The Whole Business with Kiffo and the Pitbull
B
ARRY
J
ONSBERG
was born in England but now lives and works in Darwin, Australia where he has discovered that the sky is actually blue, not grey as he had always believed. He teaches English at a local high school, but his students rarely let that get in the way of having a good time in his classes. When he is not teaching or writing, his wife Anita takes him for a walk on the beach, though he mistakenly believes that this is for the benefit of their two dogs. He loves watching his favourite soccer team, Liverpool, on the TV and labours under the delusion that the English cricket team is on the brink of giving Australia a good game. Apart from that, he is pretty much in contact with the real world.
Barry Jonsberg
First published in 2004
Copyright © Barry Jonsberg 2004
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National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication entry: Jonsberg, Barry, 1951â .
The whole business with Kiffo and the Pitbull.
ISBN 1 74114 112 5.
I. Title.
A823.4
Design by Ellie Exarchos
Set in 11/16 Minion by Midland Typesetters
Printed by McPherson's Printing Group
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Teachers' notes for
The whole business with Kiffo and the Pitbull
are available on the Allen & Unwin web site:
www.allenandunwin.com
for Mum
CONTENTS
Chapter 1: Kiffo's finest moment
Chapter 2: So just how many friends has John Marsden got?
Chapter 4: Conversations with the refrigerator
Chapter 5: Crime and punishment, part one
Chapter 6: Crime and punishment, part two
Chapter 7: Three conversations
Chapter 8: A reflection upon circumstances,
after mature consideration
Chapter 9: The cutting edge of
educational practice
Chapter 10: Every dog has its night
Chapter 11: Cinderella complex
Chapter 12: The Prinny, the Pitbull and Pictionary
Chapter 14: Reviewing the situation
Chapter 17: Kiffo takes charge
Chapter 22: Picking up the pieces
Chapter 25: Homophones and the
World Wide Web
A
SSIGNMENT
:
Write a description of a place, person or thing in such a way that
you demonstrate an understanding of the use of similes.
R
ESPONSE
:
| Student's name: | Calma Harrison |
| Subject: | Jaryd Kiffing |
Kiffo's hair is like a glowing sunset. However, unlike a sunset, it lasts for a long time and doesn't suddenly turn black and become studded with stars. It is as wild as a dingo on drugs and sticks up like ears of corn after a cyclone. Maybe like a field of corn that is the colour of sunset, and has been trampled by a whole load of drug-crazed dingoes during a cyclone.
Kiffo's nose is like butter on toast. It was put on hot and it spread. His nostrils gape like two huge caves, but it would be difficult to camp in them or even light a fire in them. Though it might be worth trying, I suppose. They drip like your bathers when you hang them over the pool railings to dry. His eyes are as brown as diarrhoea, which only goes to prove that he is full of crap. Kiffo's teeth are like stars because they come out at night. No, that's just an old joke. His teeth are as white as sheets that were once white but have now become stained by unmentionable things. Kiffo's neck is short and dirty, like life. His arms are as thin as pencils, but if you try to sharpen them he'll probably bash you. His legs are bent like brackets ( ), but unlike brackets there is not much of interest between them. When he stands he is like a cowboy who hasn't realised that the horse he was riding has gone for a smoko break. He smells like a fish that you forgot was in the fridge.
His mind is as shallow as a gob of spit in a drained swimming pool. Kiffo is as intellectually challenging as a meeting of English teachers.
So. What do you think? Be honest. I mean, it's not as if we know each other, so you can say what you like and I'm not going to be offended. It would be different, I suppose, if we hung out together at the local mall, or invited each other for sleep-overs, or you had my name tattooed on your left buttock. Your judgement would be clouded. There was a study done. I can't remember where, but I think it might have been in America. A psychologist compared students' class work with their appearance and a direct correlation was found between physical attractiveness and grades. In other words, if you look like Brad Pitt or J.Lo then you are more likely to get an A than someone who looks like the rear end of a lower primate. Interesting, huh? I think there are three possible judgements, based on this research, we can make about teachers:
1. Teachers are, like the rest of humanity, flawed, and we should understand that they are subject to the same frailties as everyone else.
2. Teachers are superficial idiots.
3. Teachers are both of the above.
But if I've learned one thing over the last month or so, it's that judgements are very dangerous things.
Anyway, have you made your objective assessment of the simile exercise? Good. Hold that thought.
E
ND OF SEMESTER REPORT
:
| Student's name: | Calma Harrison |
| Teacher: | Ms Brinkin |
| Subject: | English |
| Grade: | A- |
| Attitude: | C- |
Comments:
Calma is an exceptionally talented student of English.
Unfortunately, she seems determined to waste her considerable
ability. She needs to understand that assignments must be taken
seriously, and are not merely an opportunity to display her
quirky and, at times, immature sense of humour. I expect a
marked improvement in her attitude next semester.
E
ND OF SEMESTER REPORT
:
| Teacher's name: | Ms Brinkin |
| Student: | Calma Harrison |
| Subject: | English |
| Grade: | D- |
| Attitude: | C- |
Comments:
Ms Brinkin has a considerable talent for mediocrity and she
seems determined to reach her full potential in this area. Her
assignments are of an antiquity that would fascinate educational
historians and she is justifiably proud of never having entertained
an original idea. Her lessons are delivered in a whining
monotone that only occasionally threatens to disturb the class's
established sleeping patterns. An enormous improvement on last
semester. Well done!
Chapter 1
Kiffo's finest moment
[
Miss Leanyer â Aries
. There will be challenges in your career
today, precipitated by those who have the flimsiest grasp of your
true merits. Avoid arguments with young people sporting red
hair and few discernible moral scruples.
]
Imagine the scene. There is a new English teacher in the school, replacing the unlamented Ms Brinkin who has disappeared interstate. Rumour has it that âStinkin' Brinkin' left in pursuit of her personal goal to stunt the educational development of as many young Australians as she can find. A woman with a mission and, if past experience is anything to go by, every chance of succeeding.
The new teacher is young and inexperienced. She thinks that she can get through to the kids, bless her. That she can make a difference, mould minds, instil a love of literature into the lumpy heads of Kiffo and the other dazzlingly dysfunctional dumbbells that make up my Year 10 English class. She is frighteningly cheerful, smiling at everyone all the time and generally spooking us out. She over-prepares her lessons. You can tell that she spends hours and hours at home developing materials that she thinks are interesting. In short, she's a disaster waiting to happen.
I love it when we get a teacher like that. What will happen? When will she decide that it's too much effort, that those hours are a waste, that she could have spent the time more profitably getting drunk, or sleeping, or watching TV? When will she come in with defeat stamped on her face and give us an exercise taken from a book that is twenty years old? When will she stop marking our assignments with detailed comments and just put big ticks at the bottom of every unread page? How long will she struggle against the inevitable?
Miss Leanyer. She was great while she lasted. Of course, most of the class didn't really give a stuff. Generally speaking we did what we were told to do, because . . . well, that's just the way it was. We didn't have the energy or the interest to keep up a battle. That's not to say that we were saints. Oh, no. We did all the normal stuff: doodling on each other's legs in black texta, dismantling the furniture with nailfiles, talking while Miss Leanyer was trying to explain the mating habits of apostrophes. That kind of thing.
