much danger on the curriculum plain. Professor, what do rabbits eat in the winter?” I said. “I’m hungry.”

Chapter Five

Post-human is just more meadow muffins

In a nutshell, post humanism is the product of the nut’s shell. Just nuts. It is a desire of Pists to think about things from the non-human perspective. i.e. What does a hammer think of it’s user?

I think I am beginning to develop a new perspective about the Plain; the Plain was once open and free; war came to the Plain, and the Plain became littered with Frank-farts, Pists Posts, and crit-lens spies. Where once crits could laugh and play all day, they must be very vigilant and very, very quiet lest they awake an epithet ladened politicallyinsurrector. So, we are free to roam the Plain as long as we are very quiet and let the Posts do all the talking. We have to guard our carrots and, on occasion, get Alice and her vorpal sword to accompany us into the post regions. Now I know why all the woodland crits at home never spoke; they were afraid.

“Professor, the rabbit with the large head, said that post-imaginarycrits were just crits that were no longer 100% crit, like red fox with her monocle or you with your walking with a cane. They are like a part machine and part crit. All very well and very useful, I suppose. Then he started saying that a new breed of post-imaginarycrits want to be very anti-crit like you were saying about Post-Pissed-Pists. So here is my question, if post- imaginarycrits or Post-Pissed-Pists want to tell stories about things in-critable, how can they tell any story in crit-speak. Trying to tell a post-crit story in crit-speak is very hippo-crit-ical and full of plains patties. If Heidegger or Harman try and tell us about a hammer in English words instead of the hammer’s language, their position is still very human (Harman, 2002, p. 18). The only way to speak from a hammer’s perspective would be in a series of “bangs,” “thumps!” and “crashes!”. To speak from a hammer’s perspective in English words in just more humanism. Everybody knows hammers do not speak French or Spanish or even Hebrew.  As purple-crit said, “Although animal interiority may be out of reach, we can still attempt (it)” (Snaza, 2015, p. 53). Or as said by purple-crit, thinking like an animal ain’t possible and I add, then speaking post-humanism in English words is ludicrous.”

Chapter Six

Overboard

“Professor, I think there must be something wrong with black-crits? I don’t know what it is. Are they very stupid? Does their fur grow slower than other crits? Are there eyes so close together that there is no room for crit thinking? I used to teach before my quest for the golden EDD, and I do not remember black crits to flub-a-dub more than other students. I loved them all the same, and they learned math the same. Perhaps my memory, like my furry body, has changed while here on the curriculum plain. It just seems that almost every marble I read over at the Gruzia Academia claims to be about some deep and lofty subject and turns out to be another preponderousness of politicallyinsurrector theory. As I look over my marble collection from the academy, I have one pink marble, one red marble, six black marbles, and four mixed marbles (2 Cat’s Eyes, a Jupiter, and a Confetti). There aren’t but a few black-crits on the whole plain, so what is the big deal? I surmise black-crits must have a secret problem least they wouldn’t be the object of so many marbles. Is the Golden EDD hiding under a black cloak?”

The Professor said, “No, Rabbit, it is not hidden in a black cloak. A “think” called ‘many-cultures-ism’ has become the widespread response to the white porcelain bowl problem in academia (Tuck, 2013, pp. 72-89). White-crit academia thought that if one or two courses on black-crit issues were good, then many classes would be ideal. It was also an excellent way for each member of the Grazia’s academe to show everyone on the plain just how “down with the struggle” they really were. “However, the whitestream cannot include without occupying and making itself the center that encloses the other” (Richardson, 2011, p. 332). So the whitestream-in-academe ‘re-rit’ the ‘orgasm-of-studies’ to be more inclusive, so many-cultures-isms became mostly-black-cultures-isms so academes could be very proud of their inclusivity. 

Huuumm, …whitestream-in-academe, I can rhyme and discuss orgasms…I should go over to Los Morales and see if they need a privileged white-rabbit-raptor. <Insert laugh here>

“Professor, I was in class with eight black-crits and four white crits, and every black-crit was doing their dessert-oration on a black crit think. None of the white-crits were dessert-orationing on white-crit thinks. Should I forget changing the course of the raging math river and study a black-crit think?”

Chapter Seven

Imaginary stuff

“No, Rabbit,” the Professor said. “Stick with the river rapids reduction project. The black-crit dessert-oration situation is the latest Post-pist-project on the curriculum plain. Like all the post-work, it will be revealed as imaginary like the Bandersnatch.”

“What do you mean, imaginary, professor?” I said.

The Professor said, “By their own admission, all post stuff is fictional or imaginary. Post stuff was created to be everything re-examined from the perspective of anything not human. Inhuman or anti-humanism is the key to understanding the new philosophy. This imaginary perspective enables writers to wax eloquently about how the earth or the environment feels about the insidious human abuse of the world. How does Harmon’s hammer feel about the abuse man subjects it too and then tosses it out of sight (Harman, 2002, p. 19). What would Qualitative Analysis be if it were viewed from the perspective of man’s best friend? I pose this question specifically because Elizabeth St. Pierre never really names the perspective she believes the new analysis should come from; it should just be a new perspective (St. Pierre, 2014). This is also the reason for Brad Petitfils’ use of St. Pierre in his decentering discussion of humanism (Snaza, 2015, p. 34). As Nathan Snaza and John Weaver put it, “humanism ignores, obscures and disavows the real relations among beings and things that make up the stuff of the world” (Snaza, 2015, p. 1).  What does the rock by my foot really think of me? So the fatal flaw of post stuff lies in the statement that Marla Morris made; we cannot know what an animal, a vegetable, or a rock thinks or even if it thinks (Snaza, 2015). So do not worry too much about an imaginary fad; it also shall pass,” said the Professor.

Chapter Eight

The Caterpillar

“Professor, I met him, I met him,” I said. “Who did you meet Rabbit?” the Professor said. “I met that Caterpillar sitting on a toadstool, just like Alice said it would be!”

“What was he doing, Rabbit?”  

“Smoking dope, professor.”

“Did he have a hookah pipe?” Professor said.  

“No,” Rabbit said, “he rolls joints now, it is so much easier than the whole messy pipe and water thing. He says he buys his weed directly from a place called Herban Underground on Broadway in Denver, Colorado.

“Does he still write about math philosophy?” Professor asked.

“No, I don’t think so, he teaches and not very well if Rate My Professor is correct.”

They said, “This man is terrible. I would not recommend him. He is clueless and comes off as having no idea what he’s talking about. By far, the worst Professor I have had in my three years at Gruzia!!!” or “okay, so this class is easy, and you’ll probably get an A or a B, but this prof is not fun. he grades on his opinion not what you write..he liked me, so I got A’s on everything, but if he doesn’t like you (aka you disagree with what he thinks) then he will give you a B on an A worthy paper”[1] (2019 Cheddar, 2014)

Rabbit, “After reading my papers, “That is not said right,” said the Caterpillar…. `It is wrong from beginning to end,’…and there was silence for some minutes” (Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, 1865).

“A marble chip of Caterpillars wisdom on my paper. “This has no basis in reality and seems unnecessarily mean.  Why should only certain people have the benefit of money enough for recreation? Do you really think that people with disposable income now spend it in a way that fits with your morality?”  I’m pretty sure I won’t cherish any marbles from Caterpillar’s class.”

Chapter Nine

The secret halls

It became clear to me that the Department of Curriculum Studies is oppressive to women and people of color. 

“Professor, How long has it been since you visited the Gruzia Academia?

“Heap many moons,” said the Professor in his best red-crit.

“Were there a lot of fraidy-crits there so many moons ago?” I said.

The Professor, “No, there were many braves, strong and proud with the hearts of great bears. Why do you ask Rabbit?

Rabbit, “Because when I visit the Gruzia, the teachers all check the hall and close their door before speaking. They speak very quietly, so even my big ears have trouble listening. Remember how the Red School House teacher buried her head in the sand? Well, it is a lot like that at the Gruzia.  And another thing, they really prefer to meet off-campus, perhaps a burrow or in a swamp. I will tell you what I think; I think the politicallyinsurrectors have invaded the Gruzia and stolen the freedomofscreecheagle, and the teachers are forced into the Mascherade wearing a variety of Volto Morte masks. For sure, I am not going back in there without Alice and her vorpal sword. Otherwise, I’ll just be running around like a scared rabbit.”

