Alas poor Yochi he did not know me well

I have a good pupil. Any scholarly educator would probably laugh, say 23 hail Mary's, and then proclaim me a sayer of falsehoods for saying these words. But I can, I can. Usually…

Yochi, short for Yerachmiel,Solze, Reuven, Dovid, and Jacob for good measure, is a good kid. He clears his toys, brushes his remaining molars and giggles at squirrels.

Always a pleasure. I dumdidum as i knock on his door with brisky joy. 'Huullo'. A pokerfaced weener stares up at me,sucking.

"Bob...bob...bob...bob…BOOOOB THE BUILDER CAN HE FIX IT"... I jump… It seems this weener's automobile has an Asian sound system, the one where the driver has no brain, coz the bass has removed it whilst he plays the look 'no hands' game with his mates like the weener, only the bus heading towards his doesn't say 'Fisherprice' on its side it says National Exp…BOOM.

Anyway,bob, bob, bob, bob… BOOOB, ok,ok. I decide to kick my way past the weener with the glandular dysfunction, crushing bobs skull on the way. He'll never sing again.

The keyboard is in the adjoining room and I sit idly, perceiving a rogue hair on my arm, whose impertinence is making me re-consider its swift execution. Mid-execution Yochi walks in with a look of bafflement at the sight of a teacher, knee on the keyboard shouting ' OUT YOU PIECE OF SH…MALTZ, OUT'.

I calm Yochi with a soothing lulllaby as he rocks back and forth whispering chassidic nonsense; the melody is ' A little boy from Bethlehem'. After another fit and various euphoric hymns, we get on with the lesson. But as we progress I notice a strange whiff in the air, I check the baby; its not him. Its not that smell anyway I realize. It's alcohol. I ask Yochi if he had booby, 'Nooo'.he slurs. Glorious,he's 8 and p***ed out of his mind.

I decide to take advantage of the situation in a legal manner.

'Play me Chopin's concerto in D flat minor'.

’Tihihihi nonono’.

'Now play me a Beethoven nocturne, any you want'

'Whatsha whatsha ho notchurn’.

Now it’s my turn to break. After I've finished with my high Ha's and many, many Hi’s, and my tear duct is as dry as a Saharan well, I call the police. They're busy, ah well. Back at the party Yochi is conducting an experiment. He would like to discover the full capacity of his left nostril by taking a… oh no... party's over.

Mrs Yochi walks in. I explain fervently that part of the classical methodical training involves nostril stretching, particularly the left one as it is good for a child's development. Those two words have done wonders for me in previous parental inquisitions and this time is no exception. Like a shake of a wand, she disappears into the night and I'm a free man, able to enjoy Part 2 of my evenings entertainment, the right nostril.