Dear Lord Chancellor Klein

This email was seen floating around inboxes. Don't know who wrote it, but Kudos:

Dear Lord Chancellor Klein,

Tis I your humble servant Taylor. Forgive me for addressing you directly but desperate times embolden the meek. We are struggling to cope with the Grimm budget cuts levied upon us by the fair and bodacious Kathy. Tis true, we were not starving, but methinks the tariffs a bit too high Lord Chancellor. When you gave us the copper and silver coin at the beginning of the seasons it was only to lift us out of squalor and starvation. And now that have come and taken away our barley and Snapple, how will we feed our students? How will the young'uns grow straight and tall with narry enough food on the table?

But enough of dark times, tell me about Tweed? How is the freshly brewed coffee and the donuts? Tis true the fruit still served fresh? Are apricots and bananas in season?

I hope the Grimm news of our farmlands have not dampened the spirits of Tweed. Invite me to your next photo op. I will behave properly and shower. While other peasants who've lost their farms have begun to curse your fair and just rule, I know what is good for the goose is good for the gander. The nay-sayers have gone off to join the monastery. Other's still have feigned sickness to gain admittance into the rubber rooms. Those people have given up but I am a proud and empowered principal.

Out of the budget cuts that covers me
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank D.O.E.
For my empowered soul.

It matters not how strait the bulletin board
Or whatever mark receive my school,
I am the master of my cohort,
I am the principal of my school.

(I apologize but I couldn't think of another word that rhymes with school.)

I am the principal of my school desperately seeking a cozy position at Tweed. One with requires the sharpening of pencils or perhaps the vacuuming of the DOE's horseless chariots? Perhaps I could be the one who runs out and fetches you warm pastries by the dozens. Or better still, many of my colleagues praise my fine voice. Let me be the one who stands behind you and sings of your many great deeds, of which you could remind me when I get there. Summon me to Tweed, "put me in coach for I am ready to play". (Shit, a student just stole my blackberry.) Perchance have ye grown weary of your court jesters? If none of these services interest you I am not beneath bending over so you can kick me in the ass when it delights ye. But summon me soon please, for the students grow restless and already have taken to searching the hallways for food instead of attending their classes.

Your humble servant,

Taylor, James III
PhD in Nothing from Harvard U.