Stop giving away cafeteria apples to Mz Fulcrum; she's not even as hot as Mr Minotaur. Though Principal Fendleton vaporizes students (and smokes a couple packs of cigarettes per day) neither are allowed on campus. Francine did what no student has done before; I'm still shaking. Guess who the mascot is! Mr Johnson is still turning in his grave—don't you worry. STAY OUT OF THE MASCOTS' LOUNGE. Well, the Billy Turner is back from the grave, and he's kind of a jerk. Thank you to our sponsors, Chodelula Hot Sauce and Albers Pre-Kissed Grits, as well as Budweiser. Music is from the album Variegata by Misguided Merman. This month's parody song is 99 Dead Baboons. Lyrics: You and I, we were at the zoo, Pressing face to glass ogling the baboons. We watched them eat and hump the day away Until we heard an announcement say A gigantic mistake has been made. Everyone needs to evacuate. Explosions boomed from right behind And 99 dead baboons flew by. 99 dead baboons. This oughta make the evening news. Missing limbs, that must've hurt. Detached butt cheeks in the dirt. What's that there up in the sky? 99 bald eagles cry. They're swooping down and picking up 99 dead baboons for lunch. 99 bald eagles carry 99 corpses so hairy. Just when they have flown away, Canadian jet planes have come to play. They're flying through the shared airspace, Hitting avians of every race. Their engines clog, better eject now, As 99 dead baboons fall down. 99 monkeys in flight, Silhouetted by blinding light. Plane pieces fall everywhere, Eagles screeching, burning hair. Far below them on the ground, NASA astronauts count down. Their rocket shoots into the sky. With animals and jets, it does collide. And 99 dead eagles get fried. Burning up in the atmosphere, Eagles and jets disappear, But the monkey bodies float away. I'll never forget this day. Now, when I look up to the stars, I spot Venus, I see Mars. But, orbiting around the moon, Are 99 dead baboons.

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What, you've never seen a sweat floor before now? Don't stare, and watch your step. Tough luck for Braydon; I was really rooting for him not to get totally disintegrated by Principal Fendleton's left hook. Witness me and my bus racing! Whoever reheated cod in the teachers' lounge microwave is gonna get a slap across the back for a job well done. The school only has so many orphans to give away to Home Ec. Students—PLEASE keep the one you have been given ALIVE FOR THE DURATION OF THE WEEK. Oh my goodness, navigating this robot around campus is so much fun; perhaps, when it's got a bigger battery, I'll wheel over to my teenage self's secret spot. Oster has sponsored our school, and I cannot wait for the Jambalaya Oster Microwaves to dry out the competition! The Rat King is a Rat B@$+@rd! Music for this episode was performed by Misguided Merman. You can find more ambient tracks and hip-hop songs at soundcloud.com/misguidedmerman
 Thank you to Dannon's Actibia, Dos Ekans Premium Pokemon Lager, and Budweiser. This month's parody song was Wicked Grime. Lyrics: You drag me outside with the intention of playing a sport. Rain is disturbing the grounds of the basketball court. I never dreamed I would step on a field so muddy. You pass the ball with the gall to say, "one-v-one me." But I don't want to ball in mud (this world is only gonna soil your pants). No I don't wanna ball in mud (this world is only gonna stain your slacks) with you. With you. You ask me if I've ever watched Ninja Warrior. Add dirt and water and, baby, you've got the Tough Mudder. It's an adult playground where you only get dirtier. On hands and knees, under barbed wire, please say no more. 'Cause I don't want to crawl in mud (this world is only gonna soil your pants). No, I don't wanna crawl in mud (this world is gonna add caca to your khakis) with you. You were on fire and screaming, "I'm burning; help me!" But the only path to you was down a wet mucky street. I held a pail of water that could put your flames out. But I turned away, voted nay, and ignored your shout. 'Cause I don't wanna walk in mud (this world is only gonna soil your pants). No, I don't wanna fall in mud (this world is only gonna tarnish your trousers) for you. (This world is only gonna dirty your denim). For you. (This world is only gonna smear your sweats). (This world is only gonna blemish your bootcuts). (This world is only gonna pollute your pleats). Nobody should love mud. 

