Uh-huh.
History had Hitler;
He was a nasty guy,
But he really wasn�t all that bad�
And now I�ll tell you why.
The slaughter of mass innocents,
Okay, so that�s not nice,
But when you put it in perspective
You wouldn�t look twice.
Compared to one individual,
He�s even rather kind,
When you have heard my sorry tale,
I think that you will find�
You will, you must, agree with me,
As my grief unfolds:
A more unhappy, anguished story
Never was there told.
Once there were some happy kids,
As nice as there could be.
But they had never met�
The Evil fiend, Miss Doherty�
They wandered brightly into class,
On the year�s first day,
Never knowing their happiness
Would soon be whisked away.
The room number was 666 �
That should have offered warning;
They had no idea of their peril
When they left that morning�
As they poured through the classroom door,
They all stopped in their tracks.
�Fore they could run, the old, oak door
Slammed shut behind their backs.
The children�s hearts were filled with fear,
At what was sat before them.
Many of them died of shock �
Three, five, ten, and more, then!
The creature they laid eyes upon
Was evil incarnate.
Her very soul, her very being
Spilled loathing and hate.
Her eyes glowed red with hellish flame,
Her lips bore a cruel snarl.
Apparently, her chow last night
Had been a student, Carl!
The children cowered, she breathed out fire
They cringed in utmost fear.
One was too slow, he wailed and cried
�I liked that bloomin� hair!�
From the wall hung hooks and chains,
And other things of suff�ring.
They searched her face for signs of jest
But sadly, they found nothing.
And look, some shackles, stained with grime �
They hang upon the wall.
A forlorn skeleton, he dangles there,
His name, �tis thought, was Paul.
The creature, she was heard to utter:
�I may be less that holy,
But I�m really jolly rather nice
Once you get to know me!�
The kids, in spite of soothing tones,
Fell not into her trap.
Except for one poor child who, fooled,
Was eaten during his nap.
As she chained them to their seats,
The torture did begin.
She gave them essays, books to read,
Upon her every whim.
As they trawled through Shakespeare�s plays,
Some broke down into sobbing.
When they did, at their heads, bricks,
The teacher took to lobbing!
�I must prepare you for your higher�
She said, until they cried.
As she made them do their work,
Several simply died!
They wrote, they read, and they composed,
Until her thirst was slaked.
And even then, they did not stop
Until their fingers ached.
And even then they carried on,
Until more passed away,
But Miss Doherty cared not,
Laughed evilly at her prey.
Until the kids could take no more,
They surged in their upheaval
To protect all future youths
And wipe out all the evil.
With pitchforks, knives, and plastic ducks
(don�t ask where they got �em)
They descended with expert grace
(likewise, don�t ask who taught �em!)
The fury burned within their eyes
Until the creature fled.
One too many critical essays
Had nearly made her dead!
The youths rejoiced, for they had won!
No more work to do!
Perhaps there�s a moral to this tale,
Perhaps it�s one for YOU�
NOTE: Actual similarity to any persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No, really. Honest.
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