“Rabbit, you might want to rethunk that,” the Professor said. “Remember that many beautiful flowers like Amanda-Camelia and Roses-Ross struggle every day in the Grazia fear, and they desperately need liberation.”

Chapter Ten

First indignantous furballs?

Rabbit, “Your speaking in red crit reminds me, Professor; I was listening to a crit called a Rat-it-cal a few days back. She said her name was Dr. Fang, do you know her?”

“Yes,” said the Professor, “I know her well. Kind of a round face with very sharp teeth,” 

“Yep, I said, “that is the one. She went on and on about a group of indignantous crits called First Furballs who were the first inhabitants of the curriculum plain before the crits took over.” Apparently, a long, long time ago, there were millions of furballs, and they were wiped out by just a few hundred very mean coloncleansing crits. It was so sad that she said we should pay repairconfiscations to the remaining furballs.”

 “Well, Rabbit, that’s called a new narrative,” the Professor said. “That means a new line of plains patties to get into your basket of carrots. You see, Rabbit, furballs lay claim to being the first inhabitants of the curriculum plain, hence the title First Furballs. However, the Plains Arkyoproctologists report that a large group of “Euro-peeings” were marking their territory on the curriculum plain long before the furballs ever set paws on the plain (Day, 2012). The Arkys commonly refer to these original plainers as the Eurethras who were direct descendants of one of the pairs of crits released on plains dry land by pitch-boat builder Noah.”

Rabbit, “Professor, what happened to the Eurethras? I have not met any on the plain in my travels.”

“That is the real sad story,” the Professor said. “About four kilosundials back, the first furballs rolled up on the plain and began to farm small pieces of plains outland. Their numbers grew, and the food grown here on the plain was so rich that the furballs grew to be large giant predators on the plain. Their peaceful farmer ways could not sustain their appetites, and they began to hunt as well as farm for nourishment. As it turned out, the furballs found the Eurethras delicious to eat and easy to track, because of their Euro-peeing trail marking habits. So, Rabbit, the simple answer is that the Furballs ate all the Eurethras. Of course, the decimation of the Eurethras dramatically reduced the Furball food supply, and they eventually returned to farming and stopped roaming the plain looking for Eurethras. This first furball famine made the fat furballs less ginormous and less threatening to all, as their diet was restricted once again to a vegan plan on the plain.”

“So you see Rabbit, First Furballs are really the Second Furballs, and they are responsible for killing off the true Indignantous crits, the Eurethras. Second Furballs are the real coloncleansing crits and deserve nothing in repairconfiscations from anyone. The new narrative is just a way to sneak more carrots from your basket.

Chapter Eleven

Sigmond’s Pist-Sacs

Professor Curriculum said, “Rabbit, did you see the news story on Crit-culum News Network? The Arky’s have discovered an entry into the subterranean grotto under the tumtum tree where Sigmund the Soothsayer lives. There is some secrecy about the activity there, as Sigmund was trying to explain away the tunnel as just a symbol of a vajayjay. At the same time, he waved his willy wildly with a wacky windmill winky.”

“Professor, have you been smoking some of Caterpillar’s Herban Underground?” said Rabbit. “No,” said Professor, “Perhaps we should take a stroll and see for ourselves.”

It was actually a hike to the tumtum tree; the Professor walks at a brisk pace, and of course, I hop, but it still took the better part of the day to get there. There was a wide yellow tape barrier around the place, and several arky’s in transparent suits that covered all their fur while working inside the border.

“What are they doing, Professor?”

“I’m not sure, said the Professor, “ but it looks like they are wearing those crit-tastic suits. I have heard of them; they are used to keep furts/farts out of their fur.

“Look Professor; we know that Arky, he was the one who told us about the Euro-peeings vanishing from the plain. Let’s ask him what is going on.” We wave, and our Arky friend comes over and asks what we are doing here? We say, “We heard that Soothsayer was hiding something, and we were curial as to what his big secret was.”

“Well, you didn’t hear this from me, but we think Soothsayer was running an underground Soylent Brown factory. Apparently, he had conjured the process to take the bodies of old dead anark-pissed and reconstruct them into new Pist Soylent Anarkpists or Pist-sacs for short. The process is so preposterbus that the new Pist-sacs look just like 3R’s teachers and professors. So far, the records show the creation of a half dozen new pist-sacs named, ‘W. ha C. ko’ Ayers, Angera Davis, Burn-a-dean Dorn, Tomb Haden, Kathmean Cleaver, Killy Boudin, and Cop Killer Chesimard.

Rabbit, “Oh my, Mr. Arky, are they still here?”

“No,” said Mr. Arky, “but we do have leads to follow to find them. Several are said to be over at the Gruzia Academia.”

“Wow, Professor Anarkpists at the Gruzia, oh me, oh my.”

We need a place to stay tonight before we start our journey to States.

Rabbit, “Arky, where are you guys staying?”

“We brought our dark time trailers with us, but we have no room for additional crits. You might try the Humpaton Inn in the burrow or the Radishon Hotel a few hops beyond the Tumtum tree near the slithy toves.”

“Thank you, Arky,” we said as we began our search for a sleepy place.

Chapter Twelve

Lily-white blue pist-o-crits revealed

The election of President Donald Trump had a traumatic effect on the liberal faculty at Georgia Southern. The pain of political rejection made the sensitivity to existing criticism even more stinging. A few voices on the left had been quite vocal in opposition to the exclusive whiteness and maleness of the elite leadership.

Professor, “Do you know Professor Stream-Jelly, or was it Lilly-pad…it was something all wet like that?”

“Yes, Rabbit, I believe it is Professor Pond, a nice fellow, continually active at the Grazia. Why do you ask?”

Rabbit, “Well, Professor, he said he saw a train, and that’s when he went bezerconium! He was crying and moaning and pulling his hair, and hollarin’ Woe is Me! Woe is Me! I think he even piddled in his panties. As he cried, he spoke of a long black train, very fast, very mean, very powerful…”

“Are you sure he didn’t get run over by Frankfurter? He looks like a train,” said the Professor. “No,” I said, “Professor Pond loves Frankfurter and all his little furts. I think he is having a nerd-bus breakdown! He needs a doctor! Where is a doctor…“Doctors, doctors everywhere on the plain but not a doc who thinks.”

Professor, “Do you think Sigmund the Soothsayer could help? He knows a lot about fixing those with penises in their ears; perhaps he could help?”

“Maybe, but he lives in that darn tumtum tree a thousand kilobeaters away,” I said, “There is no time for that, let’s see if Professor Pond can tell us more about this long black train.”

Rabbit, “Professor Pond, SHAKE, SHAKE, SHAKE. what did you see, what upset you, what did it look like, where was it?”

In tears, Professor Pond spoke of a long black train moving over the plain, mowing down Pissed-Posts, bouncing Pists out of the way by the bunches with a crit-catcher. The tracks were shiny crystal, and the bright white Illuminati blazing in front shimmered and burned the furt-fart’s fur for miles ahead.  Black choke-smoke poured out of the top, and it smelled like fossilcoal soaked in meadow-muffins. The noise, the noise, it disrupted the Plain, so loud, so loud, it hurt my ears.  Its sides were striped like a comet, and it was transparent because I could see the stars in the night sky. Big stars, huge stars. On top was a giant helmet like Curriculum Change has taken to wearing.

“Professor Pond, did you see where it was heading?” I said.

“Oh yes, it was headed right for the Queen’s Palace!”

“Oh dear, I said, “the queen will be upset and call out the axemen, including Curriculum Axe-bearer Whitlock.”

I slipped into hyperhop, and suddenly, the Queen’s Palace came into view. I saw at once Axe-bearer’s head on one side of the crystal tracks and her feet standing straight up in the air on the other side of the crystal track. Axe-bearer had been totally deconstructed by the train and had she lived, would have required serious reconstructist theory. The ground where I stood was shaking and rumbling as the ginormous train was streaking from sight. I reengaged my hyperhop, and off I went in pursuit of the monster. As I got closer, the stripes were red and white and the stars were bright white on a field of blue, and the helmet was bright red with letters that I could not read. Closer and closer, closer and closer, and white letters read MAKE THE PLAIN GREAT AGAIN.

