Professor Simunić
Short story
All twenty-three students save two (Emir and Emil, the retard twins from Niliš high up in the mountains, who just sat and drooled in sync) were pressing their lips and firming up their ass cheeks so as to contain the mighty burst of laughter bubbling inside them. So enclosed, the laughter only insinuated itself in the cold classroom that smelled of chalk and lessons and authority. Professor Simunić stood by the blackboard stiff as a zombie, except for his bug-eyed stare and a mouth that kept twitching, twisting, twirling, in silence, without cessation. He was, all in all, a good-looking guy, a brainiac, many of the ladies in town said.
Professor Simunić spoke. “Guzonja, you little cock-sucking motherfucker. You, you, you. Your turn. Up to the board you little faggot, you ass muncher, cunt, cunt, cunt, oh, oh, oh, oh. Go on. How does Gödel’s incompleteness theorem motivate the use of relative consistency proofs? Simple question.”
Guzonja, whose ass was so fat it welled over the chair like a saddle, turned pale as a ghoul, caught like a deer as he was in Professor Simunić’s beam of command laced with insane expletives. Guzonja rose chubbily with a mighty heavy hesitation, reluctantly dragged his size 31 feet up to the blackboard, all the while feeling squeezed from both sides by the two rows of sitting students. With a naivete on his face, Guzonja looked up at the towering board and scratched his head (“Head-scratching, ball-scratching, sweat of a lice’s ass hair, jizz, jizz, jizz all over the ear,” Professor Simunić took the opportunity to tell him).
L₀ = ∅
L_{α+1} = Def(L_α)
= { X ⊆ L_α | X is definable over (L_α, ∈) with parameters }
L_λ = ⋃_{β < λ} L_β (λ a limit ordinal)
𝓛 = ⋃_{α ∈ Ord} L_α
Elsewhere on the board: “AC is not provable from ZF, but holds in…,” “Σ1-statements are absolute…,” and so forth.
The blackboard was just the beginning. The shit was written all over the walls, so that wherever they turned their eyes, the students saw symbols, equations, formulas, definitions, ordinals, what have you (except the windows, those remained untouched, mostly because Professor Simunić didn’t know what would stick to glass).
Scattered across some of the empty spaces of this logico-mathematical labyrinth, Professor Simunić had drawn: an erect penis with two large testicles (dots shoot out from the penis, plotting a parabolic curve), two large breasts with enormous nipples, a woman’s vagina drawn in precise detail, a man and a woman copulating, a man and a man copulating, a finger entering an anus, poop drawn in different shapes (turd, swirl, mush).
“Well, Guzonja? Diarrhea brain. Numb nuts. Nutless cocker. Fuckwad. Nose fucker. Jerk it, jerk it, jerk it! Well?”
“Uhm, I, I, I, don’t know Professor. Is the answer f, f, f, four?”
Raso Hamdić, who sat all the way in the back, couldn’t contain his chuckle, so it came out like a crackhead’s cough. When Hamdić started, his buddy Hamza Salahić, who sat next to him across the row, was bound to follow, and follow he did.
“Oh, you little bitch-ass cunt brains down there, suck dick, suck dick! Shut your little whore mouths! Dick cheese, dick cheese, dick cheese, rotting asshair, rotting asshair!” Professor Simunić said. That shut Hamdić and Salahić on the outward side, and they went back to pressing their lips and clinching their asses, like the others.
Simunić turned his attention back to Guzonja. “Guzonja, you disappoint me something fierce son, now go sit your little faggetty, fag, fag, fag, ass down, and next time try not to be such a retard. God damn, how am I supposed to teach under these circumstances, when they piss on Gödel in his grave!? Pussy, cum, cum, cum!”
*
Deciding to hire Professor Simunić to teach first-grade mathematics was certainly no easy decision. Here’s how it all went down. Not long after fall semester had started, Ivana Stanković, the regular mathematics teacher, met a Hungarian guy in a bar, fell in love, and quit her job abruptly to go live with this László Török-Rácz in Budapest.
In a small remote town like Rudo, it wasn’t easy to find a new teacher just after school start. The school’s principal, fifty-three-year-old Dejan Obrenović, upon learning of how he was to be left in the lurch, instantly began despising Ivana Stanković and wished her all sorts of ills and sexually transmittable diseases. Being at a loss for a solution to his time-sensitive dilemma, principal Obrenović turned to the most well-connected townsfolk for assistance.
