The Facepalm

Publishing Veritas Academy's finest facepalm moments

Month: March, 2013

Friends, Romans, countrymen!

by facepalmforever

Lend me your eyes (and ears, I suppose). The following were videos taken when the 9th grade students recited Antony’s famous speech to the Plebeians after the assassination of Julius Caesar. One is an exemplary example of a recitation, the other is the optional extra credit for the day: the rap version of Antony’s speech from an episode of The Bill Cosby Show.




Coming Soon…

by facepalmforever

The following is a student-made trailer for Paradise Lost, by John Milton. Enjoy.


Mayfield Hill, by Michell Elequin

by facepalmforever


I sped across the road on my steady bike,

They called me a rebel, a rebel without contrite.

My mother and father were proud of me still,

despite my fall down Mayfield Hill.


I swerved to the ground and took a great slide,

The skin on my knee was scraped off, along with the skin on my side.

There was a crack at some point, although I’m not sure where.

My wrist snapped in two and gave me quite a scare.


I cried many tears and wept a great deal,

Up until that point I believed I was made of steel.

I wiped with my grease-stained sleeve the tears off my cheek,

laying in that cloud of dust I appeared quite meek.


But then I leapt up, when I then realized,

My classmates at school would sure be surprised,

They’d sign my cast and say, “At least you didn’t end up in a coffin.”

If this is what it’s like I should break my wrist more often!

Pedro Phillipe von Lichtenstein III, by Milaka Falk

by facepalmforever

I have been a substitute teacher both in the public school system and at my daughter’s private school.  I have substituted for pre-k all the way up to high school.  One time I had a 7th grader burn up the pencil sharpener during a test (and smirk all the way back to his desk).  One time I had a smart alec 10th grader ask snidely, “So what’s YOUR favorite Jackie Chan movie” hoping that I wouldn’t know who he was talking about (this was actually back in the mid-90s before Jackie Chan was more mainstream).  I was able to answer (Twin Dragons) and even educate them on a few JC movies that they hadn’t seen.  I’ve put an entire class of kindergarteners in “time out” (and was told that when their teacher put them all in time out, she did it differently) and I’ve built compasses from sticks in a sandbox.  You never know what you’re going to do or get when you sub.

This morning I got a dead mole on my desk.

It was pretty awesome.

Monday I subbed a my daughter’s private school.  A 6th grade English teacher was out with a horrible cold so I got to teach reading and writing.  The first class of the day is an all boys class.  Be afraid.  Be very afraid.  I have a son so that’s strike one to fear.  We’ve been at this school for eight years, that’s strike two because I know most of the boys’ parents.  Strike three is that at this point, I’m still bigger than they are.  Well, for the most part.  And I’ve been teaching this age for three years.  My blisters are becoming callouses.

During the writing portion of the class, we studied appositive adjectives.  (Appositive adjectives are usually found in pairs and follow the noun that they modify.  Example:  The bread, crusty and warm, tasted sweet in his mouth.  Crusty and warm are the appositive adjectives.  There, you learned something today.)  I looked at the examples in the book, but when you have a room full of 10 year old boys, you need to make sure that they are engaged and that they can be interactive.  So I decided that we would build our own sentence.

“Give me an animal.  A non-human mammal.”


“Okay.  Now let’s describe that molerat.”

Naked and pink.

“Great.  Now tell me an action that this molerat does.”


Our sentence:  The molerat, naked and pink, snuggled.

They loved it.  We had other things that the molerat did, other adjectives to describe the molerat, but that was our first sentence.  They really are a fun group.

Last night I got the call that the teacher was still sick, (she’s on antibiotics and getting better, but she wanted another day to rest and not have to talk) can I please sub again?  No problem.

I walked into the room and there, on the desk, was a sandwich bag with a note stuck on it.  The note said, “Happy birthday” and the bag contained a small, dead mole.

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Of Pillows and Couches, by Anonymous

by facepalmforever



Once upon a time there was a davenport who was forever in love with a bolster. Every day from noon to three they would have a long, worthwhile conversation about the meaning of the very sad lives. Most of the time they would discuss why their jobs of supporting and cushioning the Chesterfield family when they sat down was so important. In the midst of their deep talk the bolster said, “Why dear, without you I have nothing to live for. Without you I would be like a pillow without its sofa, a throw without its coach, a bolster without its davenport! You are all I have, my dear! Do you not see that I would be a pointless, meaningless lone bolster without you.”

The Davenport replied, “Don’t you worry, I will never leave you! My life, too, would not be worth living without you.”

“Oh, look at the time, it’s 3:00,” said the bolster. Mrs. Chesterfield opened the door to the room and grabbed the bolster, saying,

“What rubbish!” and thew the pillow in the garbage, abruptly ending tits relationship with the davenport. At that, she placed a brand new pillow in the bolster’s place. Overwhelmed by grief, the davenport snapped in half.

Tower to The Moon, by Will Weinert

by facepalmforever


Tower to the Moon

He laid the flower by the cold, rough granite and slowly walked out of the cemetery, like he always did. As much as he thought he wanted to forget the loss which he had experienced, whenever the recalled anything of his mother’s life, he shivered a bit and felt that he must visit the grave to keep her memory alive. Perhaps he didn’t even want to move on, but he spent little time thinking of that. As he pulled open the door of his car he looked back and promised himself that it would be his last visit for a while, and he proceeded to drive back into the dense gray city he lived in.

Indeed it was a while before he visited again, but he didn’t visit many places in that period of his life. For most of it he could be found alone in his place of employment, no light in his eyes, nor music in his ears, with the exception of the soft drone of passing traffic outside of the building’s thick concrete walls. The profession which had once brought out his true passion and filled his body with adrenaline at the mention of it now seemed as monotonous and bleak as the rest of his life. Every morning he would wake up in either his cramped apartment, or in his work space, with a keyboard pattern imprinted on his cheek and crust in the corner of his eyes. He would then proceed to work for mind numbing hours to achieve his ultimate goal, after which he would either go home, or fall asleep on his desk. Though he really had nothing to do besides his work, he still hadn’t visited his mother’s grave in years, but he thought of it often. In fact his longing to see his mother once again was the very thing that kept him at his desk, away from her—or at least what used to be her.

Though the goal had seemed so far away when he began, the man was nearly there. Within those dark years he had slowly progressed to the point that he was mere hours from discovering the secret that had eluded him for so many years: the secret of life. How many hours had he spent hunched over a desk, staring into a microscope, or prodding the lifeless body of a rodent with some obscure scientific tool? Not even he could tell you, they all seemed the same to him. However, he was at the brink of finding a way to bring his mother back.

“In less than a week I may see her again,” he mused within his thoughts.

He violently wrote notes down, terrified that he would lose the piece of knowledge he had attained if he didn’t. He continued his trail down the paper for seconds more, but soon stopped abruptly. His eyes became narrow and he felt cold sweat run down his face. It dawned on him that he wasn’t going to find the solution to death the way he was trying. He had reached a dead end.

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Joe, sensing opportunity

by Mr. Donaldson

Class: Mr. Donaldson, how do you grade our papers!?

Mr. Donaldson: Seriously? Isn’t that, like, boring to know?

Class: Noooooo! Telllllllll us! So interesting!

Mr. Donaldson: Ok, well I usually sit down with a glass of scotch, and…

Joe: [shifty eyes] Uh, heh, can you grade mine last?