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Three hurrahs for mascot DNA splicing! Don't talk to my son until he's had his coffee. Yooo we shadow dropped toilet bowls last week. You're all so smelly. I am become my own HR person. ASB elections were a suprise upset, and I owe Mr Stanovich fifteen bucks. If I have to think about that hand turkey again, I know I'll puke. These unsactioned Jambalaya podcasts are bringing me to my whit's end. If I had a child and caught them listening to one of these illicit audiotapes, I would make them listen to the whole catalogue—episodes back-to-back-to-back-to-back, until they threw up. Music for this episode was performed by Maxfield. Check out his album VROOM VROOM here.
 Instagram here | Shedule a tattoo!
 Thanks to our sponsors, Slowgurt and MoccaSins. Breaking the KitKat lyrics: Reese's won't do. I'm craving something new. I want something that snaps in two. I can't conclude which candy I should choose. Too many options call to me. I don't want to eat a chocolate bar that looks like poo, with sticky caramel that hampers my mouth when I chew. I don't know what I'm looking for, but it's too cold for ice cream. Klondike Bars are off the table, as are Boston Baked Beans. So much candy bends and stretches—I wan't something hard. So I'm breaking the KitKat. I'm breaking the KitKat Bar. Empty wrapper. I've gotta find some more. 3 Musketeers—more like three out of ten. Mr. Bad Bar, I threw you very far—unfit for human consumption. I'm too insecure to pick the veiny Snickers on the shelf. And Butterfinger crumbles easily and without help. I Whoppers aren't worth paying for. And Hershey's cocoa's cheap. It barely meets the minimum requirements to be...classified as chocolate—what the crap—that's not alright. So I'm breaking the KitKat. I'm breaking the KitKat—no bite. I'll stack KitKats so tall, encase myself in it all—a KitKat cocoon den. I'll emerge diabetic. I now know what's worth fighting for, and Milky Way ain't it. KitKat has variety like churro and green tea. If birthday cake and chocolate frosted donut sounds real nice, I am breaking the KitKat. I'm breaking the KitKat. I'm breaking the KitKat King Size. 

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The floor is lava; go figure. Elections are here, cool kids! Those shifting halls in the high school are hiding a door that has been long lost to this school. Mr Minotaur is leading the charge (safely behind a wall of students) into the catacombs to battle the combat enhanced rat king! Woah, who could have seen the twist the came from the Egg Board of 'Merica? Music for this episode was performed by Jemmy Joe. You can find lots more of his eclectic work at jemmyjoe.bandcamp.com. Thank you to our sponsors, Serfs-to-air missiles and the Cunnilanguish Public Service Announcement. And, of course, thank you to Budweiser. Vice Principal parodied The Rolling Stones' song Wild Horses with his version, Mild Hot Sauce. Lyrics: Hot sauce? No thank you. Salsa? No Gracias. The spiciest thing I put in my mouth has got to be mint floss. Ketchup is straight fire. Mustard cranks the hog. Pickles bathed in vinegar make me sweat like a dog. And mild hot sauce brings my mouth so much pain. Mild, mild hot sauce makes my tears fall like rain. You watched me sweat, eating a tomato. My forehead is so wet. Are you sure it's not a habanero? I ate a deviled egg. My tongue went straight to hell. Paprika knocked me down a peg. Satan scalds me with his spell. And mild hot sauce brings biblical flames. If my tongue is Abel, than Tabasco is Cain. On peppercorns I'm choking. Country gravy leaves my tongue tied. Both my ears are smoking, and my taste buds are fried. Frank's Red Hot can suck it. Sriracha, go die. I would buy Sweet Baby Ray's, but that stuff makes me cry. And mild hot sauce brings out the whips and chain. Mild, mild hot sauce leaves me cleaning up stains. Mild hot sauce—all aboard the pain train. Mild, mild hot sauce—the last stop is my taint. 

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Our wonderfully undead former mascot, Gerald Fitzgerald, has at last succumbed to gravity—well—most of him has. Have a heart; donate your heart! Those death metal band names are GNARLY. Sirit Week is here at last, and it's going to be a blast! Boy was it wild when Justin Rice laid that egg in front of us all. This month's music was provided by SSS AKA Sam Smith at sssmusic.bandcamp.com. Thank you to Nunyuns and Dongsmasher 2K23 for the XBox360. And a very special thank you to Budweiser. This month's parody song is You've Got a Hand in Me, a parody of You've Got a Friend in Me by Randy Newman.
Lyrics: You've got a hand in me. You got a hand in me. With one finger you knod my head, and you make me agree to everything you've said. I still remember when you wore me to bed 'cause you've got a hand in me. Yeah you got a hand in me. You've got a hand in me. You got a hand in me. I've got fissures, and they're 'cause of you. My anal cavity's as visited as a zoo. My butt's a bike trail you bulldozed through 'cause you've got a hand in me. Oh yeah you've got a hand in me. And sometimes you don't like to wash your hands when you go knockin' down my door. And would it kill you to use some lube once in a while? And you nails—they need a file. As the days go by my hull is breached open wide. My ass is beggin' for serenity. But you've got a hand in me. Oh yeah you've got a hand in me. Yeah you've got a hand in me. 

