This epic piece would be part of the reading comprehension test bank that I am offering at a fraction of the cost Pearson PLC is citing. And if they want to pay more, I’ll bring in Steve Martin to play the banjo. . .or the pineapple. It’s your state’s money. I’ll just use it to buy more books.

The song should be sung to the Charlie Daniels Band’s “The Devil Went Down to Georgia.” Be sure to drop in the appropriate musical interludes for additional fun.

Please answer the questions at the end. Show your work.

I wrote this parody in twenty minutes using the actual passage from the Pearson test. There could be errors. . .on both the count of both parties. But I am handsome and charming. . .and this goes a long way in the parody business. . .

 

A pineapple went to New York

He was lookin’ to have some fun

Which was a real hoot, because he was just a fruit

But lookin’ to run a marathon

 

When he came across March hare

Just sitting on its white tail hump.

The pineapple perched on a maple stump

And said, “Hare, watch me make you jump! ”

 

I’ll bet you didn’t know it,

cause I’m just a tropical fruit,

but if you dare, my fine-haired.  .  .hare

I’ll make a bet with youts” (a Brooklyn pineapple might be funny. Work with me here)

 

“Now you’re a pretty good runner hare,

or at least that what I told,

but I’ve got the backing of Dole against your soul

‘Cos I think I’m faster than you”

 

The hare said, “My name’s Bunny;

and you must think you’re pretty sly

But, I’ll race you fruit–you’re gonna get juiced,

and we’ll be sipping Mai Tais” (to which the Moose, the Owl, and the Monkey all giggled)

 

Oh, March hare lace up your Pumas and watch those slippery leaves,

’cause a talkin’ pineapple ain’t natural; he must gots a-somepin’ up his sleeves.

And if you win you get the whole afternoon to gloooooooat

and the animals all get pineapple boats. . .

 

Well the Mare looked up to Owl and said

“Now you guys all cheer for me;

if I hear one brute root for this fruit,

I’ll set fire to this tree

 

And then rabbit took off with the speed of light—

a most expeditious dude—

and a hip band of rabbits started to play

A musical interlude: (And it sounded something like this)

 

(This would be a good place for that Jive Bunny and the Master Mixer’s track, “Swing the Mood”)

 

When the March hare finished running,

he thought he’d run a personal best,

but that pineapple was just sitting there

and he said, “Hare, this was just a test!” He sang:

(SPONGEBOB THEME SONG BREAKDOWN HERE)(BRING BANJOS)

Oh, who lives in a pineapple under the sea?  

(Of course the audience will jump in here—go ahead and let them)

Absorbant and yellow and porous is he.

If nautical nonsense be something you wish,

then drop on the deck and flop like a fish.

 

 

The March hare licked his chops,

‘Cause that pineapple sure looked sweet,

and he skinned that pineapple bare right there,

exposing it’s tropical treat.

 

Monkey said, “Pineapple, come on back

if you ever wanna run again,

‘cause we’ve got a blender and Moose is on a bender

and Owl’s got a fifth of gin”

 

He played, “‘Lime in the Coconut’, run, fruit, run!

Pineapple’s gonna blister in the sun.

Pearson’s into testing picking up dough

New York does it make sense? No, friends, no.”

Question #1:

What was Jive Bunny and the Mix Masters follow up hit to “Swing the Mood?”

Question #2:

Name any drink that can be made with pineapple and gin.

Question #3:

How many “Pineapple Boats” can be made from a standard pineapple? Can the four animals in the story be served equally from the antagonist in this story?

Question #4:

What cereal company gave us Fruit Brute in the 1970’s?

Question #5:

What 1980’s alt-punk band provides the allusion, “blister in the sun” in Monkey’s refrain?

Question #6:

Why are you not adequately prepared to answer these questions?

 

Daniel Coleman (of the Common Core State Standards), Glen Mereno (Chairman of Pearson), met in an undisclosed location recently. You’re not supposed to know where as to know would mean unlocking all of the secrets of educational reform.

Okay. It was in Hawaii. But, that is all I can tell you.