“Away to the crit-catcher, I flew in a click, cause I knew at that moment it must be Sain’t Donald the Slick.”

Rabbit, “Professor, there is no need to locate Soothsayer Sigmund; I know exactly why Professor Pond was so hilariosterical.” Just as the Frankfurter came to train the Pists, The Sain’t Donald the Slick train came to crush the Pists and their kind, to drain the plain of Pist-Sacs and topple Pist Posts.

“Oh my, said the Professor, was anyone hurt?”

“Yes, I said, Axe-bearer is no more, her quest to reconstruct Christians has ended. Asses to asses and dust to dust!”

Professor, “What about Professor Pond, is there any hope?”

Rabbit, “I don’t think so Professor, the Sain’t Donald the Slick Train, brought with it a powerful truth-sayer; Rubensandwich of Canookplain (Rubén A. Gaztambide-Fernández)?”

“I haven’t heard of him,” Professor Curriculum said.

Rabbit, “Well, you do remember rabbit Pinar and the stuff he wrote about the plain and how it is everything, and I thought it could be about nothing?” 

“I sure do,” said the Professor, “rabbit Pinar always seemed to be a bit strange, perhaps not a blue-crit at all.” I said, “well Rubensandwich was singing a song about the Pinar theory of curriculum plains, and it went like this:”

“Ding Dong! Pist Witch is dead. Which old Witch? Pist Witch!

Ding Dong! The Old Pist Witch is dead.

Wake up – sleepy head, rub your eyes, get out of bed.

Wake up; the Old Pist Witch is dead on

the Curriculum Studies Plain?” [2] (Fleming, 1939)

I had to ask, “Oh dear is the rabbit Pinar dead? How did he meet his end? Did he flit about the plain and collide with a pist-post?”

“No,” said Rubensandwich, “he lost his soul in the white power of the curriculum studies leadership.”

“Who?” I said.

“Not a who,” said Ruben, “but the group who controls the Pists, they flit about on wings held aloft by wonderful thoughts of equality and fairness, but they are themselves lily-white-blue-crits. No diversity, no tolerance, no admission” (E. Tuck, 2013). The Pists are hypo-crits, every one of them, so the Pist Witch is dead.”

Rabbit, “But, Mr. Rubensandwich, I have met some wonderful pink-crits and pink-black-crits on the plain, and they are joyous to behold. There was Amanda-Camelia and Roses Ross, fairer flowers than I have ever seen. They flew about on those fairy wings of equality and fairness and never hurt anyone. They even tolerated me, a strange rabbit indeed. I’m sure they were not hypo-crits. Are they dead too?”

Rubensandwich, “No, they are not dead, but they live in a dead Pist witch’s shadow. Remember those fair flowers are pink crits, so the lily-white blue pist-o-crits will never admit them to the Senior Grazia club.”  

Chapter Thirteen

Schwanzkopt and the orgone

One of the ideas brought to the plain by Frankfurter was the sexual revolution. This is a side story about the originator of that Marxist concept. Wilhelm Reich was a real person and he died in Lewisburg Federal Prison on November 3, 1955.

One of the furt/farts Frankfurter foist onto the plain was an odd fellow with a pecker shaped head in a pink kitty hat named Retch or as most called him Schwanzkopt (Wilhelm Reich). Furt/fart Schwanzkopt was a student of Sigmund, the Soothsayer. Needless to say, Sigmund and Furt/fart Retch got along famously because Sigmund enjoyed great pride when handling his (or others) Willie. Together they closely examined and forniculated with patient after patient (Walsh, 2015, p. 146).  Schwanzkopt coined the phrase ‘sexual revolution’ and developed the “vegotheraphy” treatment where crits stripped bare bunny, and Schwanzkopt proceeds to breakdown the bodies’ “muscular armor” while chasing the perfect critgasm. Schwanzkopt preferred the use of the bulbous headed pink satyr squash for complete vego-massage enjoyment. I told the Professor that this was only the beginning of the forniculations that Schwanzkopt friculated on critdom. Schwanzkopt developed a critgasm accumulator that gathered “orgone” from each critgasm and saved it into a giant balloon (Reich, 1989, p. 148). Depending on the level of excitation of each critgasm, the color of the balloon changed as it enlarged. Frankfurter loved to travel the plain and inspect the Schwanzkopt collection of orgone balloons. He gave special praise to the balloons around the red apple core schoolyards. It seems that many teachers of little crits are particularly susceptible to the vegotherapy treatment. They would take their students on field trips to see the balloons and sometimes…well, let us not talk about that. That was one situation when the teacher had more than their head buried in the sand bucket.  “Nothing in the disciplinary action guide on this one, either.”

That rocked along without further adieu until Miss Vorpal Sword (Alice) heard about it, and wow did she get her Bitch On…”Mess with the Professors, mess with the teacher, mess with the Pists and the Pists-sacs but leave the little crits alone Schwanzkopt Rotten Bastu-balless-azho! And we could hear the sound of her Vorpal Sword Snicker Snacking balloons throughout the night, especially around the red apple core schoolhouse. The air was filled with orgone and Furt/farts, and Pists screams,  “I Felt This Thrill Going Up My Leg” (Shea, 2017). Apparently, orgone is floating, as a thin cloud of orgone rose into the sky, and so it remains today, the “orgone layer.” The orgone layer or orgone shield is a region of Earth‘s Stratos-rear that absorbs most of the Brightnshiney’s burzurple radiatio

Chapter Fourteen

Freedom of Screech

The very normal looking animal with an exceptionally large head said that it was a no-no to speak to a pink-crit as “honey.”

I told him that I love honey, as does Pooh, so why is it a no-no?

He said that calling a pink-crit “honey” was disparable and degrogatory.

I did not know what those words meant, so I said, “Everybody loves honey, it is sweet and golden and stricks to your tunsils and yummies your belly, it just rolls off your tungley, yummily, yummmmm!”

The very normal looking animal with an exceptionally large head just grumbled and said that using it might upend a snowflake and cause un-ir-rap-ar-able harm to the pink-crit. I told him he could call me honey anytime, and he seems disturbed; of course, he always seems a little troubled even if he was not talking about honey.

Anyway, I said, “that the upended snowflake might just have been clumsy,”

and he said, “No, that word clumsy is a no-no too.”

So, I asked, “If I call them clumsy and a honey will the snowflake be right-side up again?”

 He said, “No’.

So, I said, “That is just wrong!”

 And he said, “That word wrong is a no-no word too! He said you must say “differently logical” instead of wrong.”

I said, “Wrong! So, how many of my words are disparable?”

The very normal looking animal with an exceptionally large head, said, “thousands.”

And I said, “what, how many, thousands?” If there are thousands, then how many are not disparable?”

He thought a minute and said quietly… “all of them are disparable.”

 I ran…and ran…or hopped…not sure which…

Professor, Professor, Professor….. I explained my versation to the Professor, and he said calmly that the normal-looking creature with the large head is clearly a politicallyinsurrector, obviously trained by Frankfurter and his little furt/farts. They desire you to change the language, so we confuse others with what we say. For example, If you say “I had a gay old time at my family reunion,” and the creature with the large head changes the word gay to mean homotextual, then we hear you say that your family is homotextual! Your words have been politicallyinsurrected!

As I survey Frankfurter’s body of work, I am struck with the consistency of the philosophies as they relate to a single thread of political thought. That single thread has many names that many crits do not recognize immediately and rarely associate with the Frankfurt am Main. I list some of those names like proaggressive, libturd, Markist, Markist-Lemonist, Starlingist, communazi, socialust, politicallyinsurrector, fairless, in-toler-pants, and sexular. The most all-inclusive term might be Critical Thiests.

