It also means incredible job security for my DNA heirs who can do real math!
Parents, who truly hate their kids, send them to Public "Schools"!
Posted on 2/16/2021, 3:49:30 PM by Navy Patriot
Posted on 04/23/2021 11:24:00 AM PDT by grundle
Affirmative action for the disadvantaged has become active sabotage of the capable. This would end if every parent of a child performing at or above grade level opted out. But they won’t.
Really remarkable how up-front the left is in admitting their belief that minorities are dumb.
My local middle school a few years ago stopped offering math advancement during the school year and instead only in person and in the summer, all summer, preventing family vacations. Awful. And sneaky.
It also means incredible job security for my DNA heirs who can do real math!
Parents, who truly hate their kids, send them to Public "Schools"!
Posted on 2/16/2021, 3:49:30 PM by Navy Patriot
Black and brown students don’t do well in math so the solution is to get rid of the tough math. Problem solved. I think Virginia is trying to out California California.
LOL!
Yeah and Vonnegut was a big lefty. Kind of funny.
In this context Equality means the same opportunity. Equity refers to the same outcome.
I know of an engineer with an advanced degree and many years of advanced math learning who is underemployed. With Biden in charge and climate change the main subject, there is no need for math or science. The Chinese will show us the way,
“The years passed, mankind became stupider at a frightening rate. Some had high hopes the genetic engineering would correct this trend in evolution, but sadly the greatest minds and resources where focused on conquering hair loss and prolonging erections.”
IDIOTS !!
The word equity will mean whatever they want it to mean.
Equality is easily understood.
I understand the word equity means ownership. Accounting term.
That is not good.
Thornton Melon: (on the phone) ... and *another* thing, Vonnegut! I'm gonna stop payment on the check!
Thornton Melon: ____ me? Hey, Kurt, can you read lips, *___ you*! Next time I'll call Robert Ludlum!
Vonnegut was a big lefty, as were George Orwell and George Carlin. Yet they were prophetic about the sort of society would be in the future.
I have NASA do my astronomy homework!
A good executive always knows how to delegate.
This story is the essence of Equity.
Harrison Bergeron
By Kurt Vonnegut
THE YEAR WAS 2081, and everybody was finally equal. They weren’t only equal before God and the law. They were equal every which way. Nobody was smarter than anybody else. Nobody was better looking than anybody else. Nobody was stronger or quicker than anybody else.
All this equality was due to the 211th, 212th, and 213th Amendments to the Constitution, and to the unceasing vigilance of agents of the United States Handicapper General.
Some things about living still weren’t quite right, though. April, for instance, still drove people crazy by
not being springtime. And it was in that clammy month that the H-G men took George and Hazel Bergeron’s fourteen-year-old son, Harrison, away.
It was tragic, all right, but George and Hazel couldn’t think about it very hard. Hazel had a perfectly average intelligence, which meant she couldn’t think about anything except in short bursts. And George, while his intelligence was way above normal, had a little mental handicap radio in his ear. He was required by law to wear it at all times. It was tuned to a government transmitter. Every twenty seconds or so, the transmitter would send out some sharp noise to keep people like George from taking unfair advantage of their brains.
George and Hazel were watching television. There were tears on Hazel’s cheeks, but she’d forgotten for
the moment what they were about.
On the television screen were ballerinas. A buzzer sounded in George’s head. His thoughts fled in panic, like bandits from a burglar alarm.
“That was a real pretty dance, that dance they just did,” said Hazel.
“Huh?” said George.
“That dance – it was nice,” said Hazel.
“Yup,” said George. He tried to think a little about the ballerinas. They weren’t really very good – no
better than anybody else would have been, anyway. They were burdened with sashweights and bags of birdshot, and their faces were masked, so that no one, seeing a free and graceful gesture or a pretty face, would feel like something the cat drug in. George was toying with the vague notion that maybe dancers shouldn’t be handicapped. But he didn’t get very far with it before another noise in his ear radio scattered his thoughts.
George winced. So did two out of the eight ballerinas.
Hazel saw him wince. Having no mental handicap herself she had to ask George what the latest sound had
been.
“Sounded like somebody hitting a milk bottle with a ball peen hammer,” said George.
“I’d think it would be real interesting, hearing all the different sounds,” said Hazel, a little envious. “All the
things they think up.”
“Um,” said George.
“Only, if I was Handicapper General, you know what I would do?” said Hazel. Hazel, as a matter of fact, bore a strong resemblance to the Handicapper General, a woman named Diana Moon Glampers. “If I was Diana Moon Glampers,” said Hazel, “I’d have chimes on Sunday – just chimes. Kind of in honor of religion.”