Okay. It was at a Holiday Inn Express on Honolulu. Wow. You readers are really good at pressing writers into telling all they know. But all of this is important to the story. And setting the story in Honolulu will make it very easy to build in a pineapple when the moment calls for it.

It seems that Coleman and Moreno had been meeting like this for some time. It might be an I-HOP this week, a Golden Corral the next, but always someplace where they knew they could get fried cheese and drinks with a souvenir cup. Coleman seemed to favor the rocket cup, but a bad experience with chili cheese fries during an earlier meeting scratched Denny’s off the meeting places.

But I digress.

Stories like the one I am spinning for you this morning do require some set up. I hope that you will indulge me just a bit.

So, this pineapple is being laid out upon a cutting board to be made into Mai Tais for the retired couple at Table #14 (he of the independent hardware business for forty years, she made crocheted pot holders for the local mushroom festival each spring), when Daniel calls out to the bartender, “Barkeep, would it be okay if we spoke to that pineapple for just a moment?”

The bartender looked up with an expression that seemed to say, “Great. Saturday afternoon.” The pineapple sat with virtually no expression whatsoever (in keeping with a sense of reality that might be expected from readers here–we can build in some anthropomorphism a little later in the story, but I don’t want you to think I’ve gone all Fruit of the Loom on you this early in the story). So the pineapple sat there. On the board. Crown up. Motionless.

The bartender brought the pineapple to the table and sat it down between Coleman and Moreno. Coleman broke the ice while Moreno crossed his fingers in a sort of “pineapple upsets my stomach” kind of quiet sentiment.

“I’ll bet you’ll want to know why we called you over here, Mr. Pineapple.”

“Peter;” the pineapple thought to himself, “my friends call me Peter” (building slowly into the moment wherein the pineapple might actually speak–interior monologue is a nice way to ease you into this talking piece of fruit which will undoubtedly fuel your nightmares brought on by the typical Elmo’s World installment).

“We’re designing a test, Mr. Pineapple. A test that will gauge whether or not students are learning. And ultimately whether teachers are teaching. And when I saw you sitting regally upon that cutting board behind the bar, I knew you were the man we wanted to bring on board.”

The pineapple now spoke.

“Wow. That’s great. This will be my crowning achievement as a pineapple. Wait until the other pineapples hear about this.” (I hope you are still with us now that the pineapple is talking. I cannot promise that the dialogue will get any better as I am trying to build a sense of MY DINNER WITH ENT-ANDRE here, friends).

“Yes,” Coleman said, “You’ll be the conversation around dinner tables as children talk about your inclusion within our new test banks. Why, you’ll literally be on the tips of the tongues of a whole nation.”

Moreno looked through narrow eyes at Coleman as if to say that the fruit jokes might be going a little much. Even for an extended metaphor.

Coleman continued, “Yes. About that crown. It will look great on the cover of the test booklets. We’ve gotten a lot of mileage from a cousin of yours who appears in one of our better tests right now. Your cousin has created a sense of confusion that is rattling young people to the core (clears throat) and causing them to question their own ability to think critically. Now if you don’t mind we would like your lovely green crown to appear above the title page of our new testing booklet.”

It was then that Moreno drew a large knife from under the booth and deftly cut off the top of Peter, holding the green crown in a scene reminiscent of the end of Conan the Barbarian where Arnold holds the head of James Earl Jones high above the crowd gathered at the temple (go rent this. . .it’s a beautiful Hero’s Journey type story and Jones turns into a snake at one point).

“Wowza!” exclaimed Peter. “That was really unexpected. I’m not sure I want to hang about with you fellows anymore. I don’t care what you are promising.”

“But wait, Peter,” interrupted Coleman, putting his large hands around the pineapple to keep it from falling off of the table (which would look like a type of escape, but I am not sure how much of this you would really believe if the pineapple just started to slowly slink away from this gathering). “Let’s talk about this skin of yours. So rough. So spiky. Why, Peter; you’re simply rigorous. You’re just what we are looking for, friend. Please stay.”