 I am surprised at the variety of names associated with the Frankfort am Main philosophy. There must be a deeper meaning to the necessity to change personas like a chameleon. I am reminded of the message in George Orwell’s book Animal Farm as the words change ever so slightly. However, Orwell’s words changed the message (Orwell, 1996). Our School words change as well, but the philosophy remains the same. This change seems to be much more insidious, more like Satan choosing a beast for its image to be the beguiler to the innocent Eve:

From John Milton’s Paradise Lost

“Consider’d every Creature, which of all
Most opportune might serve his Wiles, and found
The Serpent suttlest beast of the Field.
Him after long debate, irresolute
Of thoughts revolved, his final sentence chose
Fit Vessel, fittest Imp of fraud, in whom
To enter, and his dark suggestions hide
From sharpest sight: for in the wilie Snake,
Whatever sleights none would suspicious mark,
As from his wit and native suttletie
Proceeding, which in other Beasts observ’d
Doubt might beget of Diabolic pow’r
Active within beyond the sense of brute.” (Lanzara, 2009, p. 290).

I suspect that Frankfurter’s desire to stay invisible and operate under many aliases is similar to the Foucaultian sovereign power’s desire to remain hidden behind a wall of disciplinary societal overseers who implement the sovereign will.  This is Frankfurter’s first cloaking device (Wise, 1979).  “What’s a cloaking device, Professor?”

“Never mind Rabbit,” Professor said, “so-nice-it to say that Politicallyinsurrectors want to hide their true intent, have us look one way while they “borrow” some of our carrots from our basket.” I said, “so Politicallyinsurrectors asp-desire to morph our language into a new language that few understand.” The Professor added, “That makes it very difficult to communicate our ideas on the Curriculum Plain, leaving the Critical Theists the only voice to be heard.” 

Unfortunately, Furt/fart, Herbart Excuse’s tolerance is at peak accep-o-loveliness; politicallyinsurrection has limited screech in critdom, busy-places, and Grazia to the point that freedom of screech is in question (Walsh, 2015, p. 44). Tolerance and Georg Pist-sac cultural destruction are evident throughout the Curriculum Plain (Walsh, 2015, p. 72). Georg Pist-sac was more interested in the complete destruction of culture and the concept of an individual.  “He wrote of the necessity of an Aufhebung der Kultur—an abolition of culture, specifically Judeo-Christian Western Culture” (Walsh, 2015, p. 72). Things like a crit-famunit in a Sunday School class should cease to exist.

Rabbit “Well, Professor, that sure explains why the 3Rs went to war to retake the red apple core schoolhouses from the Pists.”

Chapter Fifteen

Ants in The Face and The Baby Lima Means

The plains become infested with the Resistance

Curriculum Change and Alice were picnicking by a slow-moving pool on the banks of the math river. Curriculum Change was musing about a time before the Pists wars. There were no children in the red apple core schools trying to forniculated in class; no Pists-Posts were obscuring the landscape; there were few if any E-Pistsco-Pole-Post-Christian Mephistophelian-Baalberiths. If an Anarchist died, they were just unpleasant memories.

Suddenly, Curriculum Change yelped, “Ouch.” “Ouch” again and again… She stood up and brushed off little dots from her face and garland maille. A closer examination showed that the culprits were little black ants with red spots shaped like a square. So curious. Alice drew her vorpal sword, but it was no use against such a small evil little monster like an ant. In an instant, Alice says, “Be quiet Curriculum, very quiet.” Curriculum froze and said nothing, not even a whimper of pain. The ants began to withdraw from Curriculum and return to the Math riverbank. Alice and Curriculum quickly gathered their baskets and left the riverbank in a hurry. Away from the river and far from the ants, Curriculum said: “Ouch, what were those nasty things.”

“Well,” said Alice, “I have heard about them but never encountered any before. Theyoriginal from the Math river bottom scum suckers and have evomorphed into a nasty ant-like form. They are called ants in the face or Antifa for short and they bite when they encounter freedom of screech.  They heard you talking about the days before all forms of evilishous pistoffers roamed the Curriculum Plain when the Golden EDD was very open and forthright and often seen on the plain. They want the Pists and the Pist-sacs and the Critical Thiests to be the only talky-faces on the Plain.”  Alice said, “Screw that, I’m gonna need a Nano-tech Vorpal Sword so I can snicker-snack their little willies off, bite me you little insect furt/farts, and you will regret it! Let’s go see the Professor about a new Sword.”

Meanwhile, out on the plain near a broken Pist-Post by the Grazia, rabbit searched for the Golden EDD, “nope, not under there, not in this pile, not on that Post, hop, hop, hop, not here or there,

“It’s everywhere but nowhere,” huuum, what is this,”

Rabbit was standing near a field of marbles, probably washed up from the rains of resistance that fell from the heavens like great globs of heavy cream and had to be diverted from the red apple core schools.

There were hundreds of marbles tightly packed, and seedling had begun to grow from the soil. Further down the edge of the marble field, large green stalks were broadly leafing toward the sun. This must be a pure blue-black crittendom garden, perhaps from the new neopolitanliber-autism manifesto of wisdom. On the stalks were round little green beans shaped like a fat kidney-part. There was something written on the beans that I couldn’t make out, so I whisked out my magnifantizing glass and leaned in close to the bean and read PRODUCT OF PERU. I pawed the bean gently to make it easier to read and snap! The bean bit me!

“Oh My Great Grand Poobah, the bean bit me!” Rabbit exclaimed. “I saw its teeth through the magnifantizing glass.”

 “Hummm, I have heard that before; where was it “Through the Magnifantizing Glass?” 

“What are you, beans?” I said. The beans spoke in unison, “we are Baby Lima Means from Peru, what’s it to you? Silly rabbit stew, getaway, you shrew!”

“Wow,” said Rabbit, “talking biting beans from Peru called Baby Lima Means, I gotta get out of here…wait till I see the Professor.” Hop, hop, hop…

Rabbit, “Professor, I was searching for the Golden EDD and found a group of plants called the Baby Lima Means over in a black marble pile near a red schoolhouse.”

“Never heard of them, Rabbit,” said the Professor, “let’s see what the Giant Grazia Library Shooter Marble has to say about them.” Search, page, page, page…

“I hope someday this library will have an auto-mating thingy finder. Here it is, Rabbit.”

Baby Lima Means: a modern strain of the early black panther peas found in Lima, Peru. They are aggressive and violent. BLMs are known to associate with Pist-sacs and Critical Thiests. Previous strains of BLMs were thought to be smuggled to the Curriculum Plain by a Herr Frankfurter from Frankfurt am Main’   They attack in groups, chanting all manner of slogans Examples; “Dead Crops now” “Fry em up in a Pan,” “Lunching of White People.” If encountered, call the Critdom Center for Dis-ease Control! Emergency number 1 800 WENOHELP.

Knock, knock, knock, came a knocking at the burrow door. I opened it, and there was Alice, mad as a wet crit, screaming about needing the Professor to forge a Hattori Hanzo Sword (Tarantino, 2004).

“Come in, Alice,” the Professor, “We are delighted to see you.”

Alice came in and sat down; she told us the whole biting insect story explaining that what she really needed was a nano-tech version of her Vorpal Sword to do battle with the Ants in the Face. “All of you come with me,” said the Professor. We went to the back of his burrow, where he had a large wardrobe. The Professor opened the door and stepped in, calling us to join him. Alice was hesitant as she was already using her shrinking power to move about in the burrow but now stepping into a wardrobe. I held her hand, and we stepped in. The wardrobe door closed, and a loud clanking sound began, it also rumbled and we bounced. We were going down! Deeper into the depths of the burrow basement, which seemed to have no end. Boom, we stopped, and when the door opened, the bright light was blinding. There were tables with beakers and bottles, machines with wiggled glowing lines and sparkles jumping from globe to globe. The room was cold and smelled like brightening on a stormy night. I could not help wondering if it smelled like Schwanzkopt’s Orgone.