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Come spell "Sheldon the Egg Board Egg" with our cheer squad and your community at the next sports function! Mr Minotaur stamps his hooves and makes us laugh, cry, and long for those days far behind us. Nothing is happening in the teachers' lounge; a profit is not being made by nothing going on in the teachers' lounge; silence your inquisitivity. The high school is open! Unfortunately, we have only two teachers for all four grades—sorry. Driving lessons are being offered for free; please bring your own seatbelt. The Egg Board of 'Merica was just here; they left with one of Jambalaya's finest :( The kindergarten classroom is... getting aired out. It was a bit stuffy inside. SSS AKA Sam Smith provided the music for this episode. You can find his work at sssmusic.bandcamp.com . Our sponsors for this episode are The Anvilope as well as Bred Bull Bread Bowl-in-a-Can. And, of course, Budweiser. Stay wise. The parody song this month is "Only Horny When it Rains," a parody of Garbage's "Only Happy When it Rains." Lyrics: I'm only horny when it rains. I bite my lip when it's precipitating. Even the morning dew is titillating. I'm only horny when it rains. My pants get tight when the forecast is bad. My nips will burst right through my buttoned plaid. I'm only horny when it rains. Horny during a storm. Horny during a hurricane. I'm so wet I could drown. I'm so wet I could drown a fish. I'm only horny when it rains. I start to tingle when the sun is gone. Tsunami warnings get me so turned on. I'm only horny when it rains. I jump in puddles at the park. The muddy water brings the cravings back. The sprinkler system makes me grip my bat. I'm only horny when it rains. I get so hot and bothered in typhoons. The Perfect Storm on Blu-Ray makes me swoon. I'm only horny when it rains. I'm as stiff as a board. I'm as stiff as a board of nails. Porn volume gets turned down. Rain ASMR gets turned up. It's a mystery how rain turns me into a freak and soaks my underwear. I'm only horny when it rains. I'm fingering my bottle's condensation. My ear of corn gets hard from irrigation. I'm only horny when it rains.


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Poor Bethany—she was our mascot for only a few minutes—that HAS to be a Jambalaya record. A warm welcome back to Jonathan Bowers who was crushed physically—now he's crushed figuratively. Show-and-Tell has been CANCELLED for no bad reason. Seriously, stop asking and demanding answers, as it's a boring story. Please refrain from making bovine jokes in Mr Minotaur's class or you will be cowed into submission. Ms Shannanoff is single again, and she needs a place to crash for a few weeks. Gravity in the math room is now technically better than it was... in my opinion. Attire and Mari's Minced Mints sponsored. Music for this episode was performed by SSS AKA Sam Smith. You can find his work at sssmusic.bandcamp.com Parody song this episode is Crepe, parodying Creep by Radiohead. Lyrics: When you were wheat flour. I couldn't look you in the rye. You're just like an angel foodcake. Your skin is like pie...crust. You're flaky like filo. In a croissant world. You're so light and airy. I'm stuffed with a berry. 'Cause I'm a crepe. I'm a weird dough. Why the hell am I frying here? I doughnut belong here. I don't care if I'm burnt. I wanna be a roll. I want a pita body. I want a doughnut hole. I want you glutinous. When I loaf around. You're so fu**ing enriched. I wish I was deep dish. But I'm a crepe. Not sourdough. Why the hell am I frying here. I doughnut belong here. Ohh. Ohh. She's running out of dough. She's rolling out the naan...naan...Naan...NAAAAAAAN! NaaaAAAAN! Whatever makes it crumbly. If it's leavened you want. You're so fu**ing risen. This pan is a prison. And I'm a crepe. I'm a weird dough. Why the hell am I frying here? I doughnut belong here. I doughnut belong here.

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Gerald Fitzgerald isn't the best mascot, but we're finding a use for him in the upcoming Harvest Dance. Speaking of which, our late shop teacher, Mr. Johnson, will be attending...as a cadaver. His widow will be dressing him up and posing him for pictures. It will be so much fun. Be sure to adhere to the dance move regulations! I'm serious. Our smart, tallented, nepotism student, Maximillian Engvalde, will be bragged about in this episode. His parents gave us money to talk him up. But I swear we would do it anyway even if we weren't paid. I swear it on someone's mother's life. Principal Fendleton has returned from her excursion as a Street Fighter. Thanks to our sponsors: Fitbitch, The Scouring Plaid Shirt, and Budweiser. The music for this episode was performed by AR who you can find at www.AngelRapE.bandcamp.com. This month Vice Principal Mr. Jonesandmi performed Cavity, a parody of John Mayer's Gravity. Lyrics: Cavity has found it's way into my teeth. Cavity has turned my smiles to frowns. Guess I'll never chew on M&Ms. I won't suck your Ring Pop gems. I'll dream of licking Jaw Breakers all day. Cavity has mined tunnels deep in me. And cavity gave me a gold crown. Oh, the plaque is gone. The tooth it bare. 'Cause it was mauled by a gummy bear that made its den and hibernates in me. Oh, I brushed you once then brushed you off. Now a waterpick is not enough. I'll learn to floos and love dental hygiene. Oh, cavity, you're filling me with anxiety. Oh, cavity, I now regret going fluoride-free—my dentist weeps. Just keep me where fluoride is. I'll stave off gingivitis and periodontitis. Just keep me where fluoride is. I'll stave off gingivitis and periodontitis. 