“I could think, if it was just chimes,” said George.
“Well – maybe make ‘em real loud,” said Hazel. “I think I’d make a good Handicapper General.”
“Good as anybody else,” said George.
“Who knows better’n I do what normal is?” said Hazel.
“Right,” said George. He began to think glimmeringly about his abnormal son who was now in jail, about
Harrison, but a twenty-one-gun salute in his head stopped that.
“Boy!” said Hazel, “that was a doozy, wasn’t it?”
It was such a doozy that George was white and trembling and tears stood on the rims of his red eyes. Two
of the eight ballerinas had collapsed to the studio floor, were holding their temples.
“All of a sudden you look so tired,” said Hazel. “Why don’t you stretch out on the sofa, so’s you can rest
your handicap bag on the pillows, honeybunch.” She was referring to the forty-seven pounds of birdshot in
canvas bag, which was padlocked around George’s neck. “Go on and rest the bag for a little while,” she
said. “I don’t care if you’re not equal to me for a while.”
George weighed the bag with his hands. “I don’t mind it,” he said. “I don’t notice it any more. It’s just a
part of me.
“You been so tired lately – kind of wore out,” said Hazel. “If there was just some way we could make a
little hole in the bottom of the bag, and just take out a few of them lead balls. Just a few.”
“Two years in prison and two thousand dollars fine for every ball I took out,” said George. “I don’t call that
a bargain.”
“If you could just take a few out when you came home from work,” said Hazel. “I mean – you don’t
compete with anybody around here. You just set around.”
“If I tried to get away with it,” said George, “then other people’d get away with it and pretty soon we’d be
right back to the dark ages again, with everybody competing against everybody else. You wouldn’t like
that, would you?”
“I’d hate it,” said Hazel.
“There you are,” said George. “The minute people start cheating on laws, what do you think happens to
society?”
If Hazel hadn’t been able to come up with an answer to this question, George couldn’t have supplied one.
A siren was going off in his head.
“Reckon it’d fall all apart,” said Hazel.
“What would?” said George blankly.
“Society,” said Hazel uncertainly. “Wasn’t that what you just said?”
“Who knows?” said George.
The television program was suddenly interrupted for a news bulletin. It wasn’t clear at first as to what the
bulletin was about, since the announcer, like all announcers, had a serious speech impediment. For about
half a minute, and in a state of high excitement, the announcer tried to say, “Ladies and gentlemen – ”
He finally gave up, handed the bulletin to a ballerina to read.
“That’s all right –” Hazel said of the announcer, “he tried. That’s the big thing. He tried to do the best he
could with what God gave him. He should get a nice raise for trying so hard.”
“Ladies and gentlemen” said the ballerina, reading the bulletin. She must have been extraordinarily
beautiful, because the mask she wore was hideous. And it was easy to see that she was the strongest and
most graceful of all the dancers, for her handicap bags were as big as those worn by two-hundred-pound
men.
And she had to apologize at once for her voice, which was a very unfair voice for a woman to use. Her
voice was a warm, luminous, timeless melody. “Excuse me – ” she said, and she began again, making her
voice absolutely uncompetitive.
“Harrison Bergeron, age fourteen,” she said in a grackle squawk, “has just escaped from jail, where he
was held on suspicion of plotting to overthrow the government. He is a genius and an athlete, is under–
handicapped, and should be regarded as extremely dangerous.”
A police photograph of Harrison Bergeron was flashed on the screen – upside down, then sideways, upside
down again, then right side up. The picture showed the full length of Harrison against a background
calibrated in feet and inches. He was exactly seven feet tall.
The rest of Harrison’s appearance was Halloween and hardware. Nobody had ever worn heavier
handicaps. He had outgrown hindrances faster than the H–G men could think them up. Instead of a little
ear radio for a mental handicap, he wore a tremendous pair of earphones, and spectacles with thick wavy
lenses. The spectacles were intended to make him not only half blind, but to give him whanging
headaches besides.
Scrap metal was hung all over him. Ordinarily, there was a certain symmetry, a military neatness to the
handicaps issued to strong people, but Harrison looked like a walking junkyard. In the race of life,
Harrison carried three hundred pounds.
And to offset his good looks, the H–G men required that he wear at all times a red rubber ball for a nose,
keep his eyebrows shaved off, and cover his even white teeth with black caps at snaggle–tooth random.
“If you see this boy,” said the ballerina, “do not – I repeat, do not – try to reason with him.”
There was the shriek of a door being torn from its hinges.