The Professor said, “Welcome to my laboratory, you two are the first to visit. I suspect we will need the use of these tools to create a formidable Sword for Alice. You see, Alice; this is where your Vorpal Sword was crafted. Here is the machine that made your sword. “Before me was a metal machinickanism that would be a steam-pucks happi-bliss-joy. Pipes of all colors, polished pulleys, iron wheels, whirly flappers with whistles, gauges, and rivets galore. Wow, Professor,” I said. The Professor began turning a large brass crank, and clanking started as an iron door began to open…

We stood back as a hot flame leaped from the opening…

The Professor took a block of clear-Understandium from a shelf and, using gargolian tongs, placed the block inside the door, closing it behind…

“Wow, Professor, that was hot.” “Oh yes,” he said, “We need to excite the Understandium molecules, which makes them jumpy and flourescive to make it plyguey for a sword.” Suddenly we heard pounding noises loud like a Sain’t Donald Train but not so continuous just boom, boom, boom… and whirs and snick sounds, and then a shiny silver thing moved slowly out of the machine on a conveyor belt. The lights made it flicker like brightening. Alice and I had a little shiversome of fright.

The Professor said there is nothing to worryfraidy about and presented the new little sword to Alice and said that he called his proud creation a “rapier adept at insect destruction,”

“Alice, this little sword is sharper than the Vorpal Sword, so I have included with this sword, this swordhouse (which looked to me like an asparagus can) you need only point the swordhouse  at the insects and press the latch.”

Alice was delighted and took her new little sword, and in big black Crayola letters she wrote its name on the scabbard. The letters R.A.I.D. were clear on the shiny swordhouse.

With that, we returned to the wardrobe and “laying his finger aside of his nose, and giving a nod up the chimney (we) rose.” (Moore, 1823). I shewed Alice to the door, and away she ran with a pair of Vorpal swords likened to none.

I turned to the Professor and said: “Wow, that sword was cool, but how shall we discombobulate the Baby Lima Means?”

The Professor said, “that he had been thinking about that and was still pondering, cogitating and comiserablating…I have an idea, but it will require some magic…”

Oh, this became curiouser and curiouser. Magic…oh my.

Professor, “My idea is to use the natural tendency of the Pists to hide and change to solve the bean de ‘lima.’  All we need to do is water the marbles with red and white striped candy cane flavored rains of resistance that you collected last spring in the big barrel by your States-borrow. The beans will be coated in sweet red and white striped candy, and the little plains crits will eat them like the day after Halloscream,

What a delightful way to get the little crits to eat their vegetables!”

Rabbit, “Wow, all we need now is a giant watering thingy.”

Rabbit, “I found one Professor, Alice had one from a time many agos when she had a garden. It is beautiful. It is dark green with a big brass handle and a long spout with a big distribu-holey thing on the end.”

“Great,” Professor said, “but we will need to take the distribu-holey thing off because the rains of resistance were thicky-sticky and would cloggull the distribu-wholy thingys.”  

Professor, “Bring the watering thingy and let us go; there is no time to lose.”

As we hurry-bustled to the Burrow to fill the garden thingy, Professor exclaimed, “No time to say hello, goodbye, I’m late, I’m late”! (Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, 1865)

“Wow, that was a fun run, professor,” as I headed for the rain barrel. The Professor took the can and drew a small vial from his pocket. He popped the top off with his teeth and poured the sparkly stuff into the can, “Now fill it up, Rabbit.” And so I did, and as I filled it, I could hear the can gurgle and bump and make silly sounds like pop and snackel.

“Professor, would you go with me to water the Baby Lime Means?”

“Of course,” the Professor said, “there should be no danger because the watering can has a long spout so we will not need to get too close to the Lima meanies.” So, to the Grazia, we went, and as we approached, the tall green stalks were beautiful in the sunshiney. We hopped the short distance to the marble gardens and watered them thoroughly.

“Wow, Professor, they are beautiful; just look at them, they are bright red and white striped and shiny like the starkels.” “I want to eat one,” I told the Professor, but he said he didn’t think that was a good idea and didn’t know what would happen if you swallowed one whole without chewing, it might bite your tongsils.

“Oh my, I’m sure I don’t want my tongsils bitten, but how will we know if the crits from the red apple core schoolhouse like the tasty treats?”

Professor, “We will know Rabbit by the color of new plains patties…”

I laughed and made a wet spot …I knew the Professor was right.

Chapter Sixteen

The Professor’s Song

Rabbit, “So strange Professor, I saw Professor Pond in a very unusual costume. He was wearing a white jacket that had sleeves much too long for his arms. The sleeves wrapped around his back and were tied together in front with metal buclets. Do you think he was freezing and needed extra long sleeves?  I think he was happy because he was singing at the top of his lungs.  He sang:

“Raise the (Pist) flag! The ranks tightly closed!
The (CT) marches with calm, steady step.
Comrades shot by the (Red Apple) Front and reactionaries
March in spirit within our ranks.
Clear the streets for the brown battalions,
Clear the streets for the storm division!

Millions are looking upon the Antifa full of hope,
The day of freedom and of bread dawns!
For the last time, the call to arms is sounded!
For the fight, we all stand prepared!
Already (CT’s) banners fly over all streets.
The time of bondage will last but a little while now!
Raise the (Pist) flag! The ranks tightly closed!
The (CT) march with quiet, steady step.
Comrades shot by the Red Apple Front and reactionaries,
March in spirit within our ranks.” (Wessel, 1928)[3]

Professor, “Well, Rabbit, it must be a very dark day for Professor Pond; it sounds like he may be headed to a re-education facility or konzentrationslager. His symptoms sound like he has contracted TDS or Trump Destrangement Syndrome. I’m sure Frankfurter will take good care of him.”

Rabbit, “Well, professor, that explains a lot.”

Figure 4

(Sharr, Fuzzy Carrot Coveters, 2021)

Chapter Seventeen

The Story of the Fuzzy Carrot Coveters

A discussion of Illegal Immigrants on the Curriculum Plain.

Roaming the halls of Grazia, it is hard not to notice the cutest little balls of fur that you have ever seen. They run and play games like hide and seek. They smile and laugh like baby crits. They will grab your paw and hang on for a ride and kiss you goodbye. The Grazia loves them and welcomes them into class and even opens the cafeteria to them. They don’t eat much, and they never tire of helping the professors. Momma and Daddy fuzzys love the little fuzzys and make lots of them.

Open a cabinet door at the Grazia, and a dozen fuzzys roll out. Alice opened the door to her hollow tree, and hundreds of fuzzys spilled out; they are everywhere and perhaps nowhere. I need to find Rabbit Pinar and see if he knows about the everywhere but nowhere fuzzys. I am sure he will understand everywhere and nowhere. But where shall I look for him, he is known to flit about on wings held aloft by wonderful thoughts of equality and fairness? Ponder, ponder, where would Lilly-white-blue rabbits dwell.

Rabbit, “Any ideas, professor, where could I find Rabbit Pinar?”

Professor, “My guess is to look for the tallest pist posts, as I recall he and the very normal looking animal with an exceptionally large head often philosodemise with each other.”

Rabbit, “Huuuuuummm, Alice would know she is all about the plain, and I know right where to find her. She will be along the banks of Math River with her new Vorpal Sword rocking the Antifas world. The Grazia is on the Southside of the plain, and the Math river ends near Interstraight 16 at No-na-me pond. That is where Alice will be trying out her sword.”

Professor, “That’s quite a ways; better take some carrots in your basket, so you don’t famsquish.” Rabbit, “Good idea, Professor, dig, dig, dig in the carrot cellar, and huuummm here’s a carrot and one over here, where are all my carrots? Oh well, I have enough for today, and I’ll see the professor and borrow some later.”

Hop, hop, hop, hop, hop, hop, hop, hop, hop, hop, hop, hop…..

Hop, hop, …

What is that funny smell? Is it the fog by the river bottom? Then what did I see at the top of my bounce but the bright blue dress and the white pinafore of Alice moving through the fog?

“Hi, Alice!” I said, and she said,

“Rabbit? What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” I said, “and I see you are walking on a foggy day by the river.”

“She said that’s not fog, it is little nano swords floating over the riverbed. Look around, and you will find the little Antifas lying very still, in fact, very dead by the water edge.” I looked and sure enough; Rabbit sang;

“River bed,

very dead,

lost their heads,

spots of red,

nothing to dread,

little to be said,

as for remorse, not a shred.”

“Wow, Alice, the little Vorpal Sword really works!”

“I’ll say,” said Alice, the Vorpal Sword snicker-snacks their little heads off. This is more fun than the Jabberwocky, with its eyes of flame!” (Carroll, Jabberwocky, 1871)

“So why were you looking for me, Rabbit?” said Alice.