Peter thought to himself, “Why my skin is golden and tight. And it is quite spiky. I am quite the specimen among the pineapple set.”

It was then that Moreno quickly–as if with months of training playing Fruit Ninja–skinned Peter leaving four slabs of skin lying like sickeningly-sweet scabs upon the table. A nearby fly looked on with interest. Moreno drew the blade across his bottom lip following it with his tongue to capture any stray juices.

Peter sensed real trouble now, but what could he do. Being a pineapple and all. The capability of free thought and intelligent speech were not enough to afford escape, so he sat, naked. . .exposed. . .fruit and all.

It was then that Coleman spoke most ominously. “Now, Peter. Let’s get to the heart of the matter, shall we?”

And with a few quick slices, Moreno had Peter fleshed-out into four neat pineapple boats, leaving nothing but a core behind on the table.

“Beautiful,” whispered Coleman. “It’s simply beautiful. Have you ever seen a core like this? Glen. Stripped of its own sense of prowess and achievement, removed from its glossy outer coverings that might read like some kind of natural accolade, and it’s fruit only given to softness and sweetness and nurture. Ahhh. . .the core.”

It was uncomfortable for Moreno and the pineapple to hear Coleman speaking this way, but probably more so for the pineapple, having been through the Mereno Mouli.

Peter, resolved to all that had happened to him in the past few minutes, was still hopeful about the opportunity to work with powerful men like Coleman and Moreno. He quietly asked Coleman (avoiding any kind of contact with Moreno–as much as one might avoid contact will sitting perfectly still). He quietly asked, “I’ve given all I can give here, fellas, but I would still like to be a part of your test. I’ll do whatever I can. All I ask is that we would be splitting the benefits evenly. . .right? Fellas? Right?”

“Oh, but Peter,” Coleman said,”What should we pay you for simply sitting still and doing nothing really but sitting upon the page, an obscure character in some story that wouldn’t make sense to anyone but those sitting right here at this table? I cannot think of any reason to “cut” (giggle) you into our deal.”

“But isn’t that what you do? Mr. Coleman? Mr. Moreno? Simply sit there watching the crowning achievements the wonderful educators ripped away along with the tough, rigid resolve of educators to educate students, moving on to slice through the very fruit of excellent instruction that happens every day in learning communities across the country, leaving them nothing but some hard, starchy core that looks, feels, and smell a lot like me?”

It was a very thoughtful question. For a pineapple. Given his current condition.

“Mr. Pineapple,” Coleman glared. “There will be no deal between us other than the one that has been laid out before us (giggle and wink). You see? That is the difference between you and people like Mr. Moreno and me.”

Moreno left the table, walking toward the bartender, motioning behind the bar for a small box.

“And that is?” asked Peter.

“Well, you see, Mr. Pineapple,” said Coleman condescendingly, “We are architects.”

Moreno returned with a small box of little red and blue plastic swords.
“And you, Mr. Pineapple. . .” Coleman continued.

“Are simply artifact.”

A blender whirred in the background as the feast began.

The smell of pineapple lingered about the bar.

 

This morning, I posted this article regarding the resignation of Republic Superintendent, Vern Minor (you’ll remember that is was under Minor’s leadership that books like Laurie Halse Anderson’s Speak, Sarah Ockler’s Twenty Boy Summer, and Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse Five were removed from classrooms sparking a controversy and the beginnings of the #SpeakLoudly initiative at Twitter). Facebook friend, John Francis, of the Moreno Valley Unified School District, sent me a link to a letter–dated November 1973–from Kurt Vonnegut to Drake School Board after hearing that several copies of his novel, Slaughterhouse Five, had been ordered to be thrown into the school furnace.

The letter appears here–in its entirety–courtesy of Letters of Note (Italics and Bolding mine):

Dear Mr. McCarthy:

 I am writing to you in your capacity as chairman of the Drake School Board. I am among those American writers whose books have been destroyed in the now famous furnace of your school.

Certain members of your community have suggested that my work is evil. This is extraordinarily insulting to me. The news from Drake indicates to me that books and writers are very unreal to you people. I am writing this letter to let you know how real I am.