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It's so great that Gerald Fitzgerald has been ressurected and is aimlessly wandering around campus! Mr. Manadult was not who he/they appeared to be. The toilet situation is crappy—pun unfortunately intended. It's plastic bag awareness month; students, prepare yourselves for a three-hour mandatory lecture on safety when cinching. Don't accept the wrapper-less caramels from Drewann McDermott's pockets. Better yet, don't make eye contact. Music by David Petty @ davidpetty.bandcamp.com Additional writing on Fist Formers Only was done by Julian Bucklin and Sammy City. Check out my website for memes and more! Vice Principal Mr. Jonesandmi's song this month is The Way I Heat Your Meal, a parody of Michael Jackson's The Way You Make Me Feel. Lyrics: Hey, lazy bachelor with sweat pants on. You push my buttons with an apathetic frown. I warm your products of loneliness. Jimmy Dean, hungry man, and Bush's Best. I feel your thumb press and swell with pride. My door swings open, and you shove your meat inside. Just close me, baby, give me some time. My motor's revving for The way I heat your meal (Spaghetti-Os congealed). You get me powered on (and take a hit from the bong). The way you come when I beep (my harvest can be reaped). Your motivation's dead (but appetite is fed). This pizza pocket you placed in me Is molten hot via electricity. Oh, I'll be nuking this kid cuisine. Dino nuggies, fries, corn, cosmic brownie. I've never served a more pathetic dweeb. When hungry for Italian food picks chef Boyardee. The frozen center of this chicken pot pie Is an allegory for The way your heart can't feel (the way I warm your meal). I really turn your food (and overheat heat your stew). This can of Campbell's chunky (explodes inside of me). My cleanliness is gone (that didn’t take too long). The contents of my body satiate. Open me early, baby, there's no time to wait. Partially cooked still counts as cooked. You shrug your shoulders and begin To eat your luke warm creole (I somewhat warm your meal). Erupted casserole (spewing burrito bowl). You put DiGiorno in me (FOR THE LOVE OF GOD GET DELIVERY). My landfill days are near (I just want out of here). The way I warm your meal (technically not raw veal). Blue cheese is burnt in me (and you just leave it be). You knock on me when I don't heat. [KNOCKING ON MICROWAVE SOUND] "No! Come on! My chicken breast is still pink! *sigh* Oh, who am I kidding? I like it better this way."

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Whoever spray painted those distasteful remarks about Jambalaya's natural musk wouldn't know a good smell if it invaded their nostrils. Yes, the hall minotaur is still reigning terror in the high school halls—we're working on it. We welcome a new sponsor: The Egg Board of 'Merica! And just in time for book fair; check out a book about eggs and the beauty of the cloaca. Take care when walking on the ceiling in the social studies classroom. If anyone has any information on who keeps deleting Raymond Fiddlehorn's internet search history, please come forward. Thank you to our sponsors: Inchiladas as well as Matrescide. Music by David Petty. This month's parody song is You Spun Me All Night Long: She was a washing machine. She always got me clean. She scrubbed the dirt and grime from nearly every seam. That girl treats me right like I'm a delicate white. Soaking me through, she gets me sanitized. Spinning medium-slow, dispensing extra soap, when it was time to dry she wouldn't let me go. The walls rotated. The door vibrated. The jeans gyrated. My stains all faded when you...spun me all night long. Yeah, you...spun me all night long. She worked and toiled 'cause I was heavily soiled. Her liquid nearly boiled. I'm so god dang spoiled. Got me extra hot to remove an ink blot. Scrubbed a ketchup stain from a dropped tater tot. Had to twirl me 'round because my sleeves were bound. Then I started to drown and made a bubbling sound. Unattended and undefended, my hem was rended. It never ended when you...spun me all night long. Yeah, you...spun me all night long. You got me wet and then you...spun me all night long. You really soaked then you...spun me all night long. Yeah, you spun me. Well, you spun me...all...night...long.


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