“I need to find Rabbit Pinar; Professor thinks he may be philosodemising with the normal-looking animal with the very large head near the tallest Pist Posts.”

“That’s easy,” said Alice, “there is a thicket of pist posts near the headwaters of the math river. The plains patties and meadow muffins were so thick there that it was easy to plant pist posts. Why do you seek Rabbit Pinar, Rabbit?”

“I’m trying to find out where the fuzzy little balls of fur come from, and Rabbit Pinar may know.”

“I dunnknow Rabbit; I thought all those things came in by stork,” said Alice. “Good luck on your journey, don’t forget carrots, you may get hungry.”

Rabbit, “Bye, Alice, thanks.”

“Too bad, I’m not a trout fish, so I could just swim to the headwaters of the math river,” I said to myself.

The journey was long, and it was getting dark, and the fraidyfrights were bristling my fur….  So, I quietly began to cluck……

“The Great and Grand Poobah of the Curriculum Plain is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He maketh me to lie down in small burrows: he leadeth me beside the Math river.

He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of the essentialists for his name’s sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley in the shadow of Pists Posts, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; Alice’s Vorpal Sword comforts me

Thou preparest a table of carrots before me in the presence of repairconfiscationists: thou anoints my fur with oil; my cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall lead me to the Golden EDD in the days of my life. ….”

And like “poof”….

It was daybreak, and I was at the head of the Math river.

The ground was very soft and smelled like meadow muffins with just a hint of furt/farts. I was lucky to have very wide and long feet, or I might have sunk into the smush. Of course, being light like a bunny, that did not happen, and I perused the area. My long ears became aware of sounds to my right and as I followed the sound, I could hear voices, voices high in the sky, voices telling each other how smart and intelligent they were.  Behold, two figures were sitting on top of the two tallest Pist Posts I had ever seen, and then I knew, here was Rabbit Pinar and a very normal looking half-assed not-so-wellred animal in a wellread jacket with a very large head.  “Hello, I said, how did you two get up there?”

Rabbit Pinar said, “not a problem; we just climbed up on the backs of our peers Pist Posts. We are, after all, the leaders of the Pist movement, and therefore we do not need to be humble.”

“Great, I think?” I said, “Rabbit Pinar, where do fuzzys come from?”

“What Rabbit? said Pinar. Fuzzys?

So, Rabbit Pinar began his story. “There once was a fellow named Richard Nikolaus Eijiro, Count of Coudenhove-Kalegi from Austro-Hungary. We can call him Ridickulaus for short. Ridickulaus understood that for Karl Miz D’Marks to be successful, he needed a cultureless society. Hence, his ridickulaus idea was to dilute all cultures through unlimited illinjection to make the original culture unrecognizable and the replacement culture, a chaos of diversity in need of a despotoppressor.  Ridickulaus founded the Pan-Europa Bowel Movement (Pee-BM for short) and created an award to dishonor his followers called the Charredremains Prize. Even old Sigmund, the Soothsayer, was a follower. Yes, willy lovers of a feather flock together.”

Rabbit, “OK, I get it Rabbit Pinar, Ridickulaus recommended cultural destruction by diversity or cultural damnation. But where do fuzzys come from?”   

“They come from ‘it doesn’t matter’; everywhere but nowhere, in particular, they are well hidden, or out in the open, they are hungry and very adept at stealing your carrots without you noticing,” said Pinar. “They have been planted all across the curriculum plain by Frankfurter using European Daucus in Carota Insidious Seed (EDICIUS), growing everywhere, but nowhere in particular. EDICIUS are like Pists; they are everywhere and also nowhere. Fuzzys, as you call them, are very difficult to find if they do not want to be found, they hide in plain sight.”

Rabbit, “So, Rabbit Pinar, Fuzzys can hide, and there is no way to find them?”

Rabbit Pinar, “Right Rabbit, I’ve heard through the Pist-post-vine that like Medusa, you can find EDICIUS by looking at their reflection in a mirror.”

“They are easy enough to see in the Grazia,” I said, “why do they hide?”

“Because they are hungry, and they love to lunch in your basket,” said Rabbit Pinar.

“Well, thank you, Rabbit Pinar, for the information on Fuzzys; what will you and the very normal looking half-assed animal in a wellread jacket with a very large head be doing here in the tall Pists-posts?”

“Oh, said Rabbit Pinar, “We are playing a game like the “dozens” only we just tell each other beautiful words of praise until we become puffed up drunk with arrow-gallants, and then we fall off the posts. See you later…”

Back in States-burrow….

I stood in Professor Curriculum’s door and called to the professor, “Hello Professor, I’m hungry, and I’m all out of carrots, do you have any to spare?”

“Sure, Rabbit take all you want; they are in the yellow basket in the cellar,” the Professor said.

It’s cold down here, sure glad I have my winter fur coat…I see the yellow basket, but there are no carrots in it, nothing but a few tufts of fur.”

“Are you sure?” said the Professor, “try looking in the corner by the celery.”

Rabbit, “Nope, not there, either.”

Professor, “Huuummmm, maybe I ate them all; I can be a little absent-minded, you know.” “We can go over to the Statesboro co-op silo and restock, bring the wheelburrow,” and off we go. “I’m so hungry, I’m almost hangry,” I told the Professor.

When we reached the co-op, several crits were working on the door to the silo.

“What are you doing, the professor asked?”

The first crit said the door was jammed, and they had been waiting for carrots since the dawn’s early light. About that time, the door sprang open, knocking two crits a winding, and with the door opened, fuzzys came spilling out, hundreds of them like a whole silo full of fuzzys.

Fuzzys, fuzzys everywhere, and everywhere did stink…pee ewe!

“Quick,” said the co-op caretaker, “Check the other silos,” and sure enough, the doors were stuck on every silo….

Co-op caretaker, “Oh dear, oh dear, I fear, I fear, no carrots here, no carrots here, or here, or here, oh dear, oh dear…”

Rabbit, “Wow, look, Professor, there must be eleven million fuzzys here and no carrots!”

“Yes, Rabbit, the fuzzys do love carrots,” the professor said. “guess we should be thankful they don’t like celery, beets or lettuce least we would all starve.”

Chapter Eighteen

The Lost Plain

I found it disconcerting that Dr. Lake lost my class enrollment for two semesters in a row and failed to step up to my program chair position. Effectively this removed me from enrollment in the Georgia Southern Doctorial Program.

Rabbit, “Professor, I need your advice on my Golden EDD search plan. The Grazia administerated my EDD entry exam, and I passed with flying funnies.

My highchair was Dr. Sun’s Ray, and my booster seats were Dr. Roses Ross and Dr. Pond. Little did I know that Dr. Sun’s Ray was approaching hibernation time. As sleep overcame Dr. Sun’s Ray, he conscripted Dr. Pond to ascended to my highchair. So, with little plump and circumference, Dr. Pond ascended to my highchair, or at least I thought he did. Apparently, during the period of Dr. Pond’s paralysis-berzerconium-nerd-bus breakdown, he did not renew my EDD searcher’s license, and the Grazia is insisting that I re-enroll. All very muddle-puddling to me, fuzzys are welcome everywhere on the Curriculum Plain, and I need a H2-A, EDD searcher’s license.”

Chapter Nineteen

The Fall of the Fuzzys

Rabbit, “Professor, fuzzys never asked me if they could have my carrots, did they ask you?”

“No, they did not,” said the Professor. “I wondered when you would get around to asking me that question, do you think they asked our neighbors for the carrots they had in the co-op silos?” Rabbit, “So, Professor, the fuzzys steal everyone’s carrots?”

“That’s right, Rabbit. They steal everyone’s carrots; well, almost everyone’s carrots…”

“What do you mean, almost everyone’s carrots?” I said.

“Well Rabbit, the Pists and the Pist-sacs do not allow fuzzys in their burrows or their silos, and of course fuzzys can’t reach Pists Posts so Pists keep all of their carrots and expect the crit-landers to feed the fuzzys any way they can.”

“That’s just wrong,” I said, remembering my wrong ‘wrong’ discussion with the normal-looking rabbit with the exceptionally large head.

