Potent Parables For One Thousand, Alex
December 15, 2025
Little Donny…I mean Johnny comes home from school one day.
His parents are concerned because they have just gotten a phone call from the
guidance counselor explaining that Donny…I mean Johnny is failing every single
subject. Bigly. They suspected as much since Donny…I mean Johnny stays up all
hours of the night glued to social media, sometimes rage tweeting hundreds of
posts in a matter of hours. They have seen some of the content, which has them
too scared to even confront the clearly damaged child. Not to mention the fact
that the parents had been told that their son was constantly dozing off in
class, only coming to when he heard his name mentioned, after which he
invariably launched into hateful ad hominem attacks against whoever he thought
was the culprit, be it classmate or teacher.
Donny…I mean Johnny’s mother once, one evening after a few
extremely necessary drinks, and out of earshot of her little sociopath, confided
to her husband, who was equally liquored up and horrified at his son’s
behavior, “I hate to even think this, but I tell you, if little Donny…I mean
Johnny was a dog I’d have him put down as a danger to those around him, or
maybe see if we could hire Kristi Noem. She knows what to do with a dangerous
animal.” The subject was never broached again. Mom and dad stopped drinking for
a while just to be safe.
When Donny…I mean Johnny came home that day, his mother
asked him how he was doing in math – just to keep it simple. Donny…I mean
Johnny, without batting an eye – or a brain – proudly blurted out, “A+”. Mom
jumped in, “A+?”, which was quickly countered with “A+++++.” This was
objectively absurd, like the boy’s repeated insistence that he could reduce a price
of something by “500% or 1100% or 1300%”, and like that claim, most likely
insane. Donny…I mean Johnny’s mom was at a loss for what to do next, and while
that alcohol-fueled notion of Donny…I mean Johnny as rabid animal flashed
through her mind once more, she – for the time being at least – just let it go,
hoping her cooler head would prevail. She recalled at that moment really
wanting a drink or a baseball bat, but resisted both.
All she came up with at that moment was, “How about if we
take a look at your report card?” Her beloved albeit horribly damaged son hit
back, “First of all, it’s none of your damn business, and besides it’s full of
fake grades. No one has ever been subjected to the level of unfair testing I
have to go through, because I’m so much smarter than everyone else and they
hate me for it. The teacher is too stupid to understand my answers, and I get
blamed for it. Nobody has ever been so badly mistreated as me. It’s probably
because that kid in last year’s class screwed up the whole grading curve. And
also, my report card is under audit right now, so maybe once that’s over with
we can talk about letting you see it then. But the answer will still be no. Now
go to bed, I have a very busy night ahead of me.”
What would you do if you had to deal with a boy like Donny…I
mean Johnny?
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