The members of this elite group congregated in Worker Self-Management Sub-Committee No. 1: Comrade Mirela (medical doctor, member at large), Comrade Hana (factory worker, Dudoplast, member at large), Comrade Vlade (owner of the big clothing store, member at large), Comrade Mirsad (cashier in the big clothing store, secretary), and Comrade Rade (manager of Dudoplast, the plastics factory, chairman).
Sub-Committee No. 1 met bi-monthly in the conference room of Dudoplast HQ. Comrade Rade always made sure there was plenty of coffee, sweets, sudžuka, bread, and rakija on standby in case of emergency, by telling his docile assistant to ensure there was always plenty of coffee, sweets, sudžuka, bread, and rakija on standby in case of emergency.
Comrade Rade called a flash meeting to address the issue of finding a new first-grade mathematics teacher. Comrade Mirsad called the meeting to order and went over the agenda (for Comrade Rade didn’t want to waste an added opportunity to address additional issues of public concern):
1. The incest and bestiality incidents in Mioče and Niliš are still prevalent. Discuss new informational campaign to be implemented by the field nurse.
2. Prepare for the visit of engineers from Sarajevo – they intend to expect the energy grid. Arrange hotel, schedule, etc.
3. Discuss pros and cons of introducing a Day of the Ćevap. Suggested questions for discussion: how many kilograms/tons of ćevapi would be needed to feed the whole town for one day? How much would it cost? Who would pay for it? Who could lecture about the history and cultural significance of the ćevap?
4. Help find a replacement for the mathematics teacher, Ivana Stanković.
Yawning ensued. Comrade Rade declared an emergency and broke out the rakija. The sub-committee members toasted to each other’s health, prosperity, the health of Comrade Tito, and so forth, then downed three shots in a row.
Fortified in spirit by spirit, they discussed the first three items on the agenda.
“Ah,” Comrade Rade said forty minutes into the meeting, “now let’s address this pesky issue of the mathematics teacher. Fuck if I know what we should do. Ideas Comrades?”
“Fuck if I know,” Comrade Hana said.
“Fuck if I know,” Comrade Vlade said.
“Abstain, doing the agenda and taking notes,” Comrade Mirsad said.
“Fucking idiots. Guess it’s on me Comrades, again,” Comrade Mirela said. “The way I see it, we’ve only got one option: Simunić.”
The other Comrades cried out in unison: “Simunić!?”
“Comrade Mirela,” Comrade Rade said, “with all due respect, but are you on cocaine or something? The man may be a genius, but with his, eh, whatever the condition’s called, I mean, are you insane? Adults can barely take it when he starts shooting off pussy this, cock that, in front of them, and you want to put him in front of seven-year-olds?”
“Genius is the key word here,” Comrade Mirela said. “So, we’re not disputing the man’s qualifications, then? I mean, my God, he’s been nominated for the Fields Medal, twice!”
The sub-committee nodded in agreement.
Comrade Mirela continued: “Okay, so yeah, he curses, curses a lot, all the time. It’s called Tourette syndrome, Comrades, and it’s an illness. He’s not trying to be mean or anything. And I’ll say this, I’ve seen each and every one of you say shit in front of kids, to kids, your own kids, that make Simunić’s curses sound like lullabies.”
This was a truth no Comrade present at the Worker Self-Management Sub-Committee No. 1 meeting could deny.
“So he’ll yell and curse and say weird shit, so what? Think of the amazing opportunity of having a mathematical genius as a teacher!”
“Alright, I think we’re all convinced,” Comrade Hana said. “But will he do it? Heard he just walks around town depressed and cursing, wanting to do nothing, not since they fired his ass in Sarajevo.”
“Leave that to me,” Comrade Rade said. “I’ll tell him that if he does it, I’ll put in a good word for him at the University of Sarajevo so he can get reinstated.”
“Then it’s settled,” Comrade Mirsad concluded. “I’ll enter it into the minutes.”
*
As Comrades Mirela and Hana were exiting the Dudoplast HQ building, Mirela said: “I’ll say this, that Simunić is one good-looking guy. He reminds of Jean-Paul Sartre. I may pleasure myself tonight fantasizing about being Simone de Beauvoir in bed with Simunić.”
“God, that’s disgusting, you’re sick,” Comrade Hana said.