“Yes, remember Herbart Excuse (Herbert Marcuse), it is all about repressive in-toler-pants.

 The Pists are very toler-pants of fuzzys, and we are in-toler-pants of fuzzys if we don’t give them our carrots,” said Professor Curriculum (H. Marcuse, 1969, p. 95). “Simply put, in-toler-pants is a guiding principle of proaggressive thought, which I describe as toler-pants for me but not for thee.”

“Professor, we need help; there is no way the crits on the plain can grow enough carrots for an endless supply of fuzzys. We need a powerful solution on the plain to help grow enough carrots for everyone or stop fuzzys from eating all of our carrots. If we don’t, there will be a lot of fat fuzzys and hungry crits this winter. We must remember crits cannot live by lettuce alone, but by every word, and the word is carrots!”

 “We need an audience with Sain’t Donald the Slick. He will know what to do because he has already kicked a bunch o Pists-azhos, Furts/Farts, and Pist Posts off the plain.”

“Hey professor, what do you call a carrot that is older than 12? A Carotene!… happy, happy, Professor!”

“And if older than 12 and wants to vote for O’Rourke? Yep, Beto Carotene.

“Uuuuugh,” the Professor sighed.

Rabbit, “OK, OK, I’ll stop, lettuce proceed…(punch)…ouch, that cane hurts!

“Wow, look at the sunbright, glimpting on the crystal rails!”

 Sooooo beautimusjestic. I stood in the shadow of Sain’t Donald’s round helmet, and all I could do was smile. The Professor introduced himself and then introduced me, a lost plain’s rabbit of no particular ‘flame or disproportion.’

The Sain’t began to speak, “How, can I help you little fellars today?”

I spoke up and said, “We have Fuzzys, fuzzys everywhere, and everywhere does stink…pee ewe!” “What to do, what to do!” “Our carrots are few, winters coming too.”

Sain’t Donald lightly sounded his whistle, and we jumped!

Boing!!

Sain’t Donald said that his Laundry Cabinet had been washing this problem around in their cleaning drum, and the solution is just coming out of the dryer.

They say the way to the cleanest reduction in fuzzys is to find and liberally apply the proper gibberellic acid signaling repressor to the European Daucus in Carota Insidious Seed EDICIUS to prevent germination  (Gough, 2008). I said, “Where would we find gibberish-smartellic a-sid sinus-king re-compressor?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” said Sain’t Donald, “you just need rabbits to pee on the seed; rabbit pee is a great gibberellic acid. The hard part is finding the seed.”

Rabbit, “I’m sure Frankfurter has hidden the seed in a most devilish tomb, and worser, we can’t see the seed without a mirror. Therefore, we will need an army of crits to spread out over the plain, find the seed, and unacidimoneously pee on them.”

Rabbit, “We can call our army the Threats to Undermine Pisters or

“TRUMPSTERS.”

Rabbit, “So, let’s round-up our Trumpster army!”

Saint Donald the Slick, “You can use a few pieces of my ‘behind-me’ crystal rails for mirrors. I never back up anyway, so I won’t need them.”

I went right to work with the Professor; we needed pieces of crystal and volumpteers of all sizes and red hats with Make the Plain Great Again (MPGA) letters for uniforms. We rang the red schoolhouse bells, and crits came from far and wide to help with the search and get a free MPGA hat. Some even brought their Big Wheels to speed up their travel. We had many, manys crystal mirrors, enough for every crit to carry one. Sain’t Donald gave us a rousting slick off screech, and then he handed out little red, white and blue sticks that read INSTRUCTIONS: throw in air when happy and off we went to search every cubby-hole on the plain. Hoooooray! Happy Day!

Some went to No Name pond,

Some to the Tum Tum tree,

Some to the tall Pist Post forest at the headwaters of the Math River,

Some to the Queen’s castle,

Some to the slow waters where the ANTIFA lived (Alice went with them),

Some to the Carrot silos,

Some to the Red Schoolhouses,

Some to the States-burrows,

Some to the Grazia,

Some to the Lost Morales,

Somewhere and everywhere and nowhere, over there……

The search was about the funnerest thing I had done since arriving on the Plain, lots of crit friends and the Professor just walking together on the Plain, no fear of Pists or BLMs or nutin, just being in the brightland wif everyone. We were getting tired as we approached the Tum Tum tree, and I told the Professor that I wanted to look in the subterranean grotto that the Arky’s found, where Sigmund the Soothsayer created the Pist-Sacs.

The steps were still wrapped in yellow Arky tape, but it was easy to remove. It made fun streamers to run and play with. At the bottom of the stairs was a large room where Anark-pists were created, but the place was empty now. The Professor pulled out a small bright white Illuminati and played it around the room. “Nuttin in here,” I said. The Professor said, “Don’t be so impatient, Rabbit, remember we have to look in the mirror.” “Oh yeah, Professor, here is the crystal mirror. What do you see?” The Professor took the mirror and peered into the Illuminatied area and said nothing; he just stared.

Rabbit, “What is it, Professor?”

The Professor said, “It is a bunch of large brown bags labeled with a word.”

Rabbit.” “Read it, Professor, what does it say?”

Professor, “The labels say

S.U.I.C.I.D.E……

“Oh me,” I said, “Suicide that makes no sense.”

Professor, “Oh, yes, it does, Rabbit. You see, looking in the mirror makes the word appear backwordsways, the word actually reads EDICIUS! These are the European Daucus in Carota Insidious Seeds, and the message is clear: Allowing unlimited fuzzys will lead to our demise.  Suicide will be our end. I sure hope you have been staying well hydrated cause we will need a lot of unhydration to demise this ‘bad seed’……”

Whizzing sounds and more whizzing sounds…

“Wooooo, wow, I feel lighter and very pleased!” as I water the seed.  

“Me too,” said the Professor. Let’s throw a red, white, and blue stick in the air…wheeeee there it goes….POW! Stars exploded in the air over the Curriculum Plain.

Rabbit, “Look, Professor, stars are in the air over there and over there and everywhere.”

“Professor, what will happen to the fuzzys already on the Plain.”

Professor, “I suspect that they will disapperish, Rabbit.”

Rabbit, “Why is that, Professor?”  

“Well, said the Professor, just as you and I will secure our carrots when they sprout in the spring, all other crits will do the same.  Take away other people’s carrots, and the Fuzzys will most likely disapperish. Some may find land and farm their own carrots, but because they are unwelcome notreturnborrowers, that outcome is doubtful. It is sad, but we must remember we have narrowly avoided crit famine across the plain.”

“We also need to remember that it was Sain’t Donald the Slick who develpinvented the solution to the potential crit famine disassedher.”

Rabbit, “So, Professor, how will we keep our carrots safe when the new harvest comes in?”

Professor, “I think a fuzzy blower will make an excellent pretection device. All we need to do is mount a mirror behind the carrot basket. Then, we focus a crit-lens on the mirror and adjust the crit-lens focus to identify notreturnborrowers; once crit-lensed, it turns on a fan and blows the fuzzys into the ejection chute and throws them up into the air over to Frankfurter’s house so he can feed them.”

Rabbit, “Easy-peasy, lemon squeezy!

Flying Fuzzys in the Breezy! 

He, He, heezy!”

Chapter Twenty

Finding the Golden EDD

Rabbit, “Professor, I think I may know where the Golden EDD is; I don’t think it is a thingymagic to be unclovered but a positospective on life. You see, the Grazia Academia is a place of learning, and many of the crits we meet are teachers. There seems to be muchodisorder to the things that the people at the Grazia villifficate. They extrarouse and pontifipoopaste so many things, like white rabbit privilege and Pist-Posts and Sigmund’s preposteramus critwilly crave-waving’s. Many of these ideas harm all manner of crits on the Plain. I began thinking these halarms were just unintended cruchersequences of knowing about everything and then again knowing specifically about nothing. I do not cogitate that anymore. Frankfurter was deliberately infectjecting the plain with Furts/farts and fuzzy’s. Sigmund was deliberately reincarnating anarchists who would go on to hurt crits on the Plain. Whereither it was a crit lens or the Fuzzys; they were deliberately working to take our carrots. Wellreds were not very well-read at all, just full of meadow muffins and bad disagreeabumps like MLBs and Antifas. I have learned that the Pists wanted to feed us wonderful honey that goes down our tungley, whoopie! They are smoothing our tunsils, and while we are dazzled by scrumptiousness, they steal our carrots.”