I want you to know, too, that my publisher and I have done absolutely nothing to exploit the disgusting news from Drake. We are not clapping each other on the back, crowing about all the books we will sell because of the news. We have declined to go on television, have written no fiery letters to editorial pages, have granted no lengthy interviews. We are angered and sickened and saddened. And no copies of this letter have been sent to anybody else. You now hold the only copy in your hands. It is a strictly private letter from me to the people of Drake, who have done so much to damage my reputation in the eyes of their children and then in the eyes of the world. Do you have the courage and ordinary decency to show this letter to the people, or will it, too, be consigned to the fires of your furnace?

I gather from what I read in the papers and hear on television that you imagine me, and some other writers, too, as being sort of ratlike people who enjoy making money from poisoning the minds of young people. I am in fact a large, strong person, fifty-one years old, who did a lot of farm work as a boy, who is good with tools. I have raised six children, three my own and three adopted. They have all turned out well. Two of them are farmers. I am a combat infantry veteran from World War II, and hold a Purple Heart. I have earned whatever I own by hard work. I have never been arrested or sued for anything. I am so much trusted with young people and by young people that I have served on the faculties of the University of Iowa, Harvard, and the City College of New York. Every year I receive at least a dozen invitations to be commencement speaker at colleges and high schools. My books are probably more widely used in schools than those of any other living American fiction writer.

If you were to bother to read my books, to behave as educated persons would, you would learn that they are not sexy, and do not argue in favor of wildness of any kind. They beg that people be kinder and more responsible than they often are. It is true that some of the characters speak coarsely. That is because people speak coarsely in real life. Especially soldiers and hardworking men speak coarsely, and even our most sheltered children know that. And we all know, too, that those words really don’t damage children much. They didn’t damage us when we were young. It was evil deeds and lying that hurt us.

After I have said all this, I am sure you are still ready to respond, in effect, “Yes, yes–but it still remains our right and our responsibility to decide what books our children are going to be made to read in our community.” This is surely so. But it is also true that if you exercise that right and fulfill that responsibility in an ignorant, harsh, un-American manner, then people are entitled to call you bad citizens and fools. Even your own children are entitled to call you that.

I read in the newspaper that your community is mystified by the outcry from all over the country about what you have done. Well, you have discovered that Drake is a part of American civilization, and your fellow Americans can’t stand it that you have behaved in such an uncivilized way. Perhaps you will learn from this that books are sacred to free men for very good reasons, and that wars have been fought against nations which hate books and burn them. If you are an American, you must allow all ideas to circulate freely in your community, not merely your own.

If you and your board are now determined to show that you in fact have wisdom and maturity when you exercise your powers over the eduction of your young, then you should acknowledge that it was a rotten lesson you taught young people in a free society when you denounced and then burned books–books you hadn’t even read. You should also resolve to expose your children to all sorts of opinions and information, in order that they will be better equipped to make decisions and to survive.

Again: you have insulted me, and I am a good citizen, and I am very real.

Kurt Vonnegut

In honor of the first day of National Poetry Month 2012, here is a poem I “found” within Kurt Vonnegut’s letter:

 

“The Book Keepers” A Found Poem

 I am

among

those members

of your community.

 

I am.

 

I want you to know,

too,

I have

done nothing not

clapping,

crowing.

 

It is private.

 

I gather from

what I read.

 

You imagine me.

 

If you were

to bother

to read books.

 

People speak—

coarsely—

in real life—

soldiers

and

hardworking men—

speak coarsely.

 

Young,

it was

evil deeds

 and

lying

that hurt.

 

I have said this.

 

I am sure you are

still ready to respond.

 

I read

part of

American civilization

from books—

sacred,

free,

good.

 

Ideas circulate freely,

determined to show

wisdom and maturity

in a free society.

 

Books read

expose your children

to all sorts

of opinions

and

information.

 

They will be better equipped

to make decisions

and

to survive.

 

I am

 a good citizen,

 and

I am

very

real.