Mission Bay Bob Opens A Charter School

The Russell Coutts Academy For Kids Who Can't Read, Write or Sail Well opens today in Mission Bay

Mission Bay Bob shook his fist at the sky as he read a very balanced blog on the state of New Zealand education. It was the left’s fault that kids couldn’t read, write or sail anymore.

There was only one thing to do and that is to take matters into his own hands. A lifetime spent as the Managing Director of the Penrose branch of IBM had set him up for a bit of serious leadership, so he thought.

And Barb agreed. Reaching over to grab her Christine Lovatt’s Crossword booklet, she gazed upon the visage of her husband. What a strapping, 5’6” silver fox he was. Short and perpetually angry, just the way she liked him.

Bob’s vision was a powerful one. What kids needed was a school that delivered military-style tenets, and a weaponised curriculum. None of this “En EEE Cee Ay” stuff that was going on. No second chances, no resubmission opportunities. Back to three-hour exams, invigilated by the Police.

In fact, one of the compulsory subjects at Year 7 would be called Guns 1000. On their first day of school they would be issued with an Ak-47, a sturdy pair of cotton walk shorts, and a poster of Dr. Don Brash for their dorm room wall.

After that they would be marched into the dining hall for a proper meal, designed by Barb, of Devilled Sausages with a big helping of flummery for pudding.

Then it was time for lessons. Bob had recruited a few contracting grifters from an ad he put on Trade Me. Their level of expertise was more in the “taxation consultant looking for 14 weeks of holidays per year” category, but in reality, said Bob, Anyone Can Teach (also one of the school mottos).

As he passed through the classrooms, the students seemed to be lapping it up. Thick text books populated the desks and the teachers stood at lecterns using laser pointers and rulers to keep the class awake.

Outside on the field Guns 1000 was taking place; little Tarquin stood shaking in his Rugged Sharks, fair shitting himself, but managed to fire a decent round although it was off the Nurse as the recoil snapped his wrist. Nothing a quick ice pack and half a paracetamol couldn’t fix.

Later the students were shuffled to their dorms for lights out at 7pm.

The first day was a resounding success as far as Bob was concerned. Now to plan Day Two.

The whole point of this vanity project, Russell Coutts, would be the focus of the next day. An unveiling of his statue, placed in the reception area of the office block got things off to a roaring start, with prominent parents and even a local MP munching on Barb’s sausage rolls and sauce, all chatting excitedly about house prices and school zones.

Suddenly, without warning there was a loud explosion…a kind of “whhooopmpha” that sent Bob running to the field. Alas, Tarquin had fired off another round and a rogue bullet had hit the boiler room causing aftershock-type activity felt even in the good suburbs like Parnell and Herne Bay.

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With the closure of the school, and the dissolution of the BoT, Bob could at least tick the “Philanthropy” box on his 10 Steps To Knighthood list.

It was back to drawing board for Bob, this time an anti-nature political party, perhaps.