The Golden EDD is the knowledge I gained about how to recognize and defend the Plain from all manner of disagreeabumps.

Marble Dictionary

Accep-o-loveliness: well received by the typical crit, to aspire to

Administerated: administered and graded

Amanda-Camelia: Dr. Amanda Davis

Anark-pissed: anarchist

Angera Davis: Dr. Angela Davis a supporter of the terrorist group the Soledad Brothers

Arkyoproctologists: discoverers of things before

Arrow-gallants: arrogance

Asp-desire: aspire to evil

Ass-insertation: shoving assertions up everyone rear end

Bright red monocled fox wearing a bowler hat: Delores Liston

Brightland: sunshine

Brightnshiney’s: things that reflect in the light

Bright red monocled fox: Dr. Delores Liston

Burn-a-dean Dorn:Bernadine Dorn J.D. leader terrorist Weather Underground

Burzurple: purple

Canookplain: Canada

Caterpillar: Dr. Daniel Chapman

Charredremains Prize:  International Charlemagne Prize of Aachen

Coloncleansing crit: Imaginary deeds of crits against the First Furballs

Communazi: communist, Marxist

Cop Killer Chesimard: Joanne Chesimard, cop killer of the Black Liberation Army

Critdom: where crits live

Critgasm: animal orgasm

Critical Thiests: the Frankfurt School, those who treat Critical Theory as a religion

Crit-tastic: fantastic

Cruchersequences: terrible or crushing unintended consequences

Degrogatory: a foggy derogatory statement

Despotoppressor: a tyrant

Dessert-orationing: dissertation

Disagreeabumps: disagreeable crits

Disap-perish: die or croak

Disparable: disparaging

Dr. Fang: Dr. Ming Fang He

Dr. Sun’s Ray: Dr. Dan Rea

E-Pistsco-Pole-Post-Christian Mephistophelian-Baalberith: ECUSA church leaders

Essentialists (the 3Rs):  Essentialist Curriculum. Essentialists believe that the curriculum must consist of a “disciplined study” in five areas: English (grammar, literature, and writing), mathematics, the sciences, history, and foreign languages.

Eurethras or Euro-peeings: Original inhabitants of the Curriculum Plain

Evilishous: delightfully evil thoughts or ideas

Evomorphed: changing into an evil form

Extrarouse: to make offensive by loud expletives

Famquish: a hunger to the point of famine

Famunit: critter family units

First Furballs: Killed off the Eurethras and claim native origin on the plain

Flourescive: fluorescent by molecule excitation

Forniculated: forced sex

Fraidyfrighted: afraid, frightened

Frankfurter: Frankfurt Group

Freedomofscreecheagle: a symbol of freedom of speech

Friculated: foisting by rape

Gargolian: metal tongs with very sharp claw-like grippers

Glimpting: the reflections of sunbright

Golden EDD: A doctorate in education

Halarms: ideas harmful to crits

Halloscream: a day on the plain for the celebration of scary things

Happi-bliss-joy: ecstatically happy

Herbart Excuse: Herbert Marcuse developed repressive tolerance

Hilariosterical: hysterically happy

Homotextual: homosexual

Hyperhop: very fast hopping

Hypo-crits: animals who preach one thing and do the opposite

Illinjection: the introduction of new cultures into an existing culture to attempt to destroy the original culture.

Illuminatied: illuminated by Illuminati

Immoralized: memorializing evil thoughts or deeds

In-critable: thing not within your animal realm, outside your knowledge

Indignantous crits: indignant claiming indigenousness. First Furballs, who are really Second Furballs

Infectjecting: injecting an infection

Karl Miz D’Marks: Karl Marx  

Kathmean Cleaver: Professor Kathleen Cleaver leader Black Panther Party

Killy Boudin: Professor Kathy Boudin convicted murder and member Weather Underground

Kilobeaters: A Curriculum Plain measure of distance, similar to a long way

Kilosundials: A Curriculum Plain measure of time, similar to a very long time

Libturd: any liberal or libtard

Machinickanism: machinery with many mechanisms

Magnifantizing: enlarging a fantasy

Markist: Marxist

Markist-Lemonist: Marxist-Leninist

Muddle-puddling: confusing

Neopolitanliber-autism: Neoliberalism

Normal looking animal with an exceptionally large head -Dr. John Weaver

Notreturnborrowers: thieves

Notsowellred or poorlyred: a crit who reads only a narrow range of science and philosophy and believes they are incredibly wise.

Orge Ogbu: Dr. John Uzo Ogbu

Orgone: the mythical essence of an orgasm

Pan-Europa Bowel Movement: Paneuropean Union founded 1922

Paper-scratcher: writing hand

Phylosodemise: philosophy for the degradation of culture

Pistoffers: a general term for Pists, Pist-sacs, Fur Farts, BLMs, Antifas, etc.

Pists; Post Modern Reconstructionist:   General rejection of common notions of objective reality, morality, truth, human nature, reason, science, language, and social progress (Wikipedia, 2018), combined with an approach to teaching that strives to bring about a change in society and encourages students to question social inequalities (Ask Media Group LLC, 2019)

Pist-sacs: Anarchist who have morphed into liberal professors and rebel leaders

Plump and circumference: Pomp and circumstance

Plyguey: sticky and gooey

Politicallyinsurrectors: followers of Marxist theory, i.e., the Herbert Marcuse crowd

Pontifipoopaste: the bloviation of philosophies of things that harm crits

Post Pist: Pists who approach curriculum from a non-humanist perspective

Post-imaginarycrits: the desire to view things from a non-crit perspective

Preponderousness: pontification

Preposterbus: preposterous

Professor Pond: Dr. Robert Lake

Purple-crit (Purp-crit) – Dr. Marla Morris

Queen’s Axe Bearer Whitlock – Dr. Ugena Whitlock

Rabbit: Dr. William Pinar

Raceleetist; racist elitist

Ratitcal: a leftist rat

Raving-Mad Hatter – Diane Ravitch

Reconstructist theory: education for social justice

Red Apple Core Curriculum: Common Core Curriculum

Repairconfiscations: reparations by confiscatory means

Repressive in-toler-pants: tolerance for me but not thee

Ridickulaus: Richard Nikolaus Eijiro, Count of Coudenhove-Kalegi from Austro-Hungary

Roses-Ross: Dr. Sabrina Ross

Rubensandwich: Professor Rubén A. Gaztambide-Fernández

Screechless: no freedom of speech

Sexular: amoral secular animals

Shiversome: goosebumps

Sigmund the Soothsayer – Sigmund Freud

Smartables: brains or intelligence

Socialust: Marxist

So-nice-it: Pleasant suffice it to say

Specialcolortreatment: the application of affirmative action (other peoples carrots) based on the color of your fur

Starlingist: Stalinist

States burrow: Statesboro, Georgia home of Georgia Southern University (Gruzia Academia)

Steam-pucks: crit followers of steampunk

Stratos-rear: a high altitude layer of orgone shielding the earth

Stricks: slurred word sticks

Sunbright: sunlight

Surmerizating: summarize

Schwanzkopt: Wilhelm Riech posed the sexual revolution, died in U S Federal prison

Swordhouse: scabbard

Terropists: Pists fighting to maintain territory

Tomb Haden: State Senator Thomas Hayden member SDS stood trial as member Chicago Seven

Tungley: tongue

Tunsils: a happy place between tongue and tonsils

Understandium: exotic material

Vegotheraphy: a fraudulent sexual therapy concocted by Wilhelm Reich

Versation: an abbreviation for conversation

Villaficate: to vilify with hate

Wellred: a crit well-read in all manner of information

W. ha C. ko’ Ayers: Dr. Willian Ayers, founded the terrorist organization Weather Underground

Worryfraidy: to worry and be afraid

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[1] http://www.ratemyprofessors.com/ShowRatings.jsp?tid=1602852

[2] An adaptation of the song Ding-Dong! The Witch is Dead

[3] An adaptation of Nazi Germany’s National Anthem