We were not supposed to be there. I cannot tell you how we got in. If I did that, the lives of those who get us in once a year would be in gave danger. They would be murdered. They live with thousands of deaths every day. I am not going to tell you about stuff like how ponies are gutted. I am not going to tell you about how the hook comes down to take away the screaming, kicking, struggling horses. Their heads are cut off, and the meat is then, packed, and wrapped and stored in freezers aboard the banana boat who sells the carcases to the fucking French. I am not going to tell you how we did this. But I will tell you about the why.

Kids need to see what actually is versus the fantasies adults tell them about how government works, how business works, and how we kill lambs by bashing their heads in with hammers. The animals know what is happened to them. I promise you one thing: for the rest of your life, you will never get the sounds of the screaming from your murdous head.

Listen.

Smell the smells.

Grab a hammer. You will be killing lambs today.

We will be killing suckling pigs today and electricfying their mothers.

Get a fucking grip.

You can’t tell anyone you were there. The slaughterhouse industry contributes millions to politicians who create laws. And the lot of this nonsense has to do with the fact they’ve all voted to make civilians with cameras major crimes. You cannot go in.

Until you can. Those visions will never leave you, Look long and hard. Stop crying. No one cries here.

Homo sapiens kill over one billion times the number of mammals lions eat.

We. Kill. We are, the killing field. Now, look at it. When we return to school, you will write reports as to what we see. Then, we will send those reports, every last one of them, to the media. Television. Radio. Papers. Book writers. Filmmakers. Let the world see what we have seen. Before we leave this morning, I will show you how to use the Kodak Playsport cameras, and the GoPros. It’s very easy. What is not easy is bearing witness. To seeing what monsters humans are. I go for my student’s humanity, and I fight to crush it. I want them to experience the analogy of what you say you are, and what you are. My students are complicit, and so are you.

“But what can we eat.”

Figure. It. Out. Find your own answers, and be ruthless about it. Stop crying and make your case. Do not waver. Get angry if you have to. Develop some empathy and stop being the cute little children who like little babies are going to pout. Your pouting doesn’t mean a fucking thing.

Yes. I am a bad teacher. Bad. Bad. Bad.

But I will not paint a pretty picture as to who we are. You are not babies. Stand up and be counted. Be sure to bring your hammer to the slaughterhouse. I might require you to bash some brains in yourself.

I said stop crying.

I will hold you there while you sqirm.

You may not speak about what you saw. To anyone. You will be arrested. I have a dirt bike and I can get away. Escape to anywhere. When your stupid, fat mama brings the meat to the table, it’s okay to vomit. Vomit on your parents if you can.

Stand on top of the dinner table and piss on them.

I have worked in special education for decades. After about two weeks, parents hate me. The principle hates me. The bus driver hates me. Do I appear to you to look like someone who cares. Fuck your parents. Your parents are the problem.

Eat me, baby, eat me.

To arrest me, first you have to find me.

What part will be the worst. I think it will be the screaming.

It’s always the screaming. I have done this before. The fallout is always fun.

“No, officer. I will never do it again. It was wrong of me to expose children to what we eat. I promise, I promise, I promise to never do it again. Have you seen any of our videos. You might want to use them as evidence because we hit the media up for as much scandal as we can squeeze from blood. 

I tell my kids to hide under the bed from adults.

I pair the smarty pants kids with the dumb ones.

How hard is it to find men who will work with these kids. Men want to be around money. Women cook the animals.

“But we are not the bad people.”

Look around, bitch.

Listen.

You are definitely the bad people.

You disgust me. Don’t forget your coats and cameras.

New York Times:

I am a communist. I am also a special educator, a parent, a writer, an optimist (that is a lie), a Head Start specialist who opened his doors to adolescent boys with HIV, serious neurological problems, homelessness, sickle cell, organic brain syndrome, dementia, school failure, a splitting of the mind, from the German Schizophrenie, knives, guns, drug dealing, the entire compliment of sexually transmitted diseases, families who wanted to kill them, churches that wanted to lock them up forever (they steal), gang warfare, lipodystrophy, addiction, malnutrition, (the government only allows them to consume $1.39 (not a dollar forty), for food per meal, I defy you to live on it, bipolar-depression, mania, diabetes, allergies that react with fearsome grips to throats due to exposure to some antiretrovirals that will poison you. There are boys who cannot take some of these anti-HIV meds (abacavir, this is documented medical fact), miss a dose or the reaction will kill you if you try again. Cost. Medicaid works. It pays the bills. Not. If you need an extra blanket in hospital, you will pay $100.00 for it. The number of hospitalized teenage Emergency Placement Foster-Boys who can afford a nice white blanket is literally zero. America the blanket generous. I see America in-my-face as a failed narco state whose existence is created for the rich, by the rich, and that the government of the people, has perished from the earth. Teach children a murderous truth about who we really are, and set them free.