Screams and barking cries of consternation came from the television set. The photograph of Harrison
Bergeron on the screen jumped again and again, as though dancing to the tune of an earthquake.
George Bergeron correctly identified the earthquake, and well he might have – for many was the time his
own home had danced to the same crashing tune. “My God –” said George, “that must be Harrison!”
The realization was blasted from his mind instantly by the sound of an automobile collision in his head.
When George could open his eyes again, the photograph of Harrison was gone. A living, breathing
Harrison filled the screen.
Clanking, clownish, and huge, Harrison stood in the center of the studio.The knob of the uprooted studio
door was still in his hand. Ballerinas, technicians, musicians, and announcers cowered on their knees
before him, expecting to die.
“I am the Emperor!” cried Harrison. “Do you hear? I am the Emperor! Everybody must do what I say at
once!” He stamped his foot and the studio shook.
“Even as I stand here –” he bellowed, “crippled, hobbled, sickened – I am a greater ruler than any man
who ever lived! Now watch me become what I can become!”
Harrison tore the straps of his handicap harness like wet tissue paper, tore straps guaranteed to support
five thousand pounds.
Harrison’s scrap–iron handicaps crashed to the floor.
Harrison thrust his thumbs under the bar of the padlock that secured his head harness. The bar snapped
like celery. Harrison smashed his headphones and spectacles against the wall.
He flung away his rubber–ball nose, revealed a man that would have awed Thor, the god of thunder.
“I shall now select my Empress!” he said, looking down on the cowering people. “Let the first woman who
dares rise to her feet claim her mate and her throne!”
A moment passed, and then a ballerina arose, swaying like a willow.
Harrison plucked the mental handicap from her ear, snapped off her physical handicaps with marvelous
delicacy. Last of all, he removed her mask.
She was blindingly beautiful.
“Now” said Harrison, taking her hand, “shall we show the people the meaning of the word dance? Music!”
he commanded.
The musicians scrambled back into their chairs, and Harrison stripped them of their handicaps, too. “Play
your best,” he told them, “and I’ll make you barons and dukes and earls.”
The music began. It was normal at first – cheap, silly, false. But Harrison snatched two musicians from
their chairs, waved them like batons as he sang the music as he wanted it played. He slammed them back
into their chairs.
The music began again and was much improved.
Harrison and his Empress merely listened to the music for a while – listened gravely, as though
synchronizing their heartbeats with it.
They shifted their weights to their toes.
Harrison placed his big hands on the girl’s tiny waist, letting her sense the weightlessness that would soon
be hers.
And then, in an explosion of joy and grace, into the air they sprang!
Not only were the laws of the land abandoned, but the law of gravity and the laws of motion as well.
They reeled, whirled, swiveled, flounced, capered, gamboled, and spun.
They leaped like deer on the moon.
The studio ceiling was thirty feet high, but each leap brought the dancers nearer to it. It became their
obvious intention to kiss the ceiling.
They kissed it.
And then, neutralizing gravity with love and pure will, they remained suspended in air inches below the
ceiling, and they kissed each other for a long, long time.
It was then that Diana Moon Glampers, the Handicapper General, came into the studio with a double-
barreled ten-gauge shotgun. She fired twice, and the Emperor and the Empress were dead before they hit
the floor.
Diana Moon Glampers loaded the gun again. She aimed it at the musicians and told them they had ten
seconds to get their handicaps back on.
It was then that the Bergerons’ television tube burned out.
Hazel turned to comment about the blackout to George.
But George had gone out into the kitchen for a can of beer.
George came back in with the beer, paused while a handicap signal shook him up. And then he sat down
again. “You been crying?” he said to Hazel.
“Yup,” she said,
“What about?” he said.
“I forget,” she said. “Something real sad on television.”
“What was it?” he said.
“It’s all kind of mixed up in my mind,” said Hazel.
“Forget sad things,” said George.
“I always do,” said Hazel.
“That’s my girl,” said George. He winced. There was the sound of a riveting gun in his head.
“Gee – I could tell that one was a doozy,” said Hazel.
“You can say that again,” said George.
“Gee –” said Hazel, “I could tell that one was a doozy.”
...and the new Siri will have an ebonics voice...
Yute: “yo See-ree, whaddup, wad be fo time fiddy?”
Siri: “Why you axing me mofo? Doan no nuttin bout nuttin! Yo mamma so fat...”
Heh
Next will be English classes. Eubonics is not a language, but may be soon.
Disclaimer: Opinions posted on Free Republic are those of the individual posters and do not necessarily represent the opinion of Free Republic or its management. All materials posted herein are protected by copyright law and the exemption for fair use of